Sung by GUIDERUS and ARVIRAGUS over FIDELE, fuppofed to be dead.
O fair Fidele's graffy tomb
Soft maids, and village hinds fhall bring
Each op'ning fweet, of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing Spring.
No wailing ghoft shall dare appear
To vex with fhrieks this quiet grove :
But shepherd lads affemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch fhall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew :
The female fays fhall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dewl
IV.
The red-breast oft at ev'ning hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid :
With hoary mofs, and gather'd flow'rs,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
V.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempefts shake the fylvan cell:
Or 'midft the chace on ev'ry plain,
The tender thought on thee fhall dwell.
Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed:
Belov'd, till life could charm no more;
And mourn'd, till Pity's felf be dead.
Say, thou dear poffeffor of my breast,
Where now's my boasted liberty and rest !
Where the gay moments which I once have known,
O where that heart I fondly thought my own!
From place to place I solitary roam,
Abroad uneafy, nor content at home.
I fcorn the beauties common eyes adore,
The more I view them, feel thy worth the more;
Unmov'd I hear them fpeak, or fee them fair,
And only think on thee-who art not there.
In vain would books their formal fuccour lend,
Nor wit, nor wisdom can relieve their friend;
Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure,
And wisdom shows the ill without the cure.
When from thy fight I waste the tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, and things to say ;
But when thy presence gives the time I seek,
My heart's fo full, I wish, but cannot speak.
And cou'd I fpeak with eloquence and ease,
Till now not ftudious of the art to please,
Cou'd I, at woman who so oft exclaim,
Expofe (nor blush) thy triumph and my fhame,
Abjure thofe maxims I fo lately priz❜d,
And court that fex I foolishly despis'd,
Own thou haft foften'd my obdurate mind,
And thou reveng'd the wrongs of womankind:
Loft were my words, and fruitless all my pain,
In vain to tell thee all I write in vain ;
My humble fighs fhall only reach thy ears,
And all my eloquence fhall be my tears.
And now (for more I never must pretend)
Hear me not as thy lover, but thy friend;
Thousands will fain thy little heart enfnare,
For without danger none like thee are fair;
But wifely chufe who best deserves thy flame,
So fhall the choice itself become thy fame;
Nor yet defpife, tho' void of winning art,
The plain and honest courtship of the heart:
The skilful.tongue in love's persuasive lore,
Tho' less it feels, will please and flatter more,
And meanly learned in that guilty trade
Can long abufe a fond, unthinking maid.
And fince their lips, fo knowing to deceive,
'Thy unexperienc'd youth might foon believe,
And fince their tears in falfe fubmiffion drest
Might thaw the icy coldness of thy breaft,
O! shut thine eyes to fuch deceitful woe ;
Caught by the beauty of thy outward fhow,"
Like me they do not love, whate'er they seem,
Like me-
-with paffion founded on esteem.
Answer to the foregoing Lines.
OO well thefe lines that fatal truth declare,
Which long I've known, yet now I blush to hear.
But fay, what hopes thy fond ill-fated love,
What can it hope, tho' mutual it shou'd prove?
This little form is fair in vain for you,
In vain for me thy honeft heart is true;
For wou'd'ft thou fix difhonour on my name,
And give me up to penitence and shame;
Or gild my ruin with the name of wife,
And make me a poor virtuous wretch for life:
Cou'd'ft thou fubmit to wear the marriage chain,
(Too fure a cure for all thy prefent pain)
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