 | Poems on several occasions |  |
51
THE Cure of LOVE.
My Friends could give me no Relief;
No Balm could reach my inward Grief;
Nothing could ease my tortur'd Mind,
Because Lucinda was unkind.
No Balm could reach my inward Grief;
Nothing could ease my tortur'd Mind,
Because Lucinda was unkind.
Oft on a flow'ry Bank I lay,
And weeping spent the tedious Day;
As oft by Silver Streams I stood,
And with my Tears encreas'd the Flood.
And weeping spent the tedious Day;
As oft by Silver Streams I stood,
And with my Tears encreas'd the Flood.
52
On Cypress Barks I oft engrav'd
Her Name, who had my Soul enslav'd,
And oft, to all the Ecchoes round
I would repeat the pleasing Sound.
Her Name, who had my Soul enslav'd,
And oft, to all the Ecchoes round
I would repeat the pleasing Sound.
To Food and Rest a Stranger grown,
My Body wasted to the Bone;
Thought I—, this cannot long endure,
It would be best to seek a Cure.
My Body wasted to the Bone;
Thought I—, this cannot long endure,
It would be best to seek a Cure.
I call'd my Friends, who brought me Wine
Of sparkling Colour, Taste divine!
Then, to the Brim, we charg'd our Glasses;
And drank Adieu to all Coy Lasses.
Of sparkling Colour, Taste divine!
Then, to the Brim, we charg'd our Glasses;
And drank Adieu to all Coy Lasses.
Scarce had we pass'd six Bumpers round,
When lo! by wond'rous Pow'r, I found
My Reason had assum'd its Throne,
And all the Fumes of Love were gone.
When lo! by wond'rous Pow'r, I found
53
And all the Fumes of Love were gone.
Now I, who was so sad of late,
Began to laugh, to sing, and prate;
My Cheeks, which had been pale before,
A Flush of Ruby Brightness wore.
Began to laugh, to sing, and prate;
My Cheeks, which had been pale before,
A Flush of Ruby Brightness wore.
My Eyes they sparkled with Delight,
My Mind was gay, my Heart was light;
With Songs of Joy I fill'd the Place,
And Pleasure triumph'd in my Face.
My Mind was gay, my Heart was light;
With Songs of Joy I fill'd the Place,
And Pleasure triumph'd in my Face.
Now could I name the cruel Fair,
Without or Anguish or Despair;
Could tell her ev'ry Fault aloud,
Nay, call her Jilt, Coquette, and Proud.
Without or Anguish or Despair;
Could tell her ev'ry Fault aloud,
Nay, call her Jilt, Coquette, and Proud.
54
And now Lucinda I despise,
Wine, glorious Wine! alone I prize;
Wine! that can all our Griefs remove,
And cure the raging Pain of Love.
Wine, glorious Wine! alone I prize;
Wine! that can all our Griefs remove,
And cure the raging Pain of Love.
| Poems on several occasions | |