For one soft hour with thee, my charming Swain, Wou’d Recompence an Age to come of Shame, Cou’d it as well but satisfie my Fame. But oh! those tender hours are fled and lost, And I no more of Fame, or Thee can boast! ‘Twas thou wert Honour, Glory, all to me: } Till Swains had learn’d the Vice of Perjury, } No yielding Maids were charg’d with Infamy. } ‘Tis false and broken Vows make Love a Sin, Hadst thou been true, We innocent had been. But thou less faith than _Autumn_ leaves do’st show, Which ev’ry Blast bears from their native Bough. Less Weight, less Constancy, in thee is born, Than in the slender mildew’d Ears of Corn. Oft when you Garlands wove to deck my hair, } Where mystick Pinks, and Dazies mingled were, } You swore ‘twas fitter Diadems to bear: } And when with eager Kisses prest my hand, Have said, _How well a Scepter ‘twou’d command!_ And when I danc’d upon the Flow’ry Green, } With charming, wishing Eyes survey my Mien, } And cry! the Gods design’d thee for a Queen! } Why then for _Helen_ dost thou me forsake? Can a poor empty Name such difference make? Besides if Love can be a Sin, thine’s one, To _Menelaus_ _Helen_ does belong. Be Just, restore her back, She’s none of thine, And, charming _Paris_, thou art onely mine. ‘Tis no Ambitious Flame that makes me sue To be again belov’d, and blest by you; No vain desire of being ally’d t’ a King, } Love is the onely Dowry I can bring, } And tender Love is all I ask again; } Whilst on her dang’rous Smiles fierce War must wait With Fire and Vengeance at your Palace gate, Rouze your soft Slumbers with their rough Alarms, And rudely snatch you from her faithless Arms: Turn then, fair Fugitive, e’er ‘tis too late, E’er thy mistaken Love procures thy Fate; E’er a wrong’d Husband does thy Death design, And pierce that dear, that faithless Heart of thine. A Voyage to the Isle of Love. INTRODUCTION.