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Whose Aid so many Lovers oft have found,
With like Success can ever heal my Wound:
Too weak the Pow'r of Nature, or of Art,
Nothing but Death can ease a broken Heart.
And that thou may'lt behold my helpless State,
Learn the extremest Rigour of my Fate.
Amidst th' innumerable beauteous Train,
Paris, the Queen of Cities, does contain,
(The faireft Town, the largest, and the best,)
The fair ALMERIA shin'd above the rest.
From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeless Flame,
Was of our Youth the most ambitious Aim ;
Her Chains were Marks of Honour to the Brave,
She made a Prince whene'er she made a Slave.
Love, under whose tyrannick Pow'r I groan,
Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 'twas fully blown;
Her tim'rous Charms, and her unpractis'd Look,
Their first Assurance from my Conquest took;
By wounding me she learn’d the fatal Art,
And the first Sigh she had was from my
My Eyes with Tears moistning her snowy Arms,
Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms.
But, as I soonest of all mortals paid
My Vows, and to her Beauty Altars made;
So, among all those Slaves that sigh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my Chain. .
Love's heavy Burden my submissive Heart
Endur'd not long, before she bore her part ;
My vi'olent Flame melted her frozen Breast,
And in soft Sighs her Pity she express’d;
Her gentle Voice allay'd my raging Pains,
And her fair Hands sustain'd me in my Chains:
Ev'n Tears of Pity waited on my Moan,
And tender Looks were cast on me alone.
My Hopes and Dangers were less mine than hers,
Those fill’d her Soul with Joys, and these with
Our Hearts united had the same Desires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient Fires.
Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave
Thy wretched Master kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not Possessor of her Charms,
Let me not find her languish in my Arms;
Past Joys are now my Fancy's mournful Themes ;
Make all my happy Nights appear but Dreams :
Let not such Bliss before my Eyes be brought;
O hide those Scenes from my tormenting Thought;
And in their place disdainful Beauty show;
If thou would'st not be cruel, make her so:
And, something to abate my deep Despair,
O let her seem less gentle, or less fair.
But I in vain flatter my wounded Mind,
Never was Nymph so lovely, or so kind:
No cold Repulses my Desires suppress’d,
I feldom figh'd but on ALMERIA’s Breast :
Of all the Passions which Mankind destroy,
I only felt Excess of Love and Joy :
Unnumber'd Pleasures charni’d my Sense, and they
Wcre, as my Love, without the least Allay.
As pure, alas! but not so sure to last,
For, like a pleasing Dream, they all are past.
From Heav'n herBeauties like fierce Light’nings came,
Which brcak through Darkness with a gloriousFlamc;
A while they shine, a while our Minds amaze,
Our wond'ring Eyes are dazled with the Blaze;
But Thunder follows, whose resistless Rage
None can withstand, and nothing can assuage ;
And all that Light which those bright Flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our Grave.
When I had just begun Love's Joys to taste,
(Those full Rewards for Fears and Dangers past)
A Fever seiz'd her, and to nothing brought
The richeft Work that ever Nature wrought.
All things below, alas, uncertain stand;
The firmest Rocks are fix'd upon
the Sand :
Under this Law both Kings and Kingdoms bend,
And no Beginning is without an End.
A Sacrifice to Time, Fate dooms us all,
And at the Tyrant's Feet we daily fall :
Time, whose bold Hand will bring alike to Dust
Mankind, and Temples too in which they trust.
Her wasted Spirits now begin to faint,
Yet Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint,
And in her Heart as in a Fort remains ;
But yields at last to her resistless Pains.
Thus while the Fever, am'rous of his Prey,
Through all her Veins makes his delightful Way,
Her Fate's like SEMELE's, the Flames destroy
That Beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming Face is in its Spring decay’d,
Pale grow the Roses, and the Lillies fade;
Her Skin has lost that Lustre which surpass’d
The Sun's, and well deserv'd as long to last :
Her Eyes, which us’d to pierce the hardest Hearts,
Are now disarm’d of all their Flames and Darts ;
Those Stars now heavily and slowly move;
And Sickness triumphs in the Throne of Love.
The Fever ev'ry Moment more prevails,
Its Rage her Body feels, and Tongue bewails :