To you my fair, the empress of my heart, I’m urg’d to vent my pure, untainted flame; Tho’ language faintly can my thoughts impart, My swelling sighs, your kind attention claim. See Venus self outrival’d by your charms: Vain my attempt thy virtues to portray O come my darling hasten to my arms Within my bosom still you bear the sway. Life without thee no pleasure can bestow; O might my suit thy tender pity move! No muse can paint the ills I undergo; And nought can cure them but my Delia’s love. No bold ambitions views inspire my breast: And what is honour but an empty name? While Delia scorns, I never can be blest, Though sounding heralds did my praise proclaim. Know, lovely charmer, that our ancient sire Did languish, tho’ in Eden’s fragrant bow’rs; Till the first nymph bade love his breast inspire, And by her presence cheer’d the ling’ring hours. But Adam’s love could never equal mine, Nor did bright Eve such radient beauty share. O come, my darling, heart and hand resign, And ev’ry muse shall hail the happy pair. FROM _DELIA TO ALONZO_. When Adam was in spacious Eden plac’d, Where rural sweets luxuriant did abound, All that could charm the eye or please the taste, In this blest scene of happiness was found. O’er wide creation, he an empire sway’d: The creatures all with whom the world was stor’d, His sov’reign mandates with delight obey’d, And own’d him as their universal lord. What would he more, to render bless complete? You say he lack’d the sweets of social life, Until fair Eve, with charms divinely sweet, Became his friend, his partner, and his wife But think, fond youth, how transient was the bliss. Scarce had he felt the joys of mutual love, Scarce had he once receiv’d th’ ambrosial kiss, When ah! his darling did his ruin prove! Did she, who was adorn’d with ev’ry grace, Prove fatal to the father of mankind? Who of her daughters, a degen’rate race, Can boast more art the tranquil hours to bind? To sue for better, sir, would be in vain: None ever yet did mother Eve excel. Be warn’d by Adam; shun the glitt’ring train, Lest some fond nymph your pleasures all expel. A single life we find replete with joys. The matrimonial chain I ever dread. A state of celibacy is my choice; Therefore Alonzo never can succeed. FROM _DELIA TO ALONZO_. WHO HAD SENT HER A SLIGHTING EPISTLE. Sir, I your letter did peruse; So elegant the style you use, Abash’d, confounded I did muse Struck with amaze; Great wit and learning you diffuse In all your lays. You’ve been upon Parnassus’ top, More high than Alexander Pope; And wild Arabia’s plains you grope For Phenix rare, That useful knowledge you may drop, While dunces stare. Your Pegasus, still on the wing, More sweet than Philomel you sing; And swift from distant climes you bring Notes hard to read: Does Phenix, sir, from ashes spring? ’Tis strange indeed.