CRUEL invader of my rest,
Thou fatal, bold, intruding guest,
Thy new assaults forbear:

Alas! I know nor health nor ease,
My life is grown a mere disease
Abandon'd to despair!

When I the dear deceiver view,
I can't forbear to think her true :
But absent from her eye,
A thousand anxious fears arise,
A thousand racking jealousies,
I rave! I rage! I die!

Alone! I would thy force elude,
But love delights in solitude,
And doubt still revels here;

I seek relief from company,
But that affords no charms to me,
If Cynthia is not there.

All day I muse! all night I dream!
My passion is my constant theme,
Nor take I food or rest:
I know and find myself undone;
Yet madly push my ruin on,

Though slighted and opprest.

Oh Love! thy wond'rous power I own,
Let now thy clemency be shown;

And Cynthia bear a part:

Transpire her breast with equal flame,
Or let me be myself again,

And take away thy dart.

OH! how vain is ev'ry blessing,
How insipid all our joys,
Life how little worth possessing,
But when love its time employs !

Love, the purest, noblest pleasure,
That the gods on earth bestow,
Adding wealth to ev'ry treasure,
Taking pain from ev'ry woe.

ENCOMPASS'D in an angel's frame,

An angel's virtues lay;

Too soon did Heaven assert the claim,
And call'd its own away.

My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,

Must never more return;

What now shall fill these widow'd arms?
Ah! me-my Anna's urn.

London: Printed by W. Bulmer and Co.
Cleveland-row, St. James's.