But Time or Tide will ne'er deface

Her Image in my Breast.

IV.

Am I fome Savage Beast of Prey?

Am I fome horrid Monster grown ? That thus fhe flies fo fwift away,

Or meets me with a Frown.

V.

That Bofom foft, that Lilly Skin

(Truft not the faireft outward Show,) Contains a marble Heart within,

A Rock hid under Snow.

VI.

Ah me! the Flints and Pebbles wound

Her tender Feet, from whence there fell

Those crimson Drops, which stain the Ground, And beautify each Shell.

Ah!

VII.

Ah! Fair one, moderate thy Flight,
I will no more in vain pursue;
But take my Leave for a long Night;
Adieu, lov'd Maid, adieu.

VIII.

With that, he took a running Leap,
He took a Lover's Leap indeed,
And plung'd into the founding Deep,
Where hungry Fishes feed.

IX.

The Melancholy Hern stalks by,

Around the fquawling Sea-Gulls yell;

Aloft the croaking Ravens fly,

And toll his Fun'ral Bell.

X.

The Waters roll above his Head,

The Billows tofs it o'er and o'er;

His

His Ivory Bones lye fcattered,

And whiten all the Shore.

A Lover to his Mistress, on the fight of a Captive.
Tranflated from the Spanish.

EE, Faireft, yon poor Captive fee,
Condemn'd to Chains and Misery:
Thro' Grates of Iron hear him mourn
His cruel haughty Victor's Scorn;
Hear him, in helplefs hopeless Tale,
The Lofs of Liberty bewail.

See the big Drops, that down his Face
From their full Fountains fall apace;
Tear after Tear, fee how they flow,
With all the Eloquence of Woe!
Mark the Visage pale and thin,
Semblance of the Pangs within ;

Mark the gall'd and hollow Eye,

Never clos'd, and never dry; ›
Mark the Heavings of his Breaft,
Stranger to a Moment's Rest.

If Thy yielding Heart can melt,
Throbbings if it ever felt;

If an Object of Distress

Soften Thee to Tenderness;

Dear Unkind, Yon Captive fee,

Pity Him, and Think of me.

To Sir RICHARD STEELE. On his Comedy, The CONSCIOUS LOVERS.

A

Ccept the Muse, which Love and Wonder

[raife

To hail thy Labours, and attend thy Praife; Her lowlier Voice, amidst th' applauding Throng, O deign to hear, and patronize her Song:

What

What Thou approv'ft, That She aspires to be,
And only lives to Virtue, and to Thee.

Too long have Pride, Impiety, and Rage, And all the Pomp of Vice ufurp'd the Stage; Our Modern Mufe made modern Ways her Choice, And lent to Scenes impure her Heav'nly Voice; Alike degenerate both, the Stage and Times Tranfpos'd and authoriz'd each other's Crimes, Each still reflected each, with mutual Skill, And vy'd in all th' Alternatives of Ill.

[rife,

[Shame, 'Tis Thine, O Steele, to touch the Mufe with To point her Cotirfe, and call forth antient Fame. To teach the Stage whence noblest Praise should And bring Angelic Virtue to our Eyes: On Vice triumphant Thou ain't to fawn, And art the Chriftian Heroe thou hast drawn. To mend Mankind has been thy constant Aim, Fond to Inform, but fonder to Reclaim.