Imatges de pàgina
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II.

At her Expence this fatal Truth,
Meliffa late did prove,

Neither her Beauty, nor her Youth

Could long fecure his Love; The lavish Hero firft too fast,

(So vain was his Ambition)

That when three poor Attacks were past,
He wanted Ammunition.

III.

Were it Inconftancy alone,

Art might the Youth reclaim;

But when Love's vital Oyl is gone,

What can revive the Flame?

Ye GODS, by whom my Hopes are curft,

pray

Once grant me what I
Give Celadon lefs Heat at first,

Or better Funds to Pay.

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Trephon retiring to a Shade,

S Treph

To heal his Love-fick Mind;

By chance lit on a beauteous Maid,
Young, Generous, and Kind,

With freeft Talk, and eafy'ft Play,
1 She entertain'd the Swain,

His Grief before her melts away,
Her Words diffolve his Pain.

He look'd, and figh'd, and blefs'd the Fair.
But hop'd not to receive;

She fimil'd, and talk'd, and prais'd his Air,

But was too Coy to give..

At length the Youth in Accents mild,
Faintly defir'd the Blifs,

She trembling on the Shepherd, finil'd,

And frankly answer'd, Yes,

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LOVE and WAR. A Parallel.

OW Love and War the felf-fame AR T are grown, Men take a Mistress as they take a Town. First then confider, e'er you break the Ground, How ftrong fhe is, how many. Thoufand

Pound

Then from
your Lines of Circ. and Convallation,
Open your Trenches, and declare your Paffion:.
Make your Approaches to your wifh'd for Spouse,
Bomb her with Oaths, and batter her with Vows;
With Secrecy let all your Trains be laid,
And undermine her with her waiting Maid.
Now carry on your warm Approaches nigh'r,
For you make all the Elements confpire,.
Melt her with Water, who refifts your Fire.
Make falfe Attacks with pleasing useful Lies,,
With Kiffes Storm, and blow her up with Sighs.
Enter the lovely Fort you've bravely won,

She'll faintly Quarter cry, allow her none.

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I

I'Lately vow'd, but 'twas in haft,

That I no more would court

The Joys, which feem when they are paft,
As dull as they are short.

II.

I oft, to hate my Miftrefs, fwear,
But foon my Weakness find;

I make my Oaths, when she's fevere,.
And break 'em, when he's kind.

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TRANSLATION

O F

HORACE,

Land.

BOOK II. Ode 10.

IS beft the middle Way to keep,

And not decline to either Hand,
Nor launch too far into the Deep,
Nor fteer your Courfe too near the

Who neither wants nor wishes more,

Than what befits an even State,

Avoids the Curfe of being Poor,
The Plague and Torments of the Great,

On

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