English

Behold your self, and pity me,
Who languish for that Face so fair:
Into my Heart cou'd you but see,
You'd find the same bright Image there.

ON HIS DESIRING ME TO PUBLISH .

With artless Muse, and humble name,
Shall I solicit public fame?
Shall I, who sing the pensive strain,
To soothe a mind oppressed with pain,
Or in the maze of fancy stray,
To pass a cheerless hour away,
Boldly to meet Apollo rise,
And flutter in his native skies?
Presumptuous, giddy, proud, elate,
Forgetting Icarus' sad fate,
High on my treacherous plumage soar,
And fall, like him, to rise no more?
Or, to assume a strain more common,
Shall I, an unknown, untaught woman,

No, brothers! no despairing — Envy's eye,
Sharp and malevolent, may pierce ye through —
Yet wound not truth by weakness, nor undo
Her victories by mistrust — nor faint — nor fly —
Since truth should stand erect, and lift on high
Her glorious standard; for she can subdue
Resistance into fealty — blasphemy
Into pure worship, — into reverence true.
Truth is a storm on Lebanon, that shaketh
The mighty cedars which resist her shock;
Oppos'd — far mightier is the stir she maketh —
Her tongue is as a sword — her breath a rock —

Cease, soft Belinda , to deplore
Your favour'd Dove , who feels no more,
Nor can your Grief the Loss repair;
Rather compassionate your Swain ,
Who lives , and loves, and sighs in vain,
And longs for Death to end his Care .

Who can describe, in Numbers fit,
All the new Pangs by Lovers found;
When, undesigning, first they meet;
Give and receive the destin'd Wound?

Who can? Yet since this friendly Lay
Damon demands, O Muse rehearse
What govern'd Fancy bids thee say —
May Phaebus aid the flowing Verse!

Love wears a Thousand diff'rent Forms;
He wins the Heart a Thousand Ways:

Vain are the most of Womankind — —
A virtuous Consort who can find?
In real Value she excells
Whatever shines on Rocks and Shells .

Her Husband's Soul in her confides;
Nor she his Confidence derides:
She seeks his Honour all her Days;
And ne'er her plighted Faith betrays.

Her Industry finds Flax and Wool,
And her own Fingers fill the Spool ;
Her Hands are harden'd at the Wheel,
The Distaff, and the loaded Reel,

ON HER SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME AT THE LOOKING GLASS .

While at the mirror, lovely maid,
You trifle time away,
Reflect how soon your bloom will fade,
How soon your charms decay.

By nature form'd to please the eye,
All studied airs disdain; —
From art, from affectation fly,
And fashions light and vain.

Turn from the glass , and view your mind , —
On that bestow some care;

When Men have honest Wives at home,
Yet take the Liberty to roam;
They can't with too much Caution act,
In keeping close an amorous Fact:
'Tis not enough to hide their Sin
From all, but those concern'd therein:
From even those they should conceal
What may the Crime of both reveal.
With neither Friend nor Foe they must
The nicest of their Secrets trust.

 Some Punster cries, who loves to strain
The Sense of Words, This is not plain——
In amorous Facts what do Folks do,
But search each other's Secrets thro'?

I.

As lovesick Damon lay along
 Beneath a melancholy Shade ,
Sooth'd by the nightly Warbler 's Song,
 Thus the unhappy Shepherd said,

II.

Sweet Philomel , who haunt the Grove ,
 Where I lament my wretched Fate ,
Our joint Complaint , alas! is Love ,
 The Diff'rence of our Fortune great.

III.

Relief to me no Seasons bring,
 For ever doom'd, to sigh in vain;
But you, sweet Bird , who mourn in Spring ,
 In Summer Pleasures lose your Pain .

IV.

A SONG .

Why should I, in gloomy anguish,
Weep the heavy time away?
Or the swain for whom I languish,
In dull sorrow waste the day?

Generous minds, suspicion scorning,
Let no jealous fears annoy,
But, with grace their souls adorning,
Soften absence, meet with joy.