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WRETCH long tortured with disdain, That hourly pined, but pined in vain, At length the God of Wine addrest, The refuge of a wounded breast.
* Vouchsafe, O Power, thy healing aid,
Teach me to gain the cruel maid ;
Thus to the jolly God he cried,
And thus the jolly God replied : “Give whining o'er, be brisk and gay,
And quaff this sneaking form away.
"With dauntless mien approach the fair;
The way to conquer is to dare."
She smiled, and spoke her sex's mind :
Men to themselves are most severe,
CYNTHIA frowns whene'er I woo her,
Yet she's vex't if I give over ;
But much more to lose her lover :
Proythee, CYNTHIA, look behind you,
Age and wrinkles will o’ertake you, Then too late desire will find
you When the power does forsake you, Think, oh! think, the sad condition To be past, yet wish fruition.
Love's but the frailty of the mind
When ' tis not with ambition join'd; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires, And, feeding, wastes in self-consuming-fires.
'T is not to wound a wanton boy,
Or amorous, youth, that gives the joy ; But 'tis the glory to have pierced a swain For whom inferior beauties sigh'd in vain.
Then I alone the conquest prize,
When I insult a rival's eyes ; If there's delight in love, 't is when I see The heart which others bleed for, bleed for me,
FAIR AMORET is gone astray,
Pursue and seek her, every lover ; I'll tell the signs by which you may
The wandering shepherdess discover,
Coquet and coy at once her air,
Both studied, tho' both seem neglected, Careless she is with artful care,
Affecting to seem unaffected.
With skill her eyes dart every glance,
Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect 'em; For she'd persuade they wound by chance, Tho' certain aim and art direct 'em.
She likes herself, yet others hates
For that which in herself she prizes ; And, while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
me more love, or more disdain ;
The temperate affords me none :
Give me a storm : if it be love,
Like Danaë in her golden shower I swim in pleasure ; if it prove
Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possest Of heaven that's but from hell releast.
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
IN CHLORIS all soft charms agree,
Inchanting humour, powerful wit,
And for eternal empire fit.
The women envy, men adore ;
She would deserve the conquest more.
But vanity so much prevails,
She begs what none else would deny her,
The hope she gives prevents desire;
Grows warm with every glimm'ring flame;
It scarce can pierce a noble game.
I could lie ages at her feet,
Adore her eareless of my pain,
Despair, love on, and not complain ;