From all the hasty Fury Passion breeds, And into deaf and blinded Error leads, From words that bear Damnation in the sound, And do the Soul as well as Honour wound, That by degrees of Madness lead us on To Indiscretion, Shame, Confusion; From Fondness, Lying, and Hypocrisie, From my neglect of what I ow to thee; From Scandal, and from Pride, divert my thought, And from my Neighbour grant I covet nought; From black Ingratitude, and Treason, Lord, Guard me, even in the least unreverend word. In my Opinion, grant, O Lord, I may, } Be guided in the true and rightful way, } And he that guides me may not go astray; } Do thou, oh Lord, instruct me how to know Not whither, but which way I am to go; For how should I an unknown passage find, When my instructing Guide himself is blind. All Honour, Glory, and all Praise be given To Kings on Earth, and to our God in Heaven. --_Amen._ SELINDA _and_ CLORIS, _made in an Entertainment at Court. By Mrs._ A. B. _Selinda._ As young _Selinda_ led her Flock, Beneath the Shelter of a shaded Rock, The Melancholy _Cloris_ by, Thus to the Lovely Maid did sighing cry. _Cloris._ _Selinda_, you too lightly prize, The powerful Glorys of your Eyes; To suffer young _Alexis_ to adore, _Alexis_, whom Love made my slave before; I first adorn’d him with my Chains, } He Sigh’d beneath the rigour of my Reign; } And can that Conquest now be worth your pain? } A Votary you deserve who ne’er knew how, To any Altars but your own to bow. _Selinda._ Is it your Friendship or your Jealousie, That brings this timely aid to me? With Reason we that Empire quit, Who so much Rigour shows, And ‘twould declare more Love than Wit, Not to recall his Vows. If Beauty could _Alexis_ move, He might as well be mine; He saw the Errors of his Love, He saw how long in vain he strove, And did your scorn decline; And, _Cloris_, I the Gods may imitate, And humble Penitents receive, tho late. _Cloris._ Mistaken Maid, can his Devotion prove Agreeable or true, Who only offers broken Vows of Love? Vows which, _Selinda_, are my due. How often prostrate at my feet h’as lain, Imploring Pity for his Pain? My heart a thousand ways he strove to win, Before it let the Charming Conqueror in; Ah then how soon the Amorous heat was laid! How soon he broke the Vows he made! Slighting the Trophies he had won. And smiling saw me sigh for being undone. _Selinda._