ΤΟ

CHLORIS

C

By the fame Author.

Hloris, I juftly am betray'd

By a Design my self had laid;

Like an old Rook, whom in his Cheat,
A Run of Fortune does defeat.

I thought at first with a small fum
Of Love, thy heap to overcome;
Prefuming on thy want of Art,
Thy gentle and unpractis'd Heart.
But naked Beauty can prevail,
Like open force, when Plots do fail.
Inftead of that thou haft all mine,

And I have not one Stake of thine:

And

like all Winners, do'st discover illingness to give me over.

though I beg, thou wilt not now; ere better thou fhould'ft do fo too:

Ifo far in Debt fhall run,

thee I fhall be forc't to fhun. Hand, alas, is no more mine, it had long ago been thine: Heart I give thee, and we call Man unjuft that parts with all.

at a Prieft says, moves not the mind, s are by Love, not Words, combin'd.

ΤΟ

To a Lady, who told him he co

M*

not Love.

By the fame Author.

Adam, though meaner Beauties m
Perhaps have need of fome fuch fli

Who to excuse their Rigor, must
Say they our Paffions do miftruft,
And that they wou'd more pity fhew,
Were they but fure our Loves were true.
You shou'd those petty Arts despise,
Secure of what is once your Prize.

We to our Slaves no Fraud addrefs,
But as they are, our Minds exprefs.
Tell me not then I cannot Love,

Say, rather, you it ne'r can move;

Who can no more doubt of your Charms,

Than I refift fuch pow'rful Arms:

W

Whose numerous force that I withstood

So long, was not through any hope I cou'd
Escape their pow'r; but through despair,
Which oft makes Courage out of fear.
Itrembling faw how you us'd those
Who tamely yielded without blows:
Had you but one of all them fpar'd,
I might, perhaps, have been enfnar'd,
And not have thus, e're I did yield,
Call'd Love's whole Force into the Field.

Yet now I'm Conquer'd, I will prove
Faithful as they that never ftrove.

All flames in matter, where too faft
They do not feize, the longer laft.
Then blame not mine for moving flow,
Since all things durable are fo.

The Oak that's for three hundred Years
Defign'd, in growing one out-wears.

Whilft Flowers for a Seafon made

Quickly fpring up, and quickly fade.

ΤΟ

CHLORI

C

By the fame Author.

Hloris, you live ador'd by all,

And yet on none your Favours fall.

A ftranger Mistress ne'er was known,
You pay us all in Paying none.
We him of Avarice accufe,

Who what he has, does fear to use.

But what Disease of Mind shall I
Call this thy hated Penury?"

Thou wilt not give out of a ftore,
Which no profuseness can make poor.
Mifers, when Dead, may make amends;
And in their Wills enrich their Friends.