Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts
AN ADDRESS TO A Gentlewoman Walking in a Garden.
MAdam, I hope, though I a Stranger am,
Your candid Goodness will not let you blame
This bold intrusion, that do's now bereave
You of these privacies without your leave;
And as you're fair, I hope you're no less kind,
Craving your pardon then, I'll speak my mind:
But oh! I fear my troubled Heart bodes ill,
One word from you my life do's save or kill;
First for your pity then I must beseech,
Lodg'd at your feet, you would behold this wretch.
O that the Gods above wou'd bring to pass,
You might my suit, without my speaking guess;
But that won't be, relating then, fair Saint,
My firm-fix't Love in murmuring complaint.
Page 120Not long since, walking through the shady Grove,
To see those tender budding Plants improve;
And coming downwards from the Rivers head,
To hear the noise the purling Waters made,
And see her various and delightfull pride,
Streaming in Circles as the Waters glide.
Then 'twas I heard a shrill melodions sound,
Pleasanter far than what I there had found.
One while I thought it was some Angel's tune,
Whose pleasing Echo still wou'd re-assume
Its first high quav'ring strein, and then fall low'r;
In short, too charming for the strongest pow'r.
My curiosity then brought me to
A lonesome Grotto, where as prying through
Its verdant spreading branches, I did see
That beauteous Form which thus has wounded me•
And ever since my Passion is the same,
Resist not then so true and pure a Flame;
But with kind pity send me some relief,
Since my Heart's stole by you, the pretty Thief,
From whose bright Eyes such conqu'ring Charms do dart,
As might enslave and captivate each Heart:
Page 121The greatest Praise is to your Beauty due,
All must their Homage pay when seen by you.
The Fruit-tree nodding with each blast that blows,
Through the great pressure of her loaden Boughs,
Seems to design none but your hand to crop
Her pendent Clusters, from her Branches top.
The purple Vi'let, and the blushing Rose,
With sweet Carnations, wait till you dispose
Their fragrant scent to your sagacious Nose.
If you're displeas'd the fairest downwards drop
Its fading pensive head, and wither'd top:
But if you're angry, possibly the Sun
Might stop his course, and not his journey run;
At which th' amazed and affrighted World
Might to its first rude Chaos soon be hurl'd.
And since my Fate's wrapt up in what you doom,
Do not my Passion with your scorn o'er-come;
But with the Sweets of Love, and then we'll be
Lock't in Embraces to Eternity.