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Pierides

or The Muses Mount. By Hugh Crompton
  

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55. The Exclamation.
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55. The Exclamation.

1

Since 't was thy beauty that begun
This fervent ardor in my breast,
Make it, my grief-expelling sun,
That wretched I may take some rest.
I burn, I burn 'twixt the extreams
Of fear and hope, and thy bright beams.

2

One heat another may unthrone;
Then wonder not if I desire
(Who scorching lies ith' torrid Zone)
Your forehead to expel my fire.
Oh smile, and let my heart not lie
Broyl'd on the grid-irons of thine eye.

3

Ice (fires foe) laid to the skin
That's burnt, will cause the flesh to turn
Into a blister, and within
With greater vehemency to burn:
O Icy heart, then be not so,
'Twould bring additions to my woe.

79

4

Strange kind of creature, whose clear eye
Can scorch and burn like Luna's brother;
And yet her heart in Ice doth lie,
Her self doth freeze, yet burns another.
The torrid and the frigid Zone
Unite their tempers both in one.

5

Then let thine eye thy heart reflect
Upon, and soon the Ice will perish;
And then thy heart will me affect,
And with enlivening flames me cherish?
Now I lie gasping, and I saint
For want of thee, my lovely Saint.

6

Thou art that tree whereon is found
A strange and double-natur'd power;
The one is bitterly to wound,
The other sweetly is to cure.
And since the first on me ha'st past,
Come now and cure me with the last.

7

Oh furious flame! alas I fry,
And cannot damp the heat with water;
My structure reels, and I must die,
If beauty brings me not her daughter.
I toss and turn, and cannot rest:
'Tis Juniper flames within my breast.

8

Come lively soul, let's symphathize

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In love and arms, and be not loth;
Let me behold in thy bright eyes
Narcissus and Adonis both.
Were but thy heart as hot as mine,
I should find pleasure to calcine.

9

Poor beauty-strucken soul, I have
No consolation in the world,
Unless thy bounty dain to save
Me from those plagues upon me hurl'd:
Thou art that spell, and only thee
That charmest all my misery.

10

Come sacred Doctress then, and act
Thy energy and power on me:
A word of thine (with Cupid back't)
Is medicine enough to be
Deaths Antidote, and to controul
The extasie wherein I roul.