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These scenes my prudence ushers to my mind, Of all the storms and quicksands I must find, If I embark upon this summer sea, [way. Where Flatt'ry smooths, and Pleasure gilds the Had our ill fate ne'er blown thy dang’rous flame Beyond the limits of a friend's cold name, I might upon that score thy heart receive, And with that guiltless name my own deceive: That commerce now in vain you recommend, I dread the latent lover in the friend; Of ignorance I want the poor excuse, And know, I both must take, or both refuse.
Hear then the safe, the firm resolve I make, Ne'er to encourage one I must forsake. Whilst other maids a shameless path pursue, Neither to intrest nor to honour true, And, proud to swell the triumph of their eyes, Exult in love from lovers they despise : Their maxims all revers'd I mean to prove, And though I like the lover, quit the love.
ON LADY HAMILTON'S DEPARTURE
A Sicilian Pastoral Song.
O SWAINS of fair Sicily, mourn;
Since your IDOL no more will return.
In fancy, the riv'let appears
To wander lamenting along ;
Sweet Zephyrs that wanton'd around,
And eagerly sought for her strains, Now robb’d of the musical sound, Waft only the sigh of the swains.
O swains, &c.
When she whisper'd a tender adieu,
The Loves would no longer remain; And with them the PLEASUREs withdrew, As they never had quitted her train.
O swains, &c.
AH! wherefore did I daring gaze
Upon the radiance of thy charms; And, vent'ring nearer to their rays, How dar'd I clasp thee in my
That kiss will give my heart a pain,
Which Cynthia's pity will deplore; Then take, O take the kiss again,
Or let me take a hundred more,
PART OF A LETTER
TO MY SISTERS, AT CRUX-E A STON,
WRITTEN FROM CAIRO, IN EGYPT, AUGUST, 1734.
By the Rev. Dr. LISLE.
WHILE you, my dear girls, in your paradise
wood too and grotto so swim in my
sight, They give me no respite by day or by night: No sooner asleep but I'm dreaming of you ; I am just wak'd from one,--would to God it
Methought I was now a fine gentleman grown, And had got, Lord knows how, an estate of my Good-bye to plain Tom, I was rais'd a peg higher; Some call'd me his WORSHIP, and others the
'SQUIRE. 'T was a place, I remember, exactly like EASTON, A scene for an Emperor's fancy to feast on. There I built a fine house with great cost and
great care, (Your la’ships have form'd many such in the air), Not of stucco, nor brick, but as good Portland stone As KENT* would desire to be working upon. The apartments not small, nor monstrously great, But chiefly for use, and a little for state ; So begilt, and becarv'd, and with ornaments grac'd, That every one said, I'd an excellent taste. Here I liv'd like a king, never hoarded my pelf, Kept a coach for my sisters, a nag for myself, With something that's good when our Highclear friends come,
[room. And, spite of 'Squire Herbert, a fire in each A canal made for profit as well as for pleasure, That's about, let me see, two acres in measure;
* The painter and architect.