English

BUT why
Do the wing'd minutes fly
So fast away?
Stop your course, ye hasty hours,
And solicit all the powers
To let you stay.
For the earth could ne'er show forth
An object of a greater worth. 2nd Treble:

But why
Do the wing'd minutes fly

Drowsy Phaebus, come away,
And let out the longed-for day,
Leave thy Thetis' silver breast,
And ope the casements of the east.
'Tis Venus calls: away, away,
The waking mortals long for day. Thetis:
And let them long; 'tis just and right
To shut them in eternal night,
Whose deeds deserve no day. Lie still,
Arise not yet, lie still, my Sun;
My night begins when thou art gone. Venus:
I'll woo thee with a kiss to come away. Thetis:

What are earthly honours
But sin's glorious banners?
Let not golden gifts delight thee,
Let not death nor torments fright thee
From thy place thy Captain gives thee;
When thou faintest he relieves thee.
Hark how the lark
Is to the morning singing,
Hark how the bells are ringing,
It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying:
This is not life; true life is got by dying.

From whence was first this Fury hurled,
This Jealousy into the world?
From Hell? A . No, there doth reign
Eternal hatred with disdain.
But she the daughter is of Love,
Sister of Beauty. Q . Then above
She must derive, from the third sphere,
Her heavenly off-spring? A . Neither there,
From those immortal flames could she
Draw her cold frozen pedigree. Q .
If not in Heaven, nor Hell, where then
Had she her birth? A . In the hearts of men.
Beauty and Fear did her create
Younger than Love, elder than Hate,

TO MR. GEORGE GREENVILLE .

O H ! form'd alike to serve us and to please;
Polite with honesty, and learn'd with ease;
With heart to act, with genius to retire;
Open, yet wise; though gentle, full of fire;
With thee, I scorn the low constraint of art,
Nor fear to trust the follies of my heart:
Hear then from what my long despair arose,
The faithful story of a lover's woes.
When, in a sober melancholy hour,
Reduc'd by sickness under reason's power,
I view'd my state, too little weigh'd before,

TO MISS DASHWOOD.

IN THE MANNER OF OVID .

O say, thou dear possessor of my breast,
Where's now my boasted liberty and rest!
Where the gay moments which once have known!
O, where that heart I fondly thought my own!
From place to place I solitary roam,
Abroad uneasy, not content at home.
I scorn the beauties common eyes adore;
The more I view them, feel thy worth the more;
Unmov'd I hear them speak, or see them fair,
And only think on thee, who art not there.

TO DELIA .

What scenes of bliss my raptur'd fancy fram'd,
In some lone spot, with peace and thee retir'd,
Though reason then my sanguine fondness blam'd,
I still believ'd what flattering love inspir'd.

But now my wrongs have taught my humble mind,
To dangerous bliss, no longer to pretend:
In books a calm, but fixt, content to find;
Safe joys, that on ourselves alone depend.

With them, the gentle moments I beguile
In learned ease, and elegant delight,

HE IMAGINES HIMSELF MARRIED TO DELIA, AND THAT
CONTENT WITH EACH OTHER THEY ARE RETIRED INTO
THE COUNTRY .

Let others boast their heaps of shining gold,
And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd,
Whom neighbouring foes in constant terror hold,
And trumpets break their slumbers never sound:

While calmly poor, I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure, by my chearful fire,
No wanton hope, my quiet shall betray,
But cheaply blest, I'll scorn each vain desire.

TO DELIA .

N O second love shall e'er my heart surprise,
This solemn league did first our passion bind:
Thou, only thou, canst please thy lover's eyes,
Thy voice alone can soothe his troubled mind.

Oh that thy charms were only fair to me,
Displease all others, and secure my rest,
No need of envy, — let me happy be,
I little care, that others know me blest.

With thee, in gloomy deserts let me dwell,
Where never human footstep mark'd the ground;

AGAINST LOVERS GOING TO WAR, IN WHICH HE
PHILOSOPHICALLY PREFERS LOVE AND DELIA, TO THE
MORE SERIOUS VANITIES OF THE WORLD .

The man, who sharpen'd first the warlike steel,
How fell and deadly was his iron heart,
He gave the wound, encountring nations feel,
And death grew stronger, by his fatal art:

Yet not from steel, debate and battle rose,
'Tis gold o'erturns the even scale of life,
Nature is free to all, and none were foes,
Till partial luxury began the strife.