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Errours of Wives reflect on Husbands still;
And when divulg'd, proclaim they've chofen ill:
And the mysterious Pow'r of Bed and Throne
Should always be maintain'd, but rarely fhown.
Men's Eyes are not fo fubtle to perceive
My inward Mifery: I bear my Grief

Hid from the World. How am I wretched then?
For ought I know all Husbands are like me;
And every Man I talk to of his Wife,

Is but a well Diffembler of his Woes,

As I am.

Dryd. Auren.

Beau. Maid's Tragedy.

Few know what Care a 'Husband's Peace destroys, His real Griefs, and his diffembled Joys.

HYPOCRISY.

Hypocrify, the thriving'ft Calling,
The only Saint's-Bell that rings all in:
In which all Churches are concern'd,
And is the easiest to be learn'd.
For no Degrees, unless th'employ it,
Can ever gain much, or enjoy it.
A Gift that is not only able
To domineer among the Rabbble;
But by the Law's impow'r'd to rout,
And awe the Greatest that ftand out;

Which few hold forth againft, for fear

Dryd. Ind. Emp.

Their Hand fhould flip, and come too near:
For no Sin elfe among the Saints,
Is taught fo tenderly againft.

Seeming Devotion does but guild a Knave,

But where Religion does with Virtue join,

That's neither faithful, honeft, juft, nor brave;

It makes a Hero like an Angel fhine.

Yet few are truly by themfelves exprefs'd:

He that seems Virtuous, does but act a Part,

Hud.

Wall.

And fhows not his own Nature, but his Art. How. Veft. Virg.

JAVELIN.

She wrench'd the Jav'lin with her dying Hands:
But wedg'd within her Breaft the Weapon ftands.
The Wood fhe draws, the fteely Point remains.

Pois'd in his lifted Arm, his Lance he threw,
The winged Weapon, whistling in the Wind,
Came driving on, nor mifs'd the Mark defign'd.
The Shield gave way: Through treble Plates it went
Of folid Brass, of Linnen trebly roul'd,

And Three Bull-hides which round the Buckler fold.
All these it pafs'd, refiftlefs in the Course.

Dryd. Virg.

Tranfpierc'd his Thigh, and spent its dying Force. Dryd. Virg.

His feeble Hand a Jav'lin threw,
Which, fluttering, feem'd to loiter as it flew ;
Juft, and but barely, to the Mark it held,
And faintly tinkled on the brazen Shield.
JEALOUSY.

The greater Care, the higher Paffion fhews:
We hold that dearest, we moft fear to lose :
Diftruft in Lovers is too warm a Sun,

But yet'tis Night in Love when that is gone :

Dryd. Virg.

And in thofe Climes which moft his Scorching know,

He makes the nobleft Fruits and Metals grow.Dryd.Cong. of Gran. What Arts can blind a jealous Woman's Eyes?

Love the firft Motions of the Lover hears,

Quick to prefage, and ev'n in Safety fears.
Jealoufy is a noble Crime

;

'Tis the high Pulfe of Paffion in a Feaver;
A fickly Draught, but fhews a burning Thirst.
For Jealoufy is but a kind

Of Clap, or Crincam of the Mind:

The natural Effect of Love,

As other Pains and Aches prove.

Dryd. Virg.

Dryd. Amphit:

Ah! Why are not the Hearts of Women known ?

Hud:

Falfe Women to new Joys unfeen can move,

There are no Prints left in the Paths of Love:

All Goods befides by publick Marks are known,

(p. 2.

But that we most defire to keep has none. Dryd. Cong, of Gran.

No Sign of Love in jealous Men remains,

(Gran. p. 2.

But that which fick Men have of Life, their Pains. Dryd. Cong. of

Small Jealoufies, 'tis true, inflame Defire,

The Great not fan, but quite put out the Fire.

O Jealoufy! thou raging Ill!

Why haft thou found a Place in Lover's Hearts?

Afflicting what thou canst not kill,

Dryd.Auren.

(Alban.

And poys'ning Love himself with his own Darts. Dryd. Alb. &

What State of Life can be fo bleft

As Love, that warms a Lover's Breast?
Two Souls in one; the fame Defire
To grant the Blifs, and to require.
But if in Heav'n a Hell we find,
'Tis Jealoufy, thou Tyrant of the Mind!
All other Ills, tho' fharp they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect Love:
In Abfence, or unkind Difdain,

Sweet Hope relieves the Lover's Pain.
Thou art the Fire of endless Night,

The Fire that burns,and gives no Light. Dr. Love Trium.

What

What Tortures can there be in Hell,
Compar'd to thofe fond Lovers feel,
When doating on fome fair One's Charms;
They think the yields them to their Rival's Arms?
As Lions, tho' they once were tame,

Yet if fharp Wounds their Rage inflame,
Lift up their ftormy Voices, roar,

And tear the Keepers they obey'd before.

So fares the Lover, when his Breaft
By jealous Frenzy is poffefs'd:

Forfwears the Nymph for whom he burns,
Yet ftrait to her, whom he forfwears, returns.
But when the Fair refolves his Doubt,
The Love comes in, the Fear goes out:
The Cloud of Jealoufy's difpell'd;
And the bright Sun of Innocence reveal'd:
With what ftrange Raptures is he bleft,
Raptures, too great to be exprefs'd!
Tho' hard the Torment's to endure,

Who would not have the Sickness for the Cure ?
Love reigns a very Tyrant in my Heart;
Attended on his Throne by all his Guard
Of furious Wifhes, Fears, and nice Sufpicions.
Think'ft thou I'll make a Life of Jealoufy,
To follow ftill the Changes of the Moon
With fresh Surmifes? No, to be once in Doubt;
Is to be refolv'd. But yet, Jago,

I'll fee before I doubt: When I doubt, prove;
And on the Proof there is no more but this,
Away at once with Love or Jealoufy.

If I do prove her haggard,

Tho' that her Jeffes were my dear Heart-ftrings,
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the Wind,
To prey at Fortune.

Villain! be fure thou prove my Love a Whore,
Be fure of it! give me the ocular Proof,
Or by the Worth of my eternal Soul,

Thou hadft much better have been born a Dog,
Than answer my wak'd Wrath:

Make me to fee it, or at least so prove it,
That the Probation bear no Hinge, no Loop
To hang a Doubt on, or Woe upon thy Life!
If thou doft flander her, and torture me,
Never pray more, abandon all Remorse,
On Horrour's Head Horrours accumulate,
Do Deeds to make Heav'n weep, all Earth amaz'd,
For nothing canft thou to Damnation add,

Walfb.

Otw. Orph.

Greater

Greater than that.

Give me a living Reafon fhe's difloyal,

I'll have fome Proof: My Name that was as fresh
As Dian's Vifage, is now begrim'd and black
As my own Face. If there be Cords or Knives,
Poifon or Fire, or fuffocating Streams,

I'll not indure it: I'll be fatisfy'd.
It is impoffible you should see this;
But yet, I fay,

If Imputation and ftrong Circumstances,
Which lead directly to the Door of Truth,
Will give you Satisfaction, you may have it.

Oh that the Slave had Forty thousand Lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my Revenge!
Now do I fee 'tis true! Look here, Fago!

All my fond Love thus do I blow to Heav'n! 'Tis gone!
Arife black Vengeance from the hollow Hell:
Yield up, O Love, thy Crown and hearted Throne
To tyrannous Hate! fwell, Bofom, with thy Fraught,
For 'tis of Afpicks Tongues. Like to the Pontick Sea,
Whofe Icy Current, and compulsive Course,
Ne'er knows retiring Ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontick and the Hellefpont

Ev'n fo my bloody Thoughts, with violent Pace,

Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble Love,
Till that a capable, and wide Revenge

Swallow them up.

Oh you have done an A&,

That blots the Face, and Blufh of Modefty;
Calls Virtue Hypocrite, takes off the Rofe
From the fair Forehead of an innocent Love,
And makes a Blifter there: Makes Marriage-Vows
As falfe as Dicers Oaths. Oh fuch a Deed!
Heav'ns Face does glow at it.

Yea, this Solidity and compound Mafs,'
With triftful Vifage, as against the Doom,
Is Thought-fick at the A&t.

Thou art as honeft

As Summer Flies are in the Shambles,

That quicken even with blowing. O thou Weed

Who art fo lovely fair, and look'ft fo fweet,

That the Senfe akes at thee!

Was this fair Paper, this moft goodly Book

Shak. Gthel.

Shak. Haml.

Made to write Whore upon? O thou publick Commones

I should make very Forges of my Cheeks,
That would to Cindars burn up Modefty,
Did I but speak thy Deeds.

Heav'n ftops the Nofe at it, and the Moon winks,
The bawdy Wind, that killes all it meets,
Is bufh'd within the hollow Mine of Earth,
And will not hear it.

Let Ignominy brand thy hated Name,

Let modeft Matrons at thy Mention start;

And blushing Virgins, when they read our Annals,
Skip o'er the guilty Page that holds thy Legend,
And blots the noble Work.

Had it pleas'd Heav'n

Shak. Othel.

Shak. Troil. & Cref.

To try me with Afflictions: Had they rain'd
All Kinds of Sores and Shames on my bare Head,
Steep'd me in Poverty to the very Lips,

Giv'n to Captivity me and my utmost Hopes,
I fhould have found in fome Place of my Soul
A Drop of Patience. But alas! to make me
The fix'd Figure for the Time of Scorn
To point his flow and moving Finger at !
Yet could I bear that too! Well, very well!
But there, where I had garner'd up my Heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no Life;
The Fountain from the which my Current runs,
Or Ife dries up: To be difcarded thence,
Or keep it as a Cistern for foul Toads

To knot and gender in! Turn thy Complexion there,
Patience, thou young and Rofe-lip'd Cherubim,
I here look grim as Hell.

Shak. Othel.

O plague me, Heav'n, plague me with all the Woes
That Man can fuffer: Root up my Poffeffions,
Ship-werck my far fought Ballaft in the Haven,
Fire all my Cities, burn my Dukedoms down,
Let midnight Wolves howl in my defart Chambers,
May the Earth yawn! fhatter the Frame of Nature!
Let the wreck'd Orbs in Whirlwinds round me move!
But fave me from the Rage of jealous Love!

Lee Caf. Borg.

For oh! what damned Minutes tells he o'er,
Who doats, yet doubts; fufpe&ts, yet ftrongly loves. Shak.Othel.
And Doubts and Fears to Jealoufies will turn,

The hotteft Hell in which a Heart can burn.
How frail, how cowardly is Woman's Mind!
We fhriek at Thunder, dread the ruftling Wind
And glitt'ring Swords the brighteft Eyes will blind.
Yet when ftrong Jealoufy inflames the Soul,
The Weak will roar, and Calms to Tempests roul.
Torment me with this horrid Rage no more ;

O fmile, and grant one reconciling Kifs:
Ye Gods! fhe's kind, I'm Extafie all oe'r!

Con.

}

Lee Alem.

M】

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