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The Sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,

l 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona Hermes arms; And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;

And all Olympus rings with loud alarins ; Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands, Jove's thunder roars, Heaven trembles all around, And tempts, once more, thy sacrilegious hands. | Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound: Oh hadst thou, cruel ! been content to scize Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these !"

way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!

Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height 53

Clapp'd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight : CANTO v.

Propp'd on their bodkin-spears, the sprites survey She said : the pitying audience melt in tears; The growing combat, or assist the fray. But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the baron's ears.

While through the press enrag'd Thalestris flies In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,

And scatters death around from both her eyes, For who can move when fair Belinda fails?

A beau and witling perish'd in the throng, Not half so fix'd the 'Trojan could reinain,

One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song. While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain.

“O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," Then grave Clarissa graceful way'd her fan; 7| Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began.

A mournful glance sir Fopling upwards cast, “Say,why are beautics prais'd and honour'd most, “ Those eyes are made so killing' was his last. The wise man's passion, and the vain inan's toast? Thus on Meander's tlowery inargin lies Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford, Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. Why angels callid, and angel-like ador'd ?

When bold sir Pluine had drawn Clarissa down Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd | Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown: beaux ?

She smild to see the doughty hero slain, Why bows the side-box from its ininost rows ? But, at her sinile, the beau reviv'd again. How vain are all these glories, all our pains,

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains :

Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; That men may say, when we the front-box grace, | The doubtful beam long nods from side to side: Behold the first in virtue as in face!

At length the wits mount np, the hairs subside. Oh ! if to dance all night and dress all day, . See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies, 's Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old-age away;

ray. With more than usual lightning in her eyes: Who would not scorn what housewife's cares pro

Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal light to try, duce,

Who sought no more than on his foe to die. Os who would learn one earthly thing of use?

But this bold lord, with manly strength endu'd, To patch, nay ogle, may become a saint;

She with one finger and a thumb subdued : Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.

Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay ;

A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; Curl'd or uncurl'd, since Lorks will turn to grey;

The Gnomes direct, to every atom just, Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,

The pungent grains of titillating dust. And she who scorns a man, must die a maid;

Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, What then remains, but well our power to use,

And the high dume re-echoes to his nose. And keep good-humour still, whate'er we lose? Now meet thy fate," incens'd Belinda cry'd, And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail, And drew a deadly bodkin froin her side. When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding (The şaine, his ancient personage to deck, Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; [fail. Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul." | In three seal-rings; which after, melted down.

So spoke the daine, but no applause ensued: Form’d a vast buckle for his widow's gown: Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her prude.

Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, " To arms, to arms !” the fierce virago cries, 37 | The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew ; And swift as lightning to the combat fies.

Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, All side in parties, and begin th' attack;

Which long she wore, and now Belinda wcars.) Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack;

“ Boast not my fall (he cry'd, insulting foe! Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise,

Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. And basc and treble voices strike the skies.

Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind :

All that I dread is leaving you behind !
No common weapon in their hands are found;
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.

Rather than go, ah let me still survive,
So when bold Homer makes the gods engage,

And burn in Cupid's fames-but burn alive." And heavenly breasts with human passions rage;

“Restore the Lock," she cries; and all around, “ Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound.

Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

Roard for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. Ver. 7. Then grave Clarissa, &c.) A new cha

But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, racter intro Inced in the subsequent editions, to | And chiefs con

| And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! open more clearly the moral of the poern, in a The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, parody of the specch of Sarpedon to Glaucus in In every place is sought, but sought in vain : Homer. Ver. 37. To arms, to aris !] Froin hence the

VARIATION. first edition gocs on to the conclusion, except a very few short insertions adoled, to keep the ma-/

"I Fer. 53. Triumphant Uinbriel] These four lines chinery in view to the end of the poem.

| added, for the reason before mentioned.

With such a prize no mortal must be blest, Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; 8o Heaven decrees! with Heaven who can con The glorious fault of angels and of gods : test?

Thence to their images on Earth it floks, Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. Since all things lost on Earth are treasur'd there. Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vases, Dull sollen prisoners in the body's cage: And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases : Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, There broken vows and death-bed alms are found, Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; And lovers' hearts with ends of ribband bound; Like eastern kings a lazy state they keep, The courtier's promises, and sick man's prayers, And, close confin'd to their own palace, sleep. The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,

From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die) Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,

Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cæsuistry.

As into air the purer spirits fow, But trust the Muse--she saw it upward rise, | And separate from their kindrid dregs below; Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes : So flew the soul to its congenial place, o Rome's great fonnder to the Heavens with- | Nor left one yirtue to redeem her race. drew,

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, To Proculus alone confess'd in view)

Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood ! A sudden star, it shot through liquid air,

See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, And drew hehind a radiant trail of hair.

These checks now fading at the blast of Death; Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright,

Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, The Heaven bespangling with dishevellid light. And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, 131 Thus, if eterpal Justice rules the ball, And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies. Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: This the beau-monde shall from the Mall sur On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, vey,

And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates; And hail with music its propitious ray.

There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, This the blest lover shall for Venus take,

(While the long funerals blacken all the way) And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.

“Lo! those were they, whose souls the Furies steel'd, This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies,

And curst with hearts unknowing how to yield.” When next he looks throligh Galileo's eyes;

Thus unlamented pass the proud away, And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

So perish all, whose brcast ne'er learn'd to glow, Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy

For others good, or melt at others noe ravish'd hair,

What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade!) Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid ? Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, .

No friend's complaint, no kind doinestic tear Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost.

Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier : For, after all the murders of your eye,

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die ;

| By foreign hands thay decent limbs compos'd, When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,

By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,

By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame,

What though no friends in sable weeds appear, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, | And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public show?
What though no weeping Løve's thy ashes grace,

Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?

What though no sacred earth allow thee room, TO TIE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY.

Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb?

Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dressid, WHAT beckoning ghost, along the moon-light | And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : shade,

There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ? There the first roses of the year shall blow; "Tis she ! —but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, While angels with their sjlver wings p'ershade Why dimly glearns the visionary sword?

The ground now sacred by thy reliques inade. Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell,

So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, Is it, in Heaven, a crime to love too well?

What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,

How lor'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To act a lover's or a Roman's part?

To whom related, or by whom begot ; Is there no bright reversion in the sky,

A heap of dust alone remains of thee, For those who greatly think, or bravely die ? 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be !

Why bade ye else, ve powers ! her soul aspire Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Above the vulgar flight of low desire ?

Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue,
Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays,

Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays;

Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold,] These two lines | And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart, added for the same reason, to keep in view the Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, machinery of the poem.

The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more !


| And, did not wicked custom so contrive, ' PROLOGUE

We'd be the best, good-natur'd things alive.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,

That virtuous ladies eniy wbile they rail;
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,

Such rage without betrays the fire within ; To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ; In some close corner of the soul, they sin; To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,

Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage, The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Cominanding tears to stream through every age; Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams. Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,

Would you enjoy soft nights, and solid dinners ? And focs to Virtue wonder'd how they wept. Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move

Well, if our author in the wife offends, (sinners. The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;

He has a husband that will make amends :
In pitying Love, we but our weakness show, He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,
And wild Ambition well deserves its woe.

And sure such kind good creatures may be living.
Here tears shall flow from a more generous cause, In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows,
Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws :

Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse:
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, PlanPlutarch, what's his name, that writes his
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife : life?
Virtue confesa'd in human shape he draws,

Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was : He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
No common object to your sight displays,

To lend a wife, few here would scruple make;
But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys, But, pray, which of you all would take her back!
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, Though with the stoic chief our stage may ring,
and greatly falling with a falling state.

The stoic husband was the glorious thing. While Cato gives his little senate laws,

The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true, What bosom beats not in his conntry's cause? And lov'd his country-but what's that to you ? Who sees him act, but envies every deed ?

Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye,
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? But the kind cuckold might instruct the city :
Er'n when proud Cæsar 'midst triumphal cars, There many an honest man niay copy Cato,
The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, Who ne'er saw naked sword, or look'd in Plato.
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,

If, after all, you think it a disgrace,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state; That Edward's miss thus perks it in your face ;
As her dead father's reverend image past,

To see a piece of failing flesh and blood,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast; In all the rest so impudently good;
The triumph ceas'l, tears gush'd from every eye; | Faith let the modest matrons of the town
The world's great victor passid umheeded by ; Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet dover
Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons, attend : be worth like this approv'd,
And show, you have the virtue to be mor'd.

With honest scorn the first fain't Cato view'd
Rome learning arts froin Greece, whom she subdued;

Say, lovely youth, that dost my heart command Your scene precariously subsists too long

Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand ? On French translation, and Italian soug.

Must then her name the wretched writer prove, Dare to have sense yourselves ; assert the stage,

To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love? Be justly warm’d with your own native rage :

Ask not the cause that I new numbers chuse, Such plays alone should win a British ear,

The lute neglected, and the lyric Muse;
As Cato's self had not disdain’d to hear.

Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd com

By driving winds the spreading flames are borneo

Phaon to Etna's scorching fields retires,

While I consume with more than Etna's fires !

PRUDICIOUS this! the frail-one of our play
From her own sex should mercy find to-day! Ecquid, ut inspecta est studiosæ litera dextra
You might have held the pretty head aside,

Protinus est oculis cognita nostra tuis?
Peep'd in your fans, been serious, thus, and cry'd, An, nisi legisses auctoris nomina Sapphûs,
" The play may pass but that strange creature Hoc breve nescires unde movetur opus?

Forsitan et quare mea sint alterna requiras I can't-indeed now so hate a whore !"

Carmina, cum lyricis sim magis apta modis. Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull, Flendus amor meus est: elegeja flebile carmen ; And thanks his stars he was not born a fool;

Non facit ad lacrymas barbitos ulla meas. So from a sister sinner you shall hear,

Uror, ut, indomitis ignem exercentibus Euris, How strangely you expose yourself, my dear !" Fertilis accensis messibus ardet ager. But let me die, all raillery apart,

Arva Phaon celebrat diversa Typhoïdos Ætne, Qyr sex are still forgiving at their beart; | Me calor Ætnæo non minor igne coquit.

No more my soul a charm in music inds, 1 Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ, Music has charms alone for peaceful minds. Once in her arms you center'd all your joy: Soft scenes of solitude no more can please,

No time the dear reinembrance can reinore, Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.

For, oh! how vast a memory has Love! No more the Lesbian dames my passion move, My music, then, you could for ever hear, Once the dear objects of my guilty love;

And all my words were music to your ear. All other loves are lost in only thine,

You stopp'd with kisses iny enchanting tongue, Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine! | And found my kisses sweeter than my song. Whom would not all those blooming charins surprise, | In all I pleas'd, but most in what was best; Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eves? And the last joy was dearer than the rost. The harp and bow would you like Phebus bear, Then with each word, each glance, each motion A brighter Pha'bus Phaon might appear;

fir'da, Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair, You still enjoy'd, and yet you still desir'd, No: Bacchus' self with Phaon could coinpare: Till all dissolving in the trance we lay, Yet Phæbus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flaine, And in tumultuous raptures dy'd away. One Daphne warm’d, and one the Cretan dame: 1 The fair Sicilians now thy soul inflame; Nymphs that in verse no more could rival ine, Why was I born, ye gods! a Lesbian dame? Than ev'n those gods contend in charins with thee. But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast The Muses teach me all their softest lays,

That wandering heart which I so lately lost ; And the wide world resounds with Sappho's praise. Nor be with all those tempting words abus'd. Though great Alerus more subliinely sings,

Those tempting words were all to Sappho us'd. And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings, And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains, No less renown attends the moving lyre,

Have pity, Venus, on your post's pains ! Which Venus tunes, and all her Loves inspire; Shall fortune still in one sad tenour run, To me what Nature has in charms deny'd,

And still increase the woes so soon begin? Is well by Wit's more lasting Hames supply'd. Iuurd to sorrow from my tender years, Though short iny stature, yet my name extends My parent's ashes drank my early tears : To Heaven itself, and Earth's remotest ends. My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame, Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame

Ignobly burn'd in a destructive fame: Inspir'd young Perseus with a generous fame; An infant daughter late my griefs increas'd, Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,

And all a mother's cares distract my breast. Anel glossy jet is pair'd with shining white.

Alas, what more could Fate itself impose', If to no charms thou wilt thy beart resign,

But thee, the last and greatest of my woes? But such as merit, such as equal thine,

No inore my robes in waving purple flow, By nonc, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd : Nor on my hand the sparkling dianionds glow; Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd !

| Hæc quoque laudabas; omnique à parte place. der mihi, dispositis quæ jungam carmina nervis,

bain, Proveniunt; vacvæ carmina mentis opus.

Sed tum pracipuè, cum fit amoris opus. Ner me Pyrrhiades Methymniadesve puellie', Tupe te plus solito lascivia nostra juvabat, Nec me Lesbiadum catcra turba juvant.

Crebraque mobilitas, aptaquc verba joco; Vilis Anactorie, vilis mihi candida (vino : | Quique, ubi jam amborum fuerat confusa voluptas, Non oculis grata est Atthis, ut ante, meis ;

Plurimus in lasso corpore languor erat. Atque aliæ centum, quas non sine crimine amavi: Nunc tibi Sicclides veniunt nova prieda puellæ ;

Tuprobe, multarum quod fuit, uus habes. Quirt inihi cum Lesbo? Sicelis esse volo. Est in te facies, sunt apti lusibus anni.

| At vos erronem tellure reinittite nostrum, () facies oculis insidiosa ineis!

Nisiades matres, Nisiadesque nurus.
Sume fidem et pharetram ; fies manifestus Apollo: Xi'ul vos decipiant blanda mendacja lingua :
Accedant capiti cornua ; Bacchus eris.

Quæ dicit vobis, dixerat ute mihi.
Et Phabus Daphnen, et Gnosida Bacchus amavit ; | Tu quoque quæ montes celebras, Erycina, Sicanos,
Nec nộrat lyricos illa, vel illa mucos.

(Nam tut sum) rati consule, diva, tur. At mihi Perasides blandissima carmina dirtant; An gravis inceptum peragit fortuna tenorem? Jam canitur toto nomen in orbe ineum.

Ft manet in cursul semper acerba suo? Ner plus Alcais, consors patriæque Ivait que, | Sex milli natakas jerant, cum lecta parentis Laudis babet, quamvis grandius iile souet.

Aute diem lacrymas ossa bibere meas Si mihi difficilis formam natura nezavit;

Arsit inops frater, victus meritricis amore; mugenio forina damna i pendu mer.

Vistur cum turpi daun parlore tulit. Sum brevis, at nomen, quod territs impleat oinnes, Factoin inops agili peragit frrta carula reino : Est mibi; mensuram nominis ipsa foro.

Quasque mali amisit, nunc inale qurrit opes : Candida si non son, placuit Cephacia Perso Me quoque, quod moni bila multa fideliter, odit. Andromede, patriæ fusca colore suk:

Hoc mihi libertas, lane pia lingua dedit. Et variis albze junguntur sa pe columba,

Et tanquam desint, quam sine fine fatizant, Et niger à viridi turtur unatur 217.

coemulat cuas filia partit in as. Si, nisi qui facies poterit te digna videri,

Ultimatu nostris accedis cause querelis : Nulla futura tua est ; nulla futura trest.

Von atitur vinto nostri sina 110. At me cum lerrres, etiam formosa rid bar; Ecce, jacint collo sparirer les capilli; linan jurabas usque decore loqui.

Vieprimit aruculos in idag initio in os. Çantalam, meuini (meniin tunt omnia awants i peste tooni vili: illuun siirrolus aurum : Oscula cantaut tu nuilui rapta dabas.

Von Anabu nostis roma capillus ulit.

No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffuse Now by the Nine, those powers ador'd by me, The costly sweetness of Arabian dews,

And Love, the god that ever waits on thce, Nor braids of guld the varied tresses bind,

When first 1 heard (from whom I hardly knew) That fly disorder'd with the wanton wind:

That you were fied, and all my joys with you, For whom should Sappho use such arts as these? Like some sad statue, speechless, pale I stood, He's gone, whom only she desir'd to please! Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd my freezing Cupid's light darts my tender bosom more, No sigh to rise, no tear had power to flow, [blood; Still is there cause for Sappho still to love: Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe: So from my birth the Sisters fix'd my doom, But when its way th' impetuous passion found, And gave to Venus all my life to come ;

I rend my tresses, and my breast I wound; Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains, I rave, then weep; I curse, and then complain ; My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains. Now swell to rage, now melt to tears again. By charms like thine, which all my soul have won, Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame, Who might not-ah! who would not be undone? Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn,

My scornful brother with a smile appears, And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn: Insults my woes, and triumphs in my tears :' For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep,

His hated image ever haunts my eyes ; And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep:

“ And why this grief? thy daughter lives," he cries. Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies,

Stung with my love, and furious with despair, But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes. All torn my garments, and my bosom bare, Oscarce a youth, vet scarce a tender boy! My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim ;' O useful time for lovers to employ! ,

Such inconsistent things are love and shame! Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,

"Tis thou art all my care and my delight, Come to these arins, and melt in this embrace! My daily longing, and my dream by night: The vows you never will return, receive;

() night, more pleasing than the brightest day, And take at least the love you will not give.

When Fancy gives what absence takes away, See, while I write, my words are lost in tears!

And, dress'd in all its visionary charms, The less my sense, the more my love appears. Restores my fair deserter to my arms! Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adien;

Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twines (At least to feign was never hard to you !) (said; Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine : “ Farewell, my Lesbian love," you might hare

A thousand tender words I hear and speak; Or coldly thus, “ Farewell, oh Lesbian maid !”. A thousand melting kisses give, and take :: No tear did you, no parting kiss receive,

Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these, Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.

Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,

But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her. And all things wake to life and joy, but I ;
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give, As if once more forsaken, I complain,
But this, “ Be inindful of our loves, and live” And close my eyes to dream of you again :

Per tibi, qui nunquam longe discedat, Amorem. Cui colar infelix? aut cui placuisse laborem?

Perque novem juro, numina nostra, Deas; Me mihi cultus unicus auctor abest.

Cum mihi nescio quis, fugiunt tua gaudia, dixit Molle menm levibus cor est violabile telis;

Nec me flere diu, nec potuisse loqui: Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem. Et lacrymæ deerant oculis, et lingua palato: Sive ita nascenti legem dixére sorores,

Astrictuin gelido frigore pectus erat. Nec data sunt vita fila severa meæ ;

Postquam se dolor invenit ; nec pectora plangi, Sive abeunt studia in mores, artesque magistræ, | Nec puduit scissis exululare comis : Ingenium nobis molle Thalia facit.

Non aliter quam si nati pia mater adempti. Quid mirum, si me primæ lanuginis ætas

Portet ad extructos corpus inane rogos. Abstulit, atque anni, quos vir amare potest? Gaudet, et e nostro crescit moerore Charaxus Hunc ne pro Cephalo raperes, Aurora, timebam : 1 Frater; et ante oculos itque reditque meos . Et faceres; s'te prima rapina tenet.

| Utque pudenda mei videatur causa doloris : Hunc si conspiciat, qux conspicit ornnia, Phæbe;' Quid dolet hæc? certe filia vivit, ait. Jussils crit somnos continuare Phaon.

Non veniunt in idem pudor atque amor : omnę Hunc Venus in cælum curru vexisset eburno;

videbat Sed videt et Marti posse placere suo.

Vulgus; eram lacero pectus aperta sinu. O nec adhuc juvenis, nec jam puer! utilis ætas! Tu mihi cura, Phaon ; te somnia nostra reducunt; O decus, atque ævi gloria magna tui !

Somnia formoso candidiora die. Huc ades, inque sinus, formose, relabere nostros: Illic te invenio, quanquam regionibus absis; Non ut ames oro, veruin ut amare sinas.

Sed non longa satis guadia somnus habet, Scribimus, et lacrymis oculi rorantur obortis :

Szepe tuos nostra cervice onerare lacertos, Aspice', quam sit in bộc multa litura loco.

Sæpe tuæ videor supposuisse meos. Si tai certus eras hinc ire, modestius isses,

Blandior interduin, verisque simillima verba. Et modo dixisses : " Lesbi puella, vale. »

Eloquor ; et vigilant sensibus ora meis. Non tecum lacrymas, non oscula summa tulisti; Oscula cognosco; quæ tn committere lingua Denique non timui, quod dolitura fui.

Aptagne consgêras accipere, apta daro. Nil de te inccunt est, nisi tantum injuria : nec tu, Ulteriora pudet narrare; sed omnia fiunt. Admoneat quod te, pignus amantis habes.

Et juvat, et sine te non libet esse mihi. Non mancata dedi; neque enim mandata dedissem At cum sc Titan ostendit, et omnia secum; Ulla, nisi ut pollos imunompor esse mich

1 Tem ciw me somos chustituise queror

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