 | Lycidus |  |
To Alexis in Answer to his Poem against Fruition.
by Mrs. B.
ODE
Ah hapless sex! who bear no charms,
But what like lightning flash and are no more,
False fires sent down for baneful harms,
Fires which the fleeting Lover feebly warms
And given like past Biboches o're,
Like Songs that please, (thô bad,) when new,
But learn'd by heart neglected grew.
But what like lightning flash and are no more,
False fires sent down for baneful harms,
Fires which the fleeting Lover feebly warms
And given like past Biboches o're,
Like Songs that please, (thô bad,) when new,
But learn'd by heart neglected grew.
In vain did Heav'n adorn the shape and face
With Beautyes which by Angels forms it drew:
In vain the mind with brighter Glories Grace,
While all our joys are stinted to the space
Of one betraying enterview,
With one surrender to the eager will
We're short-liv'd nothing, or a real ill.
With Beautyes which by Angels forms it drew:
In vain the mind with brighter Glories Grace,
While all our joys are stinted to the space
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With one surrender to the eager will
We're short-liv'd nothing, or a real ill.
Since Man with that inconstancy was born,
To love the absent, and the present scorn.
Why do we deck, why do we dress
For such a short-liv'd happiness?
Why do we put Attraction on,
Since either way tis we must be undon?
To love the absent, and the present scorn.
Why do we deck, why do we dress
For such a short-liv'd happiness?
Why do we put Attraction on,
Since either way tis we must be undon?
They fly if Honour take our part,
Our Virtue drives 'em o're the field.
We lose 'em by too much desert,
And Oh! they fly us if we yeild.
Ye Gods! is there no charm in all the fair
To fix this wild, this faithless, wanderer.
Our Virtue drives 'em o're the field.
We lose 'em by too much desert,
And Oh! they fly us if we yeild.
Ye Gods! is there no charm in all the fair
To fix this wild, this faithless, wanderer.
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Man! our great business and our aim,
For whom we spread our fruitless snares,
No sooner kindles the designing flame,
But to the next bright object bears
The Trophies of his conquest and our shame:
Inconstancy's the good supream
The rest is airy Notion, empty Dream!
For whom we spread our fruitless snares,
No sooner kindles the designing flame,
But to the next bright object bears
The Trophies of his conquest and our shame:
Inconstancy's the good supream
The rest is airy Notion, empty Dream!
Then, heedless Nymph, be rul'd by me
If e're your Swain the bliss desire;
Think like Alexis he may be
Whose wisht Possession damps his fire;
The roving youth in every shade
Has left some sighing and abandon'd Maid,
For tis a fatal lesson he has learn'd,
After fruition ne're to be concern'd.
If e're your Swain the bliss desire;
Think like Alexis he may be
Whose wisht Possession damps his fire;
The roving youth in every shade
Has left some sighing and abandon'd Maid,
For tis a fatal lesson he has learn'd,
After fruition ne're to be concern'd.
| Lycidus | |