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\ I.

HO' Celia's born to be Ador'd,

THO And Strephon to Adore her born,

In vain Her Pity is implor'd,

Who kills him Twice, with Charms and Scorn.

Fair Saint, to your bleft Orb repair,

And learn in Heav'n a Heav'nly Mind;
Thence hearken to a Sinner's Pray'r,
And be lefs Beauteous or more Kind.

W

PHILLIS's Refolution.

L

I.

WHEN Slaves their Liberty require,

They hope no More to gain;

But You not only That defire,

But ask the Power to Reign.

II.

Think how unjust a Suit you

make,

Then will you foon decline;

Your Freedom, when you please, pray take,

But Trefpafs not on Mine.

III.

No more in vain, Alcander crave,

I ne'er will grant the Thing,

That He who once has been my Slave,

Should ever be my King.

C2

To a LADY who had refolved against MARRIAGE.

Cannot, Madam, but congratulate Your Refolution for a Single-State: Ladies who would live undisturb'd and free, Muft never put on Hymen's-Livery. Perhaps its Outside seems to promise fair, Yet underneath is nothing else but Care. If once you let the Gordian-Knot be ty'd, Which turns the Name of Virgin into Bride, That one fond A&t your Life's beft Scene foregoes, And leads you into Labyrinths of Woes; Whofe ftrange Meanders you may fearch about, But never find the Clue that leads you out.

The Marry'd Life affords you little Eafe, The best of Hufbands is fo hard to please. This, in Wives careful Faces you may fpell, Tho' they diffemble their Misfortunes well, No Plague's fo great as an ill-ruling Head, But 'tis a Fate which few young Ladies dread: For Love's infinuating Fire they fan,

With fweat Ideas of a God-like Man.

Cloe and Phillis glory'd in their Swains,

Aud fung their Praises on the Neighb'ring Plains;
O! they were brave, accomplish'd, charming Men,
Angels 'till marry'd, but meer Devils then..

Sure fome refiftlefs Pow'r with Cupid fides,
Or we should have more Virgins, fewer Brides;
For Single-lives afford the most Content,
Secure and happy as they're Innocent:
Bright as Olympus crown'd with endless Eafe,
And calm as Neptune on the Halcyon-Seas.
F

Your

ན

Your Sleep is broke with no Domestic Cares;
No fqualling Children to difturb your Pray'rs :
No Parting-Sorrows to extort your Tears,
No bluft'ring Husband to renew your Fears!
Therefore, dear Madam, let a Friend advife,
Love, and its idle Deity defpife:

Supprefs Wild-Nature, if it durft rebel;
There's no fuch Thing as leading Apes in Hell.

THE difmal Regions which no Sun beholds,

Whilft his Fires roll fome diftant World to cheer.
Which in dry Darkness, Froft, and chilling colds,
Spend one long Portion of the dragging Year,
At his returning Infl'ence never knew

More Joy, than Clelia, when the thinks of You.
II.

Thofe Zealots who adore the rifing Sun

Would foon their daring Deity despise,
And with more warm, more true Devotion run,
To worship nobler Beams Urania's Eyes;
Had they beheld her lovely Form Divine,
Where Rays more glorious, more attracting, fhine.
III.

But, Ah! frail Mortals, tho' you may admire
At a convenient diftance all her Charms,
Approach Them, and you'll feel a raging Fire,

Which scorches deep, and all your Pow'r difarms;
Thus like the Arabian Bird, your Care proceeds
From the bright Object, which your Pleasure beeds,

Dean SWIFT

TO

Mr P O PE.

R

Dublin, Sept. 20, 1723. Eturning from a fummer expedition of four months on account of my health, I found a letter from you, with an appendix longer than yours, from Lord Bolingbroke. I believe there is not a more miferable malady than an unwillingness to write letters to our beft friends, and a man might be philofopher enough in finding out reafons for it; one thing is clear, that it shews a mighty difference betwixt Friend

F

ship

fhip and Love, for a lover (as I have heard) is always fcribling to his miftrefs. If I could permit my felf to believe what your civility makes you fay, that I am ftill remembred by my friends in England, I am in the right to keep my felf here- Non fum qualis eram. I left you in a period of life when one year does more execution than three at yours, to which if you add the dulness of the air, and of the people, it will make a terrible fum. I have no very strong faith in you pretenders to Retirement, you are not of an age for it, nor have gone through either good or bad fortune enough, to go into a corner, and form conclufions de contemptu mundi & fuga fæcult, unless a Poet grows weary of too much applaufe, as Minifters do of too much weight of bufinefs.

Your Happiness is greater than your merit, in chufing your Favourites fo indifferently among either Party; this you owe partly to your Education; and partly to your Genius employing you in an Art in which Faction has nothing to do, for I fuppofe Virgil and Horace are equally read by Whigs and Tories. You have no more to do with the Conftitution of Church and State, than a Christian at Conftantinople; and you are fo much the wifer and the happier, because both Parties will approve your Poetry as long as you are known to be of neither.

Your