Bleft with thy prefence, I could all forget,
Nor gilded palaces in huts regret;

But exil'd thence, fuperfluous is the rest,
Each place the same, my hell is in my breast;
To pleasure dead, and living but to pain,
My only fenfe, to fuffer and complain.

As all my wrongs diftrefsful I repeat,

Say, can thy pulfe with equal cadence beat? Canft thou know peace? is confcience mute within?

That upright delegate for secret fin;

Is nature so extinguish'd in thy heart,

That not one spark remains to take my part?
Not one repentant throb, one grateful figh?
Thy breaft unruffled, and unwet thine eye?
Thou cool betrayer, temperate in ill!

Thou, nor remorfe, nor thought humane, canft feel:

Nature has form'd thee of the rougher kind,

And education more debas'd thy mind.

Born in an age when Guilt and Fraud prevail,

When Juftice fleeps, and Int'reft holds the scale;
Thy loose companions, a licentious crew,
Moft to each other, all to us untrue;

Whom chance, or habit mix, but rarely choice,
Not leagu'd in friendship, but in focial vice;
Who, indigent of honour, as of shame,
Glory in crimes which others blush to name.

These are the leaders of thy blinded youth,
Thefe vile feducers laugh'd thee out of truth;

Whofe

Whofe fcurril jefts all folemn ties profane,
Or Friendship's band, or Hymen's facred chain.
With fuch you lofe the day in falfe delight,
In lewd debauch you revel out the night.
(O fatal commerce to MONIMIA's peace!)
Their arguments convince because they please;
Whilft fophiftry for reafon they admit,
And wander dazzled in the glare of wit.
So in the prifm, to the deluded eye,
Each pictur'd trifle takes a rainbow dye;
With borrow'd charms the gaudy profpect glows,
But truth revers'd the faithlefs mirror fhows.
Oft I revolve, in this distracted mind,

Each word, each look, that spoke my charmer

kind;

But oh! how dear their memory I pay !

What pleasures paft can present cares allay?
Of all I love for ever difpoffefs'd:

Ah! what avails, to think I once was blefs'd!
Thy fatal letters, O immoral youth,

Thofe perjur'd pledges of fictitious truth,
Dear as they were, no fecond joy afford,

My cred❜lous heart once leap'd at ev'ry word, My glowing bofom throbb'd with thick-heav'd fighs,

And floods of rapture rush'd into mine eyes:
When now repeated (for the theft was vain,
Each treafur'd fyllable my thoughts retain)
Far other paffions rule, and diff'rent care,
My joys are grief, my tranfports are despair.

Why

Why doft thou mock the ties of conftant love?
But half its joys the faithlefs ever prove ;.
They only tafte the pleasures they receive,
When, fure, the nobleft is in those we give.
Acceptance is the heav'n which mortals know,
But 'tis the blifs of angels to bestow.

Oh! emulate, my love, that task divine,
Be thou that angel, and that heav'n be mine.
Yes, yet relent, yet intercept my fate:
Alas! I rave, and fue for new deceit.
Firft vital warmth fhall from the grave return,
Ere love, extinguifh'd, with fresh ardour burn.
Oh! that I dar'd to act a Roman part,
And ftab thy image in this faithful heart;
There riveted to life fecure you reign,
Ah! cruel inmate! fharp'ning ev'ry pain:
While, coward-like, irrefolute I wait
Time's tardy aid, nor dare to rush on fate;
Perhaps may linger on life's latest stage,
Survive thy cruelties, and fall by age :
No-grief fhall fpread my fails, and speed me o'er
(Defpair my pilot) to that quiet fhore,

Where I can trust, and thou betray no more.

Might I but once again behold thy charms, Might I but breathe my last in those dear arms, On that loy'd face but fix my clofing eye, Permitted where I might not live to die, My foften'd fate I wou'd accufe no more! But fate has no fuch happiness in store,

"Tis

"Tis past, 'tis done-what gleam of hope behind, When I can ne'er be falfe, nor thou be kind? Why, then, this care-'tis weak-'tis vain

farewel

At that laft word what agonies I feel!

I faint
'Tis all I afk-eternally-adieu !—

I dieremember, I was true→→→

SECT.

SECT. XI.

CAUSE OF THE DEATH OF SAVAGE.

SAVAGE, that unfortunate genius, born, as he fays,

"Of a mother, and yet no mother!"

who, after he had been allowed £.200 per annum, by Lord TYRCONNEL, which was taken unjuftly from him; after he was penfioned by the QUEEN, on whom he had written verfes, and the penfion ceased at her demife; after having tired his friends, who feared to acknowledge him, on account of his fhabby drefs, fo expreffive of his circumstances, being at length arrested and thrown into Newgate, for the fmall fum of eight guineas, he bore this laft misfortune with uncommon fortitude. Six months elapfed in prifon, when he received a letter from Mr. POPE, on whofe kindnefs he had the greateft confidence, and to whom he applied, charging him with ingratitude, drawn up in fuch terms as refentment dictated. Mr. SAVAGE returned an answer, proving his innocence from the charge. The accufation, however, ftrongly affected his mind: he became immediately melancholy, and in a few days afterwards was feized with pains in his back and loins, which not being violent, he was not fufpected to

be