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Hafte, Theftylis, thy dying Mistress fends,
My Health on Delphis, and my Life depends,
Delphis, who gave, alone can cure the Wound;
No remedy for Love but Love is found:
In active Sports and Wrestling he delights,
And in the bright Palaftra often fits.

Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence Sprung my flame,
Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came.
There watch your time, and foftly let him know
Simatha fent you, then my Lodgings show.
She did, and ftraight his founding feet I heard,
Gods! but when lovely Delphis firft appear'd!
Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence sprung my flame,
Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came.
A death-like cold feiz'd on me, from my Brow,
Like Southern dew, the liquid drops did flow,
Stiff and unmov'd I lay, and on my Tongue
My dying words, when I would fpeak 'em, hung:
As when imperfect founds from Children fall,
When in their Dreams they on their Mother call.
Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence Sprung my flame,
Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came.
The cruel Man fat down upon my Bed,
And then with Eyes caft downward thus he said:
In Love you are as far before me gone,

As

young Philinus lately I out-run.

Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence fprung my flame, Fell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came. Had not your kinder Meffage call'd me home, By Love's fweet Joys at Night I would have come; Arm'd with my Friends I had befet you round, And my victorious Head with Poplar crown'd. Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence sprung my flame, Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came. Had you admitted me, it had been well, For I in swiftness, and in form excel, But that my vanquish'd Equals best may tell; Some fmaller favour then I had defir'd; And modeftly but with a Kifs retir❜d:

Had you been cruel, and your Doors been barr'd,
With Bars and Torches for the ftorm I was prepar'd
Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence sprung my flame,
Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came.
Now thanks to you great Queen of Love I owe,
And next, my fair Preferver, next to you;
She faw the burning Pain which I endure,
And recommends to you the mighty Cure;
For cool and gentle are all other fires

Compar'd with those which cruel Love infpires.
Tell, filver Phoebe, tell whence Sprung my flame,
Tell, for you know whence the dire Paffion came.
Love, tender Maids can from their Beds excite,
Nor darkness them, nor danger can afright,
Love's mighty power can the young Wife compel
From her warm fleeping Husband's Arms to steal,
He said: and I, a fond, believing Maid,
Preft and reclin'd him gently on my Bed;
Now a new heat return'd with his embrace,
Warmth to my Blood, and Colour to my Face,
And, to be fhort, with mutual Kiffes fir'd,
To the laft blifs we eagerly afpir'd,

And both attain'd, what both alike defir'd.

}

Now swift the hours, and wing'd with pleasure flew,
Calm were our Paffions, and no Tempest knew;
No quarrel could difturb our peaceful Bed,
But all thofe Joys this fatal Morning filed.
Aurora fcarce had chas'd away the Night,
And o'er the World diffus'd her rofie Light,
Philifta's Mother came, (and as she still

The Love, and News o'th' Town delights to tell ;)
She told me first that Delphis lov'd, but who
She could not tell, but that he lov'd the knew;
All figns of fome new Love the said she found,
His House adorn'd, and Doors with Garlands crown'd
She tells me true; oh my ill-boding fears!
And Delphis treachery too plain appears:
His vifits were more frequent, now at last,
Since he was here twelve tedious days are paft,"

"Tis so: and can he then fo cruel prove,
And I fo foon forgotten, and my Love?
Now I'm content to fee what Charms can do,
But if he dares go on to use me fo,
Provok'd at laft a Potion I'll prepare,
That by his Death fhall ease me of my care.
So fure the Poifon, and fo ftrong the Draught,
The fecret was by an Afyrian taught.

You, Cynthia, now may to the Sea decline,
And to the rifing Sun your light resign;

My Charm's now done, and has no longer force
To fix your Chariot, or retard your course ;
I, what I can't redress, must learn to bear,
And a fad Cure attend from my despair.
Adieu, O Moon, and every glimm'ring Light,
Adieu, ye gay Attendants on the Night.

The

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CYCLOPS.
THEOCRITUS Idyll. XI.

English'd by Mr. Duke of Cambridge.
Infcrib'd to Dr. Short.

Short, no Herb, no Salve was ever found

To ease a Lover's heart, or heal his wound

No Medicine this prevailing III fubdues,

None, but the Charms of the condoling Mufe;
Sweet to the Senfe, and eafie to the Mind
The Cure, but hard, but very hard to find.
This you well know, and furely none fo well,
Who both in Phyfick's facred Art excel,
And in Wit's Orb amongst the brightest shine,
The love of Phœbus, and the tuneful Nine.
Thus fweetly faid of old, the Cyclops ftrove
To foften his uneafie hours of Love;

Then when hot Youth urg'd him to fierce defire,
And Galatea's Eyes kindled the raging fire.
His was no common Flame, nor could he move
In the old Arts, and beaten Paths of Love;
Nor Flowers, nor Fruits fent to oblige the Fair,
Nor more to please, curl'd his neglected Hair.
His was all Rage, all Madness; to his Mind
No other Cares their wonted Entrance find.
Oft from the Field his Flock return'd alone
Unheeded, unobferv'd: he on some stone,
Or craggy Cliff, to the deaf Winds and Sea-
Accufing Galatea's Cruelty ;

Till Night from the first dawn of opening day,
Confumes with inward heat, and melts away..
Yet then a Cure, the only Cure he found,
And thus apply'd it to the bleeding Wound;
From a fteep Rock, from whence he might furvey
The Flood, (the Bed where his lov'd Sea-Nymph lay,)
His drooping head with forrow bent he hung,
And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful Song.
Fair Galatea, why is all my Pain

Rewarded thus foft Love with fharp Disdain?
Fairer than falling Snow or rifing Light,
Soft to the touch as charming to the fight;
Sprightly as unyok'd Heifers, on whofe head
The tender Crefcents but begin to spread;
Yet cruel you to harshness more encline,
Than unripe Grapes pluck'd from the favage Vine,
Soon as my heavy Eye-lid's feal'd with fleep,
Hither you come out from the foaming deep; -
But when fleep leaves me, you together fly,
And vanish swiftly from my opening Eye, [fpy.
Swift as young Lambs when the fierce Wolf they
I well remember the first fatal day

That made my Heart your Beauty's eafie Prey;
'Twas when the Flood you, with my Mother, left,
Of all its Brightness, all its Pride bereft,
To gather Flowers from the fteep Mountain's Top,
Of the high Office proud, I led you up ;

To Hyacinths, and Roses did you bring,
And fhew'd you all the Treasures of the Spring.
But from that hour my Soul has known no reft,
Soft peace is banifh'd from my tortur'd Breast,
I rage, I burn. Yet ftill regardless you
Not the leaft fign of melting pity fhew:
No; by the Gods that shall revenge my pain!
No; you, the more I love, the more difdain.
Ah! Nymph, by every Grace adorn'd, I know
Why you defpife and fly the Cyclops fo;
Because a fhaggy Brow from side to side,
Stretch'd in a line, does my large Forehead hide;
And under that one only Eye does shine,
And my flat Nofe to my big Lips does join.
Such tho' I am, yet know, a Thousand Sheep,
The pride of the Sicilian Hills, I keep ;
With fweetest Milk they fill my flowing Pails,
And my vaft ftock of Cheeses never fails;
In Summer's heat, or Winter's fharpeft cold,
My loaded Shelves groan with the weight they hold
With fuch foft Notes I the fhrill Pipe infpire,
That every liftning Cyclops does admire;
While with it often I all Night proclaim,

Thy powerful Charins, and my fuccefslefs Flame.
For thee twelve Does all big with Fawn, I feed,
And four Bear-Cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed.
Ah! come to me, fair Nymph, and you fall find
These are the smallest Gifts for thee defign'd.
Ah! come and leave the angry Waves to roar,
And break themselves against the founding fhoar.
How much more pleafant would thy flumbers be
In the retir'd and peaceful Cave with me?
There the ftreight Cypress and green Laurel join,
And creeping Ivy clafps the clufter'd Vine;
There fresh, cool Rills, from Atna's pureft Snow,
Diffolv'd into Ambrofial Liquor, flow.

Who the wild Waves, and brackish Sea could chufe,
And thefe ftill Shades, and thefe fweet Streams refuse?

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