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النشر الإلكتروني

There's no Satiety of Love in thee! Enjoy'd thou still art new : Perpetual Spring İs in thy Arms; the ripen'd Fruit buc falls, And Blossoms rise to fill its empry Place; And I grow rich by giving.

Dryd. All for Love Your Fruits of Love are like eternal Spring In happy Climes; where some are in the Bud, Some green, and rip'ning some, while others fåll. Dryd. Amphit:

In thy Poffefsion Years roul round' on Years, And Joys in Circles meet new Joys again. Kisses, Embraces, Languishings, and Deatlis, Still from each other to each other move, To crown the various Seasons of our Love: Dryd. Sján, Fry:

Our Life shall be but one long nuptial Day, And like chaf'd Odours melt in Sweets away : Soft as the Night our Minutes shall be worn, And chearful as the Birds that wake the Morn. Dryd. Sec. Love.

Immortal Pleasures shall our Senses drown, Thought shall be lost, and ev'ry Pow'r dissolv’d. Otw. Orpb.

Let me not live, but thou art all Enjoyment;
So charming and so sweet, that not a Night;
But whole Eternity, were well employd (spoken by Jupiter.]
To love thy each Perfection as it ought. Dryd. Amphit.

They took their full Delight;
'Twas restless Rage and Tempest all the Night
For greedy Love each Moment would employ,
And grudg'd the shortest Pauses of their joy.
Love rioted secure, and long enjoy'd,
Was ever eager, and was never cloy'd :
The Stealth it self did Appetite restore,

(Guile And look'd so like a Sin, it pleas'd the more. bröd: Sig.

How dear, how sweet his first Embraces were
With what a Zeal he joyn'd his Lips to mine!
I thought! oh no! 'cis false, I could not think:
'Twas neither Life nor Death, but both in one.
And fure his Transports were not less than mine,
For by the high-hung Taper's Light,
I could difcern his Cheeks were glowing red ;
His very Eye-balls trembled with his Love,
And sparkled thro' their Casements humid Fires:
He sigh’d and kils’d, breath'd short, and would have spoke;
But was too fierce to throw away the Time ;
All he could say was, Love and Leonors. Dryd. Spatii Fry

What said he not, when in the bridal Bed
He clafp'd my yielding Body in his Arms ?
When with his fiery Lips devouring mine,
And moulding with his Hands my throbbing Breasts,
He swore the Globes of Heav'n and Earth were vile


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To those rich Worlds; and talk'd, and kiss'd, and lov'd,
And made me shame the Morning with my Blushes. Lee Ålex.

A doubtful Trembling liez'd me first all o'er,
Then. Wishes, and a Warmth unknown before ;
What follow'd was all Ecstacy and Trance!
Immortal Pleasures round my swimming Eyes did dance,
And speechless Joys, in whose sweet Tumult tost,
I thought my Breath and Being both were lost. Dryd, State of Ina.

Oh how I flew into your Arms,
And meled in your warm Embrace.
Did not my Soul ev'n sparkle at my Eyes,
And shoot it self into your much lov'd Bosom?
Did I not tremble with Excess of Joy,
Nay, agonize with Pleasure at your Sight,
Wich such inimitable Proofs of Passion
As no false Love could feign?

Dryd. Amphit.
Her Hand he seiz'd, and to a shady Bank,
Thick over Head, with verdant Roof embow'r'd,
He led her nothing loath: Flow'rs were the Couch,
Pansies, and Violers, and Afphodel,
And Hyacinth ; Earth's freshest softest Lap:
There ihey their Fill of Love and Love's Disport

Took largely;



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Till dewy Sleep
Oppress’d them, wearied with their am'rous Play.

Unhappy Mortals! whose sublimest Joy
Preys on it self, and does it felf destroy.

I hate Fruition now 'tis past,
'Tis all but Nastiness at best;
The homeliest thing that we can do:
Belides 'tis short and fleeting too.
A Squirt of slippery Delight,
That with a Moment takes its Flight;
A fulsom Bliss that foon does cloy,
And makes us loath what we enjoy.
Then let us not too eager run,
By Paflion blindly hurry'd on,
Like Beasts, who nothing better know,
Than what meer Lust incites them too;
For when in Floods of Love we're drench'd,

The Flames are by Enjoyment quench'd.
And why this Niceness to that Pleasure shown,
Where Nature füms up all her Joys in one?
Gives all the can, and lab'ring ftill to give,
Makes it so great we can but taste and live;
So fills the Senses that the Soul seems fled,
And Thought ir self does for the Time lie dead :


Till, like a String scru'd up with eager Hafte,
It breaks, and is too exquisite to last.

Dryd. Auten
And full Fruition will but raise Desire ;
As Heav'n poffefs'd exalts the Zealot's Fire.

Den. For Love, and Love alone of all our Joys, By full Possession does but fan the Fire; The more we still enjoy, the more we still desire. Dryd. Luct.

ENTHUSIASM. See Sybil. He comes! Behold the God! Thus while she said, Her Colour chang’d, her Face was not the same, And hollow Groans from her deep Spirir came : Her Hair stood up; convulsive Rage poffefs'd Her trembling Limbs, and heav'd her lab'ring Breast : Greater than Human-kind she seem'd to look, And with an Accent more than mortal spoke : Her ftaring Eyes with sparkling Fury rou), When all the God came rushing on her Soul. Thus full of Fate the grew, and of the God; Strugling in vain, impatient of her Load And lab'ring underneath the pond'rous God. The more the strove to shake him from her Breast, With more and far fuperior Force he press'd; Commands his Entrance, and without Controul Usurps her Organs and inspires her Soul. Ac length her Fury fell, her Foaming ceas'd, And, ebbing in her Soul, the God decreas'd. Dryd. Virg.

Something I'd unfold,
If that the God would wake ; for something still there lies
In Heav'n's dark Volume, which I read thro' Mifts:
'Tis great, prodigious ! 'tis a dreadful Birth
Of wond'rous Fate! and now just now disclosing!
I fee, I fee ! how terrible ir dawns,
And my Soul lickens with it!
Now the God shakes me! He comes, he comes! Dryd. Oedip.
Í feel him

Like a strong Spirit, charm'd into a Tree,
That leaps, and moves the Wood without a Wind.
The rowzed God, as all this while he lay
Intomb'd alive, starts and dilates himself:
He struggles, and he tears my aged Trunk
With holy Fury ; my old Arteries burst ;
My rivelld Skin,
Like Parchment, crackles at the hallow'd Fire :
I shall be young agen! Manto, my Daughter,
Thou hast a Voice that might have sav'd the Bard
Of Thrace, and forc'd the raging Bacchanals,
With lifted Prongs, to listen to thy Airs :
O charm this God, this Fury in my Bosom;


Lull him with tuneful Notes and artful Strings,
With pow'rful Strains: Manto, my lovely Child,
Sooth the unruly Godhead to be mild.


[Spoken by Tiresias, in Oediprus.]
The God of Battle rages in my Breaft;
And as at Delphos, when the glorious Fury
Kindles the Blood of the prophetick Maid,
The bounded Deity does Thoot her out,
Draws ev'ry Nerve thin as a Spider's Thread,
And beats the Skin out like expanded Gold:
So with the Meditation of the Work
Which my Squl bears, I swell almost to bursting. Lee Mitbor,

Great Bullingbrook.
Mounted upon a hot and fiery Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With flow, but stately Pace, kept on his Course.
You would have thought the very Windows spoke,
So many greedy Looks of young and old
Tbro' Calements darted their defiring Eyes
Upon his Visage, and that all the Walls,
With painted Imag'ry, had said ai once,
God save thee, Bwlingbrook.
But, as in a Theatre, the Eyes of Men,
After a well-grac'd A&tor leaves the Stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his Prattle to be tedious;
Ev'n lo, or with much more Contempt, Mens Eyes
Did scowle on Richard : No Man cry'd, God save him
No joyful Tongue gave him his Welcom home:
Bur Duft was thrown upon his sacred Head,
Which with such gentle Sorrow he shook off,
His Face still combating with Tears and Smiles,
(The Badges of his Grief and Patience,)
That had not God, for some strong Purpose, fteel'd
The Hearts of Men, they must perforce have melted,
And Barbarism it self have pity'd him.

Shak. Rich, II.
Your glorious Father, my vietorious Lord,
Loaden with Spoils and ever-living Lawrel,
Is entring now in martial Pomp the Palace:
Five hundred Mules precede his folemn March,
Which groan beneath the Weight of Moorish Wealth;
Chariots of War, adorn'd with glitt'ring Gems,
Succeed; and next a hundred neighing Steeds,
White as the fleecy Rain on Alpine Hills,
That bound, and foam, and champ the golden Bit,
As they disdain'd the Victory they grace:


Pris’ners of War in shining

Fetters follow,
And Captains of the noblest Blood of Africk
Sweat by his Chariot-Wheels, and lick and grind,
With gnashing Teeth, the Duft his Triumphs raise.
The swarming Populace spread ev'ry Wall,
And cling, as if with Claws they did enforce
Their Hold thro' clifted Stones, stretching and ftaring
As they were all of Eyes, and ev'ry Limb
Would feed its Faculty of Admiraţion.

Congr. Mourn. Bride.
What Tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive Bands his Chariot Wheels?
Have you climb'd up to Walls and Battlements,
To Towers and Windows, yea to Chimney Tops,
Your Infants in your Arms, and there have fate
The live-long Day with patient Expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the Streets of Rime?
And when you saw his Chariot but appear,
Have you not made a universal Shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath her Banks,
To hear the Replication of your Sounds,
Made in her concaye Shores.

Sbak. Jul. Caf Loud Acclamacions to the Clouds arise, And propagate the Triumph to che Skies. The confluent Tides to a high Deluge grow, And Waves of thronging Heads roll to and fro. The gazing Clusters to the Windows clung, And on the Roofs sublime and Ridges hung ; Whence with luxurious Pomp they fed the Sight, And with their greedy Looks devour'd Delight; Their starting Eyes the Multitude did strain, And from their eager Pleasure suffer Pain.


The Fury strait
Crawl'd in, her Limbs cou'd scarce support her Weight:
A noisom Rag her pensive Temples bound,
And faintly her parch'd Lips her Accents found.

Beneath the gloomy Covert of an Eugh,
That taints the Grass with sickly Sweats of Dew;
No verdant Beauty entertains the Sight
But baneful Hemlock and cold Aconite :
In a dark Grot the baleful Haggard lay,
Breathing black Vengeance, and infecting Day :
Meagre, deform’d, and worn with spightful Woes:
The chearful Blood her livid Eyes forsook,
And Basilisks fate rooding in her Look.
A bald and bloate Toad-ftool rais'd her Head,
And Plumes of boding Ravens were her Bed :
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