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In vain you tell your parting lover,
Be gentle, and in pity choose
TO A LADY : she refusing to continue a dispute with me, and
leaving me in the argument.
Spare, generous Victor, spare the slave,
Who did unequal war pursue ;
In being overcome by you.
In the dispute whate'er I said,
My heart was by my tongue belied ;
How much I argued on your side.
You, far from danger as from fear,
Might have sustained an open fight :
Your eyes are always in the right.
Why, fair one, would you not rely
On Reason's force with Beauty's joined ?
I must at once be deaf and blind.
I only to the fight aspired :
Was all the glory I desired.
Contemns the wreath too long delayed ;
Calls cruel silence to her aid.
She drops her arins, to gain the field :
And triumphs, when she seems to yield. So when the Parthian turned his steed,
And from the hostile camp withdrew; With cruel skill the backward reed
He sent; and as he fled, he slew.
The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name :
But Chloe is my real flame.
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
That I should sing, that I should play.
But with my numbers mix my sighs :
·my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chloe blushed : Euphelia frowned :
I sung and gazed : I played and trembled :
Remarked, how ill we all dissembled.
As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
New-strung his bow, new-filled his quiver.
With all his might his bow he drew :
The too-well-guided arrow flew.
O cruel, could'st thou find none other
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.
Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye :
I took you for your likeness, Chloe.
A BETTER ANSWER 1.
Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face !
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled : Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world. How can’st thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy
The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping ? Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy:
More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping.
Tie. than the ‘Answer to Chloe jealous,' which usyally precedes it. To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ,
Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong: You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit :
Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a song? What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shews
The difference there is betwixt nature and art :
And they have my whimsies ; but thou hast my heart. The god of us verse-men (you know Child) the sun,
How after his journeys he sets up his rest :
At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast.
To thee, my delight, in the evening I come :
They were but my visits, but thou art my home.
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree : For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,
As he was a poet sublimer than me.
Dear Thomas, did'st thou never pop
Moved in the orb, pleased with the chimes,
So fares it with those merry blades, That frisk it under Pindus' shades. In noble songs, and lofty odes, They tread on stars, and talk with Gods; Still dancing in an airy round, Still pleased with their own verses' sound; Brought back, how fast soe'er they go, Always aspiring, always low.
To John I owed great obligation ;
But John, unhappily, thought fit To publish it to all the nation :
Sure John and I are more than quit.
Yes, every poet is a fool :
By demonstration Ned can show it: Happy, could Ned's inverted rule
Prove every fool to be a poet.
FOR MY OWN TOMB-STONE.
To me 'twas given to die : to thee 'tis given To live : alas! one moment sets us even. Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven!