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That he must something to her ear commend,
On which her conduct and his life depend.

Soon as the fair-one had the note receiv'd,
The remnant of the day alone she griev'd :
For different this from every former note,
Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote;
Which told her all his future hopes were laid
On the dear bosom of his Nut-brown Maid;
Which always bless'd her eyes, and own'd her

power ;
And bid her oft adieu, yet added more.
Now night advanc'd. The house in sleep were laid;
The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid,
And, last, that sprite, which does incessant haunt
The lover's steps, the ancient maiden-aunt.
To her dear Henry, Emma wings her way,
With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay;
For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid
To stir abroad till Watchfulness be laid,
Undaunted then o'er cliffs and valleys strays,
And leads his votaries safe through pathless ways.
Not Argus, with his hundred eyes, shall find
Where Cupid goes; though he, poor guide! is blind.

The maiden first arriving, sent her eye
To ask, if yet its chief delight were nigh:
With fear and with desire, with joy and pain,
She

sees, and runs to meet him on the plain.
But, oh! his steps proclaim no lover's haste:
On the low ground his fix'd regards are cast ;
His artful bosom heaves dissembled sighs;
And tears suborn'd fall copious from his eyes.

With ease, alas ! we credit what we love : His painted grief does real sorrow move

In the afflicted fair ; adown her cheek
Trickling the genuine tears their current break;
Attentive stood the mournful nymph: the man
Broke silence first: the tale alternate ran.

HENRY

SINCERE, O tell me, hast thou felt a pain, Emma, beyond what woman knows to feign? Has thy uncertain bosom ever strove With the first turaults of a real love? Hast thou now dreaded, and now blest his sway, By turns averse, and joyful to obey ? Thy virgin softness hast thou e'er bewailid, As Reason yielded, and as Love prevail'J? And wept the potent god's resistless dart, His killing pleasure, his ecstatic smart, And heavenly poison thrilling through thy heart? If so, with pity view my wretched state ; At least deplore, and then forget my fate : To some more happy knight reserve thy charms, By Fortune favour'd, and successful arms; And only, as the Sun's revolving ray Brings back each year this melancholy day, Permit one sigh, and set apart one tear, To an abandon'd exile's endless care. For me, alas ! out-cast of human race, Love's anger only waits, and dire disgrace; For, lo! these hands in murther are imbrued ; These trembling feet by Justice are pursued : Fate calls aloud, and hastens me away; A shameful death attends my longer stay,

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Made him perceive, that the inclining fair
Receiv'd his vows with no reluctant ear ;
That Venus had confirm'd her equal reign,
And dealt to Emma's heart a share of Henry's pain.

While Cupid smil'd, by kind occasion bless'd,
And, with the secret kept, the love increas’d ;
The amorous youth frequents the silent groves ;
And much he meditates, for much he loves.
He loves, 'tis true; and is belov'd again :
Great are his joys; but will they long remain ?
Emma with smiles receives his present flame;
But, smiling, will she ever be the same ?
Beautiful looks are ruld by fickle minds;
And summer seas are turn’d by sudden winds.
Another love may gain her easy youth :
Time changes thought, and flattery conquers truth. .

O impotent estate of human life!
Where Hope and Pear maintain eternal strife;
Where fleeting joy does lasting doubt inspire;
And most we question, what we most desire !
Amongst thy various gifts, great Heaven, bestow
Our cup of love unmix'd; forbear to throw
Bitter ingredients in; nor pall the draught
With nauseous grief : for our ill-judging thought
Hardly enjoys the pleasurable taste ;
Or deems it not sincere; or fears it cannot last.

With wishes rais’d, with jealousies opprest,
(Alternate tyrants of the human breast)
By one great trial he resolves to prove
The faith of woman, and the force of love.
If, scanning Emma's virtues, he may find
That beauteous frame enclose a steady mind,

He'll fix his hope, of future joy secure ;
And live a slave to Hymen's happy power.
But if the fair-one, as he fears, is frail ;
If, pois'd aright in Reason's equal scale,
Light fly her merit, and her faults prevail ;
His mind he vows to free from amorous care,
The latent mischief from his heart to tear,
Resume his azure arms, and shine again in war.

South of the castle, in a verdant glade,
A spreading beech extends her friendly shade :
Here oft the nymph his breathing vows had heard ;
Here oft her silence had her heart declar'd.
As active Spring awak'd her infant buds,
And genial life inform’d the verdant woods ;
Henry, in knots involving Emma's name,
Had half express'd, and half conceal’d, his flame,
Upon this tree : and, as the tender mark
Grew with the year, and widen’d with the bark,
Venus had heard the virgin's soft address,
That, as the wound, the passion might increase.
As potent Nature shed her kindly showers,
And deck'd the various mead with opening flowers,
Upon this tree the nymph's obliging care
Had left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair ;
Which, as with gay delight the lover found,
Pleas’d with his conquest, with her present crown'd,
Glorious through all the plains he oft had gone,
And to each swain the mystic honour shown;
The gift still prais'd, the giver still unknown.

His secret note the troubled Henry writes : To the lone tree the lovely maid invites. Imperfect words and dubious terms express, That unforeseen mischance disturb'd his peace;

That he must something to her ear commend,
On which her conduct and his life depend.

Soon as the fair-one had the note receiv'd,
The remnant of the day alone she griev'd :
For different this from every former note,
Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote;
Which told her all his future hopes were laid
On the dear bosom of his Nut-brown Maid;
Which always bless'd her eyes, and own'd her

power ;
And bid her oft adieu, yet added more.
Now night advanc'd. The house in sleep were laid;
The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid,
And, last, that sprite, which does incessant haunt
The lover's steps, the ancient maiden-aunt.
To her dear Henry, Emma wings her way,
With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay;
For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid
To stir abroad till Watchfulness be laid,
Undaunted then o'er cliffs and valleys strays,
And leads his votaries safe through pathless ways.
Not Argus, with his hundred eyes, shall find
Where Cupid goes; though he, poor guide! is blind.

The maiden first arriving, sent her eye
To ask, if yet its chief delight were nigh:
With fear and with desire, with joy and pain,
She sees, and runs to meet him on the plain.
But, oh! his steps proclaim no lover's haste :
On the low ground his fix'd regards are cast;
His artful bosom heaves dissembled sighs;
And tears suborn'd fall copious from his eyes.

With ease, alas! we credit what we love:
His painted grief does real sorrow move

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