Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins |
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To Mr ---
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 | Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses |  |
To Mr ---
With such delight I did your lines receive,Your presence only could more transport give.
Tho' here retir'd in close recess I dwell,
I Joy to hear my City Friends are well.
The World's vain noise I can no longer shun.
Since my Amasia dy'd, all hopes are gone.
Perplext, curs'd Thoughts desir'd repose remove,
I find deep Sorrow worse than slighted Love.
For my own quiet I must hast to Town,
I want retirement most, when most alone.
To shun himself your Sylvius flies to you,
And be assur'd 'tis what all Friends may do.
Whatever Youthful Thoughts your Breast may bear,
I can't believe that I inhabit there,
Such Fond, Dear, Airy Notions suit the fair.
Youth does to vain, Fantastick fancies bend,
And Courts, Romantick, Courts a Bosom Friend.
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You view gay Pleasures in the fairy Scene.
So in our sleep, delightful Groves we frame,
But when awake, we know we did but Dream.
Trust me, dear Youth, Friendship is all a cheat,
A light there is, but void of real heat.
No Swain can Passion in another move,
For Man can ne'er Love Man, with Woman's Love.
Friendship indeed bears in it some desires,
It raises wishes, but Creates no Fires.
Such, for my best Acquaintance long I knew,
I boast not many, for my Friends are few,
But of that Number still I reckon'd you.
Thus far a Friend serves his Acquaintance best,
To raise his Fortunes, when by chance deprest,
But Man can ne'er Lodge Man, within his inmost Breast.
Love lives in Sun-shine, or that Storm, Despair,
But gentler Friendship Breaths a Mod'rate Air.
Do not infer, from what my Muse assures,
My Soul feels Passions, less extream than Yours.
No, with such transports, as should never end,
I could caress the darling Name of Friend.
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And from a Friend, I should a Lover grow.
But here's the curse impos'd on all Mankind,
This dear, imagin'd Friend no search can find.
Alike, the Youths must both, by Fortune, stand,
For Friendship stoops not, but goes hand in hand.
Whatever Swain an other's Friend would be,
Must find his humour, with his own, agree.
Thus far indeed may real Friendship rise,
As to stand firm, but sure it never flies.
He that pretends it can a Passion prove,
Makes it much blinder, than we fancy Love.
Believe the honest real Truths I tell,
Withal, believe thus far, I wish you well.
| Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | |