Pardon this rapture, sir! but who can be Cold, and unmoved, yet have his thoughts on thee? Thy goodness may my several faults forgive, And by your help these wretched lines may live. But if, when view'd by your severer sight, They seem unworthy to behold the light, Let them with speed in deserv'd flames be thrown! They'll send no sighs, nor murmur out a groan; 40 But, dying silently, your justice own. [1] 'Lucretius': this piece is not contained in Anderson, or the edition of 1693. SONGS. STAY, PHOEBUS! 1 Stay, Phoebus! stay; The world to which you fly so fast, Conveying day From us to them, can pay your haste With no such object, nor salute your rise, With no such wonder as De Mornay's eyes. 2 Well does this prove The error of those antique books, Which made you move About the world; her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away. PEACE, BABBLING MUSE! 1 Peace, babbling Muse! I dare not sing what you indite; Her eyes refuse To read the passion which they write. She strikes my lute, but, if it sound, Threatens to hurl it on the ground; And I no less her anger dread, Than the poor wretch that feigns him dead, While some fierce lion does embrace His breathless corpse, and lick his face; Wrapp'd up in silent fear he lies, Torn all in pieces if he cries. CHLORIS! FAREWELL. 1 Chloris! farewell. I now must go; For if with thee I longer stay, Thy eyes prevail upon me so, I shall prove blind, and lose my way. 2 Fame of thy beauty, and thy youth, Among the rest, me hither brought; Finding this fame fall short of truth, Made me stay longer than I thought. 3 For I'm engaged by word and oath, A servant to another's will; Yet, for thy love, I'd forfeit both, Could I be sure to keep it still. 4 But what assurance can I take, When thou, foreknowing this abuse, For some more worthy lover's sake, Mayst leave me with so just excuse? 5 For thou mayst say, 'twas not thy fault That thou didst thus inconstant prove; Being by my example taught To break thy oath, to mend thy love. 6 No, Chloris! no: I will return, And raise thy story to that height, That strangers shall at distance burn, And she distrust me reprobate. 7 Then shall my love this doubt displace, And gain such trust, that I may come And banquet sometimes on thy face, But make my constant meals at home. TO FLAVIA. 1 'Tis not your beauty can engage My wary heart; The sun, in all his pride and rage, Has not that art; And yet he shines as bright as you, If brightness could our souls subdue. 2 'Tis not the pretty things you say, Nor those you write, Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey: For that delight, The graces of a well-taught mind, In some of our own sex we find.