 | Poems on several occasions |  |
157
LOVE MAKES THE POET.
In several Verses to the most Charming Lesbia.
Upon First Sight of Lesbia.
So many Charms were never sureFor One alone design'd!
The Gods to make you more compleat,
Have robb'd all Womankind.
159
THE ADDRESS.
To the same.
Thou Fairest, most Divine of Human Kind!Angel in Form, and Goddess in thy Mind,
I've seen you, Charmer! that alone will prove,
As I have seen, so I of Course must Love.
I own I merit not One so Divine;
But yet, if Love is Merit, you are mine.
Then to my Fate the last Decision give;
Or frown me into Dust, or smile and bid me Live.
160
LESBIA's Insensibility.
Observe the num'rous Stars which grace
The fair expanded Skies,
So many Charms has Lesbia's Face,
A Thousand more her Eyes.
The fair expanded Skies,
So many Charms has Lesbia's Face,
A Thousand more her Eyes.
When e'er the beauteous Maid appears,
We cannot but admire;
But when she speaks, she charms our Ears,
And sets our Souls on Fire.
We cannot but admire;
But when she speaks, she charms our Ears,
And sets our Souls on Fire.
161
What Pity 'tis, a Creature,
By Nature form'd so fair,
Divine in ev'ry Feature,
Should give Mankind Despair?
She gazes all around her,
And gains a Thousand Hearts;
But Cupid cannot wound her,
For she has all his Darts.
By Nature form'd so fair,
Divine in ev'ry Feature,
Should give Mankind Despair?
She gazes all around her,
And gains a Thousand Hearts;
But Cupid cannot wound her,
For she has all his Darts.
162
Lesbia's Cruelty.
She whom (above my self) I prize,
Does me (above all Men) despise;
My faithful Passion is so great,
Nothing exceeds it—but her Hate.
Does me (above all Men) despise;
My faithful Passion is so great,
Nothing exceeds it—but her Hate.
Ye Gods! must I for ever love?
Must she for ever cruel prove?
Must my Torment, Grief and Pain,
Meet with nothing but Disdain?
Must she for ever cruel prove?
Must my Torment, Grief and Pain,
Meet with nothing but Disdain?
Turn, ah! turn those Eyes on me!
Look with Pity on your Swain,
Either give me Liberty,
Or forbear to give me Pain.
Look with Pity on your Swain,
Either give me Liberty,
Or forbear to give me Pain.
| Poems on several occasions | |