POE

L

ON

M S

Several Occafions.

ELEGIES.

The unrewarded LovER.

ET the dull Merchant curfe his angry Fate,

And from the Wind and Waves his Fortune wait:

Let the loud Lawyer break his Brains, and be
A Slave to wrangling Coxcombs for a Fee:
Let the rough Soldier fight his Prince's Foes,
And for a Livelihood his Life expose:
I Wage no war, I plead no Cause but Love's,
I fear no Storms, but what CELINDA moves.
And what grave Cenfor can my Choice despise?
But here, fair Charmer, here the Diff'rence lies:

The

The Merchant, after all his Hazards paft,
Enjoys the Fruit of his long Toils at last.
The Soldier high in his King's Favour ftands,
And after having long obey'd, Commands.
The Lawyer, to reward his tedious Care,
Roars on the Bench, that babled at the Bar.
While I take Pains to meet à Fate more hard,
And reap no Fruit, no Favour, no Reward.

The POWER OF VERSE.
of

To his MISTRESS.

Hile those bright Eyes fubdue where-e'er you will,

WHi And, as you please, can either fave, or kill;

What Youth fo bold the Conqueft to defign?
What Wealth fo great to purchase Hearts like thine?
None but the Mufe that Privilege can claim,

And what you give in Love, return in Fame...
Riches and Titles with your Life must end;
Nay, cannot ev'n in Life your Fame defend:
Verse can give Fame, can fading Beauties fave,
And, after Death, redeem them from the Grave
Embalm'd in Verfe, thro diftant Times they come,
Preferv'd, like Bees, within an Amber Tomb.

Poets

Poets, (like Monarchs, on an Eastern Throne,
Restrain'd by nothing but their Will alone)
Here can cry up, and there as boldly blame,
And, as they please, give Infamy or Fame.

*

In vain the Tyrian Queen refigns her Life,
For the bright Glory of a spotlefs Wife.
If lying Bards may falfe Amours rehearse,
And blast her Name with Arbitrary Verse.
While + One, who all the Absence of her Lord,
Had her wide Courts with preffing Lovers ftor'd;
Yet by a Poet grac'd, in deathlefs Rimes,
Stands a chafte Pattern to fucceeding Times.
With Pity then the Mufes Friends furvey,
Nor think your Favours there, are thrown away,
Wifely like Seed on fruitful Soil they're thrown,
To bring large Crops of Glory and Renown.
For, as the Sun that in the Marshes breeds
Nothing but naufeous and unwholesome Weed
With the fame Rays on rich and pregnant Earth,
To pleasant Flow'rs, and useful Fruits gives Birth:
So Favours caft on Fools, get only Shame;
On Poets fhed, produce eternal Fame:
Their gen'rous Breafts warm with a genial Fire,
And more than all the Mufes can Inspire.

To his MISTRESS.

ELIA, your Tricks will now no longer pass,

CELL

And I'm no more the Fool that once I was.

I know my happier Rival does obtain

All the vast Bliss for which I figh in vain.
Him, him you love; to me you ufe

your Art;
I had your Looks, another had your Heart.
To me you're fick, to me of Spies afraid:
He finds your Sickness gone, your Spies betray'd.
I figh beneath your Window all the Night;
He in your Arms poffeffes the Delight.

I know you treat me thus, falfe Fair, I do ;

And, O! what plagues me worfe, he knows it too:
To him my Sighs are told, my Letters shown;
And all my Pains are his Diverfion grown.
Yet fince you could fuch horrid Treasons act,
I'm pleas'd you chufe out him to do the Fact :
His Vanity does for my Wrongs attone;
And 'tis by that I have your Falfhood known.
What fhall I do? for treated at this rate,
I must not love; and yet I cannot hate.
I hate the Actions, but I love the Face;
O! were thy Virtue more, or Beauty lefs;
I'm all Confufion, and my Soul's on Fire,
Torn by contending Reafon and Defire:

This bids me love, that bids me Love give o'er;
One counfels best, the other pleases more.

I know I ought to hate you for your Fault;

But, O! I cannot do the thing I ought.

Canft thou, mean Wretch! canft thou contented prove,

With the cold Relicks of a Rival's Love?

Why did I fee that Face to charin my Breast?
Or having feen, why did I know the reft?
Gods! if I have obey'd your just Commands,
If I've deferv'd some Favour from your Hands,
Make me that tame, that eafy Fool again,
And rid me of my Knowledge, and my Pain.
And you, falfe Fair! for whom so oft I've griev'd,
Pity a Wretch that begs to be deceiv'd;

Forfwear yourself for one who dies for you,

Vow not a Word of the whole Charge was true;
But Scandals all, and Forgeries devis'd
By a vain Wretch, neglected and despis'd.

I too will help to forward the Deceit,
And, to my Power, contribute to the Cheat.

And thou, bold Man, who think'ft to Rival me,
For thy Prefumption I could pardon thee;
I could forgive thy lying in her Arms,
I could forgive thy rifling all her Charms;

But, O! I never can forgive the Tongue,

That boasts her Favours, and proclaims my Wrong..