As Chloe fair, a new-made bride, Sat knotting in an arbour, To Colin now the damsel ty'd, No strange affection harbour. II. "How poor," says [she, "'s a] single life, A maid's affected carriage; Spent in sighs and inward strife, Things unknown in marriage. III. "Virgins vainly say they're free, None so much confin'd are; 10 Lovers kind and good may be, Husbands may be kinder. IV. "Then shun not wedlock's happy chain, Nor wantonly still fly man; A single life is care and pain, Blessings wait on Hymen." G. EBBARE. CONCLUDING LINES OF PRIZE POEM ON HOPE. [Before October, 1772.] * * * * * * * * * * * * * But, above all, the POET owns thy powers-- Hope leads him on, and every fear devours; He writes, and, unsuccessful, writes again, Nor thinks the last laborious work in vain; New schemes he forms, and various plots he tries To win the laurel, and possess the PRIZE. TO EMMA. View, my fair, the fading flower, Clad like thee in [beauty's] arms, Idle pageant of an hour; Soon shall time its tints devour, And what are then its charms? Early pluck'd, it might produce A remedy to mortal pain, Afford a balmy cordial juice, That might celestial ease diffuse, Nor blossom quite in vain. 10 So 'tis with thee, my Emma fair, If nature's law's unpaid, If thou refuse our vows to hear And steel thy heart to ev'ry pray'r, A cruel frozen maid. But yield, my fair one, yield to love, And joys unnumber'd find, In Cupid's mystic circle move, Eternal raptures thou shalt prove, Which leave no pang behind. 20 G. EBBAAC. _Suffolk, Oct. 15, 1772._ _'Multa cadunt inter calicem supremaque labra.'_ DESPAIR. [November, 1772.] _Heu mihi!_ _Quod nullis amor medicabilis herbis._ OVID. Tyrsis _and_ Damon. _D._ Begin, my Tyrsis; songs shall sooth our cares, Allay our sorrows, and dispel our fears; Shall glad thy heart, and bring its native peace, And bid thy grief its weighty influence cease. No more those tears of woe, dear shepherd, shed, Nor ever mourn the lov'd Cordelia dead. _T._ In vain, my Damon, urge thy fond request To still the troubles of an anxious breast: Cordelia's gone! and now what pain is life Without my fair, my friend, my lovely wife? 10 Hope! cheerful hope! to distant climes is fled, And Nature mourns the fair Cordelia dead. _D._ But can thy tears re-animate the earth, Or give to sordid dust a second birth? Mistaken mortal! learn to bear the ill, Nor let that canker, grief, thy pleasures kill. No more in Sorrow's sable garb array'd, Still [mourn] thy lov'd, thy lost Cordelia dead.