[3] A famous Swiss chief FROM _PHILANDER TO EUMENES_. With pleasure I your welcome letter read, While Cupid for a little from me fled. With freedom write, dispel your trivial fears; There’s nought presumptuous in your song appears; Tho’ strange th’ ideas which you now convey, While you our lovely females thus portray. No doubt, there are, in the promiscuous crowd, The worthless fair, the virtuous and the good; The haughty nymph, the maid of humble mind; Th’ imperious, yea, the gentle and the kind; Such as an adamantine heart could charm, And furious tygers of their rage disarm. In all vicissitudes of human life, Man’s greatest blessing is a virtuous wife: Her smiles can’t fail to sooth his anxious breast, Diffusing joy, while various cares molest: Her prudent counsel swift relief can bring, As Abigail appeased Isr’el’s king. Nor need I thus the sacred annals trace, In Britain’s Isle they claim the highest place; When dire oppression, with uplifted hand, His yoke extended o’er our native land, Our sires to abject slavery were doom’d, Our mothers all their ancient claims resum’d: You’ll say my speeches do me partial prove, And so ascribe the cruel cause to love. Are you alone exempt from such a guest? Are you of every antidote possess’d T’ effect a cure, or mitigate the pain? Then may the archer cast his shafts in vain. Of late dear friend I did such valour boast; But by one fatal glance the field was lost. While you are free of dangers, still beware; Be warn’d by me, and shun th’ alluring snare. It is by some deem’d cowardice to fly, But sure it more ignoble is to die: To die, I’m frantic, sir; what did I say? Reason once more resume thy wonted sway; Kind heaven defend us from such dire alarms; Who would a victim fall to female charms? I find I’m better while your lines I read, I’m almost from my Gallic fetters free’d. As you alone were partner of my grief, Pray now congratulate my quick relief. I would not by prolixity offend; Both bound and free, Philander is your friend. _SYLVIA AND ARMEDA._ ARMEDA. Why dost thou Sylvia pensive sit? Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow? Oft hast thou cheer’d us by thy wit, Why thus reserv’d and sullen now? Hast thou thy little lap-dog lost? Can Celia’s dress excite envy? Is Flavia now the fav’rite toast, Or dost thou for a lover sigh? SYLVIA. Be Flavia still the toast of beaux; Such trifles ne’er could give me pain: But know the cause of all my woes, The dear Alonzo’s left the plain. His music oft has charm’d the grove; So soft his pipe, so sweet his air: None heard, but felt the power of love, ’Mong all the nymphs assembl’d there. Not Philomel’s delightful strain Could such extatic joys impart, As did thy notes, O darling swain! Which well can cheer the anxious heart. His count’nance as Aurora bright, His smiles gave joy to all around; In virtue, wit, and all that’s right, Alonzo’s equal ne’er was found.