University of Virginia Library

Book III.

THE FRIENDSHIP of LOVE.

To Mr ---

[In vain, My Friend, your kind advice you send]

In vain, My Friend, your kind advice you send,
Bid me Love on, you will be more my Friend,
The Fetter'd Wretch, not strugling, feels no pain,
'Tis he's Tormented, who would stretch the Chain,
Not the Eternal links of fate can prove,
More firm and strong, than are my links of Love.
Bound to my fair Amasia I appear,
(O would to Heav'n, I were bound truly here!)
'Tis more than freedom, to be so confin'd,
She's all the Charm of her whole Beauteous kind.
Homage to her would you confinement call?
We know the Deity is every where, and all.
Confin'd to her! alas! it cannot be,
But bless me, Heaven's! Make her confin'd to me.
No more advise me to forsake my fair,
I must Love on, yet, while I Love, Despair.
In vain you strive my Passion to remove,
For Oh! I cannot live, unless I Love.
If you are griev'd I bear Amasia's scorn,
Quench not my Fires, but make her kindly burn.
Love is a Weight to me indeed severe,
But should she help, I could the burthen bear.
Beneath the load I should no longer Bow,
For that would raise me, which depresses now.
Tho' no such hope does to your Friend remain,
I boast the freedom to embrace my Chain.
A Slave how Wretched must your Sylvius grow,
When not permitted to be longer so?
Kind tho' you are, you seem not kind to me,
For he Enthrals me, who would set me free.
By no device you can obtain your end,
I can't my Mistress lose, but may my Friend.
In vain, oft practis'd methods you devise,
'Tis all in vain, Amasia still has Eyes.
No more to me your hard addresses move,
For, I assure you, by the Gods above,
I can't—I will not part from what so dear I Love.

To Mr ---

[Much am I pleas'd, to hear your new design]

Much am I pleas'd, to hear your new design,
For, my Friend's happiness I reckon mine.
I should repine, to bid these Shades adieu,
Not fond of praise my self, but wish it you.
Still may applause your undertakings bless,
Your rising Muse be Wing'd with swift success,
Esteem'd by all, for you deserve no less.
As some young Bird, who late has taken Wing,
With fond desire in the warm Air to Sing.
When he has felt the Sun's enliv'ning Ray,
Flutt'ring sometimes around his Nest does Play,
And Chirps to call his Fellow Bird away.
So you, now Cherish'd by your Patron's Love,
With fonder hopes of a warm Season move,
And Sing to me, to meet you, in the Air above.
But more assurance than the Bird's you find,
For, trusting him, you do not beat on Wind.
Scarce can I hold, for I would fain commend
That gen'rous Man, who is the Muses Friend.
Long in full Tides may his smooth Fortunes flow,
He Merits Plenty, who bestows it so.
Whilst from his lasting Springs small Streams distill,
His over-flowings shall your Current fill.
Such bounty sure may be dispens'd to you,
Poets, like Kings, are Heav'n's Anointed too.
But ah! Their Art is now debas'd, and low,
It only serves to make a gawdy show.
The shining Light their Phæbus gives, they use,
But the productive, vig'rous heat, abuse.
They, whose true merits can a Patron claim,
(And such there are, who part with Gold for Fame,)
Should Honours, worthy their true greatness, raise,
The gen'rous few deserve the nobler praise.
You, to grow fam'd, must lofty'st Subjects choose,
For still applause bears up the Tow'ring Muse.
While round your Head a Crown of Laurel spreads,
Me shall my Groves content, and grateful Shades.
I on no other's greatness would depend,
But make my own Humility my Friend.
On Flow'ry Banks, in Bow'rs the Lover Lies,
He wants no Prop, who will not strive to rise.
'Tis not thro' Pride, I am thus careless grown,
And slight applause, to make it more my own.
I don't disclaim the Favours of the great,
But I can't stoop, and Cringe to meer estate.
If from great Men to me their Favours came,
I should respect the Person, not the Name.
Thro' me, the World should his kind bounty know,
And my rais'd Muse should tell who rais'd her so.
Nay, from a Prosp'rous Friend, I could receive,
Favours, I found him truly fond to give.
This, as my highest Friendship, I may boast,
For grateful sense in this still struggles most.
To be oblig'd, costs gen'rous Souls some pain,
When in Despair to make returns again.
Your Sylvius only to his fair one sues,
Her, only her, I for my Subject choose,
Amasia's both my Patroness, and Muse.
My Love for her no Rival Charm endures,
Were I not her's intire, I should be

To Mr ---

[As some blest Youth, who, led by chance, has found]

As some blest Youth, who, led by chance, has found
A blooming Maid, that has his longings Crown'd.
Whose every Charming Beauty can surprize,
And draw soft glances, from his wishing Eyes.
Stands silent long, and in a fond amaze,
Admires, what 'tis, that thus his Soul could raise,
Above his wonder, and beyond his praise.
But when he finds the gen'rous fair inclin'd
To Love like him, like him, intirely kind,
Gush'd with the Joys, he no endearments shows,
Because, he can't express, to the vast height he owes.
So, you, dear Daphnis, I admir'd, and prais'd,
In me, long since, you have fond wishes rais'd.
I view'd you always with a Loving Eye,
Yet fear'd to Court you, for I thought you shy.
But, when I found that I had ought could move,
In you a fondness to return my Love.
I grew amaz'd, and strugling I supprest
The soft Emotions of my swelling Breast.
Ev'n now I feel the Flowings of my Soul
With an Unusual, Ardent vigour roll,
I can't the risings of my Thoughts express,
Inlarging on them, does but show them less.
I, like the Sybils, by Strange heats inspir'd,
Am with a rage of Sacred Friendship Fir'd.
In Verse, like them, I my Conceptions show,
They by their God possess'd, and I by you.
But mine, not dubious as their Speech, assures
That I am certainly, and wholly yours.
As the fond Youth, who has divulg'd his pain,
Has own'd his Love, and is belov'd again.
Burns, for the dear enjoyment, of that fair
Who heard his Vows, and who receiv'd his Pray'r.
So I, who Justly may my self commend
A constant Lover, and a real Friend.
Long to enjoy you, to possess you whole,
For, he does truly so, who gains the Soul.
In your Embrace, I would my Thoughts express,
Declare my Love, and hear from you no less.
This fond desire, no hope of int'rest Frames,
For I feel earnest, and transporting Flames.
I would the dearest Friendship here improve,
Not a dull Duty like Fraternal Love.
A near Alliance Nature form'd before,
Blest me with that, but you have blest me more.
Your gen'rous Temper does your greatness show,
And proves you highest, when you stoop so low.
To what excess must my vast Blessings fly,
If we grow nigher, when already nigh!
The strictest Union moves the most delight,
And that must needs be so, where Hearts and Souls Unite.

To Mr ---

[Tir'd of Mankind, I long have born in vain]

Tir'd of Mankind, I long have born in vain
With silent greatness, my encreasing pain,
But now, my Friend, I must at last complain.
My growing ills, in swelling Torrents roll,
And, with impetuous Tides, o'er-flow my Soul.
All my desires and wishes fly me far,
My Fortunes wreck'd in the loud Storms of War.
Happy I liv'd, while Childish Years did last,
But our best Pleasures are but Dreams, when past.
The Thoughts of those disturb my present rest,
I were not Wretched now, had I not then been blest.
Born to be curst by Destiny, I stand,
And can't, so much as view the happy Land.
Friendless, and all, but Resolution lost,
A mark for Fate I seem, upon a ruin'd Coast.
Kept back by Winds, and tides which loudly roar,
I sit deserted on the Barren shore,
And view the Sea of Time, which I must yet pass o'er.
Heaven's utmost rage, and tortures here I see;
Ill do my Fortunes with my Soul agree;
I have a Spirit form'd to be above
A low submission to ought else than Love.
None but Amasia can my mind controul,
She melts my Thoughts, and softens all my Soul.
How could I hope she should my Flames prefer,
If I knew how to stoop to ought, but her?
Blest were my days, while here the Charmer stay'd,
But I lost all, soon as I lost the Maid.
In her alone, was all my valu'd store,
And rob'd of her, I could be rob'd no more.
War's threat'ning Tempest bore the Nymph away,
This Venus took her flight upon the boist'rous Sea.
The Gallick Court with joy the Virgin saw,
There still she Reigns, spite of the Salick Law.
Of wish'd success, and Triumph I Despair,
France can't be vanquish'd, while Amasia's there.
Her Charms give Courage the to Youth, to wield
Their brandish'd Swords, bold, in the dusty Field.
Bravely they Fight, and Venture for the spoil,
They hope her smiles will soon reward their toil.
For her bright Charms they dare encounter far,
'Tis she's the Goddess, that sustains their War.
She gives them Valour, sets their Souls on Fire,
And so, her Eyes against themselves conspire.
Warm'd by their rays, they to the onset move,
The Youth, so rais'd, must needs successful prove,
And then they claim, for their exploits, her Love.
Around her Brows their Wreaths of Laurel rise,
But all can't Shade them from her Radiant Eyes.
By force, they Conquer Squad'rons in the Field,
Oppose whole Armies, yet to her they yield.
Her dearer Chains to freedom they prefer,
And stoop, when Conqu'rours, to be Slaves to her.
While I, with folded Arms, in fond Despair,
Clasp my sad Breast, to press her Image there.
O let me rush impatient to the War,
Drive, and pursue my flying Rivals far.
None great in Battles should like Sylvius prove,
He should Fight best, who best knows how to Love.
'Tis then resolv'd I'll boldly charge my foes,
For Nassau Conquers, wheresoe'er he goes.
Plac'd in Command beneath a Chief so great,
I'll force my Fortune, or I'll urge my fate.
But ah! I would not undistinguish'd fall,
Grant this, ye Gods! And ye have granted all.
Grant that brave Death I may to flight prefer,
And let Amasia know, I fought, and dy'd for her.
To hopes of Joys, and peaceful Thoughts adieu,
Farewel to them for ever, now to you.
No Words my Melancholy Thoughts can tell,
Let them die with me too; once more, Farewel.

To Mr ---

[As two dear Friends, who, by some fate unkind]

As two dear Friends, who, by some fate unkind,
Wreck'd by the Seas, and by the faithless Wind,
Had liv'd a tedious, Melancholy while
In some dark, barren, unfrequented Isle,
Together still, 'till one, unfit to bear
Unpractis'd Hunger, and so bleak an Air.
Urg'd by Prophetick Dreams of Feasts to come,
With Weepings parts, and round the Isle does roam.
Both for the suff'rings of each other Mourn,
And he that stay'd, prays for his Friend's return.
So, you and I, from the World's noise remov'd,
A Fate like theirs, have in some Measure prov'd,
Alone we Liv'd, and so alone we Lov'd.
Whilst busy Slaves, yet, an unthinking herd,
Past Salvage by, and like meer Brutes appear'd.
'Till diff'rent Thoughts, and some designs that please,
Urg'd me from you, to follow purpos'd ways.
As Famish'd Men, who long had Dreamt of Meats,
Of fancy'd Dainties, in delightful Seats,
Yet still, not they, but their starv'd fancy Eats.
And between slumbers, with regret they find
It was meer Hunger, that had fed their Mind.
'Till some kind hand spreads Spatious Tables o'er,
With choicer Banquets, and with greater store,
Than what were furnish'd by their sleep before.
So, what the Muses did in Visions shew,
Of Love, and Friendship Daphnis proves is true,
For he's at once a Friend, and Mistress too.
The richest Feasts of fondness he prepares,
And fills my Soul with the most pleasing Ayres.
My Thoughs for him rise up to such excess,
As to Amasia in a dear Address,
Her I Love more, yet him esteem not less.
And now, Adonis, since that Name you choose,
And Cytherea, for your Mistress use;
The softest Titles, for the softest Muse.
I wish success, but that I need not do,
For it attends, and waits to fly to you.
Among the rest, two Charming Beauties shine,
Painting, and Poetry intirely thine.
Scarce can I tell, both are so well exprest,
Which takes me most, or draws an image best.
Nature to you those Charming Arts procures,
I Court them most, yet they the most are yours.
Fortune has giv'n you all, to make you great,
All she could give you, but a large Estate.
And had you that, the rest would useless prove,
For that alone can gain a Virgin's Love.
Then Cytherea, that proud fair, would sue,
And beg her self, to be belov'd by you.
But she deserves not the fond Name you give,
If she's like Venus, fair, she should like Venus live.
But you indeed your Title Justly claim,
Soft as Adonis, and as full of Flame.
Your Breast, pierc'd deeper than his Thigh is found,
For Love's the Salvage, that gave you your Wound.
Yours, and my Mistress are almost alike,
With equal Pow'r on both our Hearts they strike.
She with Amasia may for scorn compare,
Amasia is like Cytherea fair.
I, tho' despis'd, for want of Pomp, and show,
Am pleas'd as you are, when my self I know
Above those Slaves, who think me much below.
Alike our Souls, alike our wishes move,
The same our Friendship, and the same our Love.
I never yet to Honour'd Fools have Bow'd,
Born to be slighted, and to slight the proud.
And you I know, as well as I, can boast,
That, where despis'd, you can despise the most.
Yet Cytherea still exempted stands,
Spight of her Pride, she your fond Heart Commands.
So I Amasia Love, but Love in vain,
Tho' she too, proudly Triumphs in my pain.
Believe me, Friend, I have a Miser's Mind,
For, tho' I here my best Lov'd Treasure find,
I want my other store, you, whom I left behind.

To Mr ---

To you, dear Youth, did Sylvius oft complain,
I took delight to tell you all my pain.
I did a Melancholy Pleasure feel,
Breathing the Thoughts of my bewitching ill.
But now, my Muse no more such suff'rings Sings,
My flowing Sorrows damp her Flagging Wings.
Her Tow'ring flight oft Lov'd Amasia bore,
But ah! That Lovely Fair must now be Sung no more
Gods! Let the Happy, who your Blessings know,
Adore your Pow'r, to keep them ever so.
O with what Justice may the Wretch repine!
Amasia's Dead! She's Dead! and dy'd not mine!
Yet do I live, and the Earth's surface Tread?
Meanly survive, when dear Amasia's Dead!
God's! Can I say she dy'd—can I believe
She was not born, that she might ever live!
Eccho my Plaints, ye Groves, and Vales around,
Let the Word Death from all the Hills rebound,
That I, at last, may Credit the repeated sound.
From hollow Rocks, in Murmurs be it made,
For nought, but hardest Rocks, should speak Amasia Dead.
With Sickly Voice, let fainting Ecchoes try
But to reflect Amasia's Name, and die.
Let each return in so much softness break,
As if the very Ecchoes fear'd to speak.
As if they dreaded, least some place might hear,
That would send back the sound, to be repeated there.
Ah! Grieve, dear Youth, think on your Sylvius woe,
Mourn, Mourn, my Friend, if you are truly so.
I ask you not to share in what I feel,
Oh! no—I would be greatly Wretched, and engross my ill.
But bear your part, upon a Friendly score,
To make the mighty Pomp of Sorrow more.
Let meaner Souls in sighs, and Tears complain,
And, with their fond indulgence, soften pain.
Whilst I, with lofty Pride, my suff'rings bear,
And with a sort of Joy, pursue Despair.
What off'rings, Gods! Should at her Shrine be paid.
Had the dear, fatal Charmer dy'd a Maid!
But ah! For Gold she gave up all her Charms,
And, meanly sold, fled to my Rival's Arms.
Hymen incens'd, far off took speedy flight,
Death, with his Torches, did her Nuptials Light.
Oh! Had she liv'd, I might some Blessings know,
I should be Happy still, if she were so.
Her, in my Rival's Arms I could adore,
With Flames as Sacred, as I felt before,
Love her as much, and let her know it more.
But now what satisfaction can there be?
Nought but Despair is left, for Wretched me;
Death is a Rival, more unkind than he.
You kept (False Muse) Amasia in my view,
Thy Fairy Pleasures I'll no more pursue,
To fancy'd Dreams of Happy Loves—Adieu.
All that I hop'd from Poetry to find,
Was to gain praise, to make Amasia kind.
But now, what other Mistress can I choose,
Worthy my Love, and to deserve my Muse?
Now, many shining Nymphs may Justly claim
Some small pretence to an immortal Fame,
And, who deserves it best, shall bear Amasia's Name.
So, when some great, some mighty Conqu'ror dies,
Many, less noted Heroes, share the prize,
And he's Nam'd Cæsar, who does highest rise.
Thus the Pellæan Monarch born away,
Made room for Princes, to divide the sway.
If any fair, henceforth, has Pow'r to move,
With my Amasia's Charms she must renew my Love.
I From my Joys of Paradise am hurl'd,
Condemn'd—Condemn'd alone to wander thro' the World.
Farewel, to all that please the ravish'd view,
Farewel, to Love, with my Amasia too,
To Shades, and seats of bliss, and Golden Dreams, Adieu.

To Mr ---

As parted Lovers, who a while complain,
And then in fears, and Anxious Thoughts remain,
Least they should never meet in Joys again.
Make hast to write, and so, some ease they find,
Tell all their troubles, and reveal their mind.
So, me as much does your short absence move,
Friendship for you is like an other's Love.
What Swain is here, and you departed hence,
Or who instructed by the Muses since?
Dull, Thoughtless Hinds, with lifeless aspects Plow,
And bleaker Groves, with furious Tempests, Bow.
These are the Scenes, which to my view appear,
The only prospects, to delight me here.
No Beauteous Maid is seen in all the plains,
To raise my vigour, or to Fire my Veins.
My Youthful Blood must in one motion roll,
None knows to Charm, or to surprise the Soul.
In vain I walk thro' any pleasing Shade,
With you the Nymphs, and tender Virgins fled.
You, who alone are still successful there,
And gain new Conquests o'er the yielding fair.
But I, whose Flames boast no engaging Pow'rs,
I, whose low Fortunes flow not smooth as yours.
Fam'd for no Arts, nor in the Field renown'd,
Must still Despair to have my Passion Crown'd.
Should now some fair one, shining in her Charms,
Prefer my Fires, and raise me to her Arms.
Exalt me so, nor let me fondly die,
But lift my Passion, and my Fortunes high,
No Man alive could Love her, fixt, as I.
How would that Gen'rous, and that Noble she
Deserve indeed to be belov'd by me!
Success like this, I must not hope to find,
For rarely Virgins are so nobly kind.
Not Daphnis self, whose Wit is vastly great,
Who Lov'd, as never any Swain Lov'd yet,
Could boast a Triumph, perfectly compleat.
His frequent praise Fame's hundred Mouths shall fill,
Her loudest Trumpet is his lofty quill.
His latest Work his greatest glories shews,
The noblest War Sung by the noblest Muse.
Of British Arms such mighty deeds he tells,
As prove that Island the Whole World excells.
Late did his Verse the ravish'd Swains improve,
Taught them to Sing, and Blooming Maids to Love.
But now he's fled, from these Neglected Fields,
To dear delights, the grateful City yields.
Each fair one there shall be his shining prize,
He Charms all Hearts, as he bewitches Eyes.
To share such Joys, I value Groves no more,
Since you and he have left their Shades before.
I come, Dear Youth, past Pleasures to renew,
Pleasures, which none could ever give, but you,
And hast to see you soon, Adieu, Adieu.

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.
Ravish'd with darling hopes, you entertain,
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.
My Thoughts would still with ravish'd fondness Flow,
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.

To Mr ---

MARTIN, THE FRIEND.

O Martin! I grow ravish'd, while I write,
And Friendship Works me to a Sacred height.
Martin the Friend! When will the transport end!
Martin, the best, the truest, only Friend!
So much I Love thee, more than Poets Fame,
That I could dwell for ever on the Name.
O Martin! Martin!—Let the grateful sound
Reach to that Heaven, which has our Friendship Crown'd.
And like our endless Friendship, meet no bound.
Friendship, the truest Blessing Heaven can give,
From Heaven descended, does in Martin live.
Heaven gave me you, in you was Friendship giv'n,
Heaven gave me you, and you would give me Heav'n.
O Friend! O Sacred! Ever-Charming Word!
Poetick fury can no sense afford
Fit for the Ecchoes of that sound restor'd.
If e'er we meet, then shall we best commend
The Sense, the Name, the Nature of a Friend.
Sure we meet now, with thine I mix my Soul,
And all, all Friendship does my sense controul,
Exalt the Man, and high as Passion rowl.
Beyond all thought transcendent Friendship Tow'rs,
Beyond the faculties of Mortal Pow'rs,
While with Extatick Pride my ravish'd Soul grows yours.
Fain would I speak; but how can Words express
The Debt I owe? To own would make it less.
You Love with fondness, not Austere, tho' Wise,
Blind to my Faults, yet still with sense advise.
Believe me, Friend, since you the Name will own,
And since my welfare so much yours is grown,
When ever Heaven shall the blest change permit,
The Muse, your Rival long, at last I'll quit.
I'll make no Poet's unsuccessful vow,
The Friend protests, and 'tis to Martin now.
But if by wit, the worst of Follies, curst,
I must write on, still wretched as at worst.
To you I'll still appeal, to you who know
I never thought that Verse was fated so.
Who only errs, his errour may excuse;
I own the Folly, and condemn the Muse.
What's past the World forgive—forgive me Friend,
And, if a Poet ever can—I'll mend.
No more shall Verse delude with hopes of Fame,
No more the Muse my Senses Empire claim,
No more shall numbers Charm—
Nor with Amasia's, nor with Martin's Name.
No more shall Love be as an Art display'd,
Only I'll cure those Wounds my Verse has made.
To every Name, to all, but Heaven and you,
The best-good Man, Martin, my Friend—Adieu.