But whilft thy mind shall seem thus fair,

Thy foul's unfading charms be seen, Thou may'ft refign that shape and air,

But fhall I make the angry vow,
Which tempts my wavering mind?

Shall dark fufpicion cloud my brow,

Avaunt, thou hell-born fiend! no more

Pretend my steps to guide;

Let me be cheated o'er and o'er,

But let me ftill confide.

If

IS true, my wifh will never find

Another nymph fo fair, fo true; Since all that's bright, and all that's kind, In thofe expreffive eyes I view.

And I with grateful zeal could hafte
To China for the merest toy;
Could fcorch on Lybia's barren waste,
To give my dear a moment's joy.

But fickle as the wave or wind,

I once may flight those lovely arms; Pardon a free ingenuous mind,

I do not half deserve thy charms.

If I in any praise excel,

'Tis in foft themes to paint my flame; But Cloe's fweetness bids me tell,

I fhall not long remain the fame.

I know its season will expire,
Replac'd by cool esteem alone;
Nor more thy matchless breast admire
Than I deteft and fcorn my own.

This interval my fate allows,

And friendship dictates all I fay; O fhun to hear my future vows, When giddy love resumes the lay.

So fome poor maniac can foresee

The random hours of madness nigh;
He mourns the fates' fevere decree,
And cautions whom he loves to fly.

CLOE

CLOE to LYSANDER.

F vagrant loves, and fickle flames

Lyfander's Mufe may tell,

And fure fuch artless freedom claims

His Cloe's best farewel.

Whene'er his heart becomes the theme

We see his fancy shine;

But let not vain Lyfander dream

That e'er that heart was mine.

Can he that fondly hopes to move,
With caution chill his lay?

Can he who feels the power of love,
Foretel that love's decay?

Why teize believing nymphs in vain?

Go feek fome pathless vale,

And liften to thy vocal strain

Soft echoing down the dale.

While artless Cloe hence retir'd,
Shall this fad maxim prove;

No bofom, once with love inspir'd,
Could ever cease to love.

By fage mankind, discreeter

T'anticipate a leffer ill

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread diseases, pain,

And languishing conditions;

Who don't the leffer ills fuftain

Of phyfic and physicians?

Rather