ON A FLOWER WHICH Belinda gave me from her Bofom. By Mr. BROOME.. AY, lovely Off-fpring of the May, SAY So fweetly fair, fo richly gay; Say, where a Flow'r fo beauteous grows, On Indian nor Arabian Ground: A Store of fuch a rich Perfume Muft from Belinda's Bofom come; Thence, thence fuch Sweets are spread abroad As might be Incense for a God. Bu But while, fweet Gift, thy Glories last, (Which O! tho' great must quickly wafte,) Shew, by thy Beauties and Perfumes, Shew fair Belinda how the blooms. Put on thy Charms, thy faireft Drefs, Let all thy Beauties fade away, And let her in thy Glass descry How Youth, and how foft Beauty die. And lo! it droops, and fades, and dies, And with faint Sweets perfumes the Skies. It folds its Leaves, and fheds its Hue, Tho' while 'twas Yours it charm'd the View As when it in the Garden grew. In Paradife would only grow; } } So the sweet-fmelling Indian Flow'rs, Griev'd when they leave thofe happy Shores, Sicken and pine away in ours. I now, as once I did, no more But if thou'rt one of their fad Train, That dy d for Love, and cold Disdain; That, chang'd by fome kind pitying Pow't, A Lover once, art now a Flow'r; O pity me, Qweep my Care, A thousand, thousand Pains I bear, I love, I die thro' fad Defpair. Ovid. Amor. Eleg. 16. Lib. 2. To his MISTRESS. By Mr. CROMWELL. ULMO's one Third of the Pelinian Land, Whofe little Space indulgent Nature fram'd For all the Pleafures of a fweet Retreat; 151 And here has bounteous Fortune fix'd my Seat: Here o'er the Grounds a pleafing Verdure spreads, And the bright Streams enamel all the Meads; Here Corn and Wine enrich the fruitful Fields, And the kind Soil the luscious Olive yields: Tho' now the raging Dog-Star mounted high Cleaves the parch'd Earth, and blafts the fultry Sky; Yet fhady Groves, where a refreshing Breeze In gentle Whispers fans the neighbouring Trees, And Rivlets which in various Windings run Rebate the fierce Approaches of the Sun. Yet ardent Love is here, and Love is ftill the fame. There's no fupporting of your Abfence, here, Than gain it, by fo vaft a Lofs as you: With you I'd truft my Sails to Southern Wind, To Scylla's Rock, Charybdis Gulph refign'd And caft all Fear of future Ills behind: |