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CYNTHIA.

Bright Cynthia's power divinely great,

What heart is not obeying?
A thousand Cupids on her wait

And in her eyes are playing.

She seems the queen of love to reign

For she alone dispenses Such

sweets, as best can entertain

guest of all the senses.

The

Her face a charming prospect brings ;

Her breath gives balmy blisses : I hear an angel when she sings,

And taste of Heaven in kisses.

Four senses thus she feasts with joy,

From Nature's richest treasure : Let me the other sense employ

And I shall die with pleasure.

[In Southerne's “ Oroonoko.")

IN VAIN YOU TELL.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

Born 1664-Died 1721.

In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over :
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows and cold disdain ?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose,
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where first my ship-wreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain ;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows and cold disdain.

IF WINE AND MUSIC HAVE THE POWER.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

If wine and music have the power

To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phæbus every string explore,

And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl: Let them their friendly aid employ

To make my Chloe's absence light, And seek for pleasure to destroy

The sorrows of this live long night.

But she to-morrow will return :

Venus, be thou to-morrow great ; Thy myrtles strew, thy odours burn,

And meet thy favourite nymph in state.
Kind goddess, to no other powers

Let us to-morrow's blessings own,
Thy darling Love shall guide the hours,
And all the day be thine alone.

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But, oh! she scorns to hear or see The wretch that lies so low as me; Her sudden greatness turns her brain, And Strephon hopes, alas ! in vain ! For ne'er 'twas found (though often tried) That Pity ever dwelt with Pride.

No, Phillis, no, your heart to move,

A surer way I'll try :
And to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on and die.

When killed with grief, Amyntas lies ;

And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall :
That welcome hour that ends this smart,

Will then begin your pain ;
For such a faithful tender heart

Can never break in vain.

[The Songs of the celebrated Lord Rochester, are his only writings free from indecency. Horace Walpole happily characterised his verse as having “ much more obscenity than wit, more wit than poetry, more poetry than politeness.")

AN IMITATION OF CORNELIUS GALLUS.

JOHN WILMOT, LORD. ROCHESTER.

My Goddess Lydia, heavenly fair,
As lilies sweet, as soft as air ;
Let loose thy tresses, spread thy charms,
And to my love give fresh alarms.
O let me gaze on those bright eyes,
Though sacred lightning from them flies :
Show me that soft, that modest grace,
Which paints with charming red thy face.

Give me ambrosia in a kiss,
That I may rival Jove in bliss ;
That I may mix my soul with thine,
And make the pleasure all divine.
O hide thy bosom's killing white,
(The milky way is not so bright)
Lest you my ravish'd soul oppress,
With beauty's pomp and sweet excess.
Why draws't thou from the purple food
Of my kind heart the vital blood ?
Thou art all over endless charms;
0! take me, dying, to thy arms.

FROM ANACREON.

JOHN WILMOT, LORD ROCHESTER.

Vulcan, contrive me such a cup

As Nestor us'd of old;
Show all thy skill to trim it up,

Damask it round with gold.
Make it so large, that, fill’d with sack

Up to the swelling brim,
Vast toasts in the delicious lake,

Like ships at sea, may swim.
Engrave not battle on his cheek,

With war I've nought to do ;
I'm none of those that took Maestrich,

Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew.

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