Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.

ON HIS SECRET PASSION FOR COSMELIA.

BY no Discov'ry have I e'er reveal'd My secret Love, so closely yet conceal'd; But rather, oft with Hypocritick Art, In a dissembled look bely'd my Heart. Yet cou'd Discov'ry gratifie my Wish, Concealment shou'd not long defer the bliss. For straight my Passion then I wou'd reveal, And whisper in her Ear the Am'rous Tale. But no Relation can my wants relieve, Or Limits to my boundless Wishes give.

Shou'd my Belov'd, whose Art hath giv'n new breath To dying Heroes, at the point of Death: She who no Cure scarce ever undertook, But the disease her Patient soon forsook:

She who each Simple's Sov'reign Vertue knows, And to their proper use can them dispose: Shou'd She her utmost Skill in Physick try, All, All wou'd fail to ease my misery: All her Prescriptions, without Love, are vain; Love only suits the Nature of my pain.

Thrice hath the Sun his Annual progress made, Since first my Heart was by my Eyes betray'd; With various Scenes of suitable delight, Cosmelia's Beauty entertain'd my sight. Th' Idea of which doth still salute my Eye, Nor can her Absence this delight deny. Whilst Wit and Learning also charm'd each sence, Her Poetry had no less influence; For flights of fancy in her lines abound, As Wine in Conduits, when a King is Crown'd. Thus Art, Wit, Beauty, Learning, all conspire T' insnare my Heart, and set my Soul on fire: Her Words, her Looks my waking thoughts employ; And when I sleep, I see her with more joy. But ah! too soon the silent Shades of Night, Do leave their Empire to the rising Light.

When, lo, I find my Pleasures but a Dream, Thus chiefest Ioys glide with the swiftest stream. A sleep or wake, still Love creeps through my Veins, And in my Mind the fierce infection reigns. Sometimes with Books I wou'd divert my Mind, But that increases but the pain, I find: Sometimes I court enjoyment ••rom my Muse, Till by distraction I my fancy lose. So wretched Men, that sundry Med'cines try, As oft increase, as cure the Malady. In vain I strive these fantoms to remove, Or shun those Aerial Images of Love: Her bright Idea makes Affections yield, Like Ears of Corn, when Wind salutes the Field.

Each rising Sun views her more bright and fair, Her Vertues more conspicuous appear. Gentle's her Nature, Modest is her Meen; Her Conversation's Mild, Her Looks Screen. No Tyrant Passion rages in her Breast, But the meek Dove builds there her Hal••yon Nest. More Native Wealth doth that fair Breast contain, Than all the Treasures of the boundless Main.

Not so delightfull was the Sacred Tree, Nor God-like knowledge cou'd more tempting be. For the fair Tree cou'd not such Fruit impart, As this fair Virgin, wou'd she yield her Heart.

Happy, false Strephon then, whose pow'rfull Charms Alone might win this Lady to his Arms: His gracefull Meen, resistless Charms impart, And glide (unfelt) into her tender Heart; Whilst on his Lips such smooth discourse is hung, His Person's less attractive than his Tongue. No Storms in Love need Strephon then maintain, Without a Siege he may the Conquest gain: For where the Fort by Love's betray'd within, It needs must yield to let the Hero in. But for th' Squire, and the young hopefull Cit, With the Gay Spark, that wou'd be thought a Wit; Their hopes are blasted, and each strives in vain, By Nuptial Tyes the lovely prize to gain. The Squire she slights, lest he unkind shou'd prove, And to his Horse or Dogs prefer her Love. Covetous and unbred she styles the Citt, Debauch'd the vain pretender to lewd Wit.

Thus bravely she doth these kind Heroes slight, Thinking they all intrude on Strephon's right; Whilst unconcern'd Triumphant Strephon stood, Like some dull Image carv'd of Stone or Wood; Insensible of all Love's pow'rfull Charms, Nor mov'd by Wit's or Beauty's loud Alarms. But oh, my Soul! unlike Effects I find, Her Virgin charms produceth in thy mind.

As nought that's dead and barren can excite Vital affections, or the sence delight; So nought inanimate cou'd e'er improve My Gen'rous thoughts to any fruits of Love: Or as Clarinda's painted Shadows fed Only my fancy with their White and Red. So bright Cosmelia's Pen it do's impart, Vigour and Motion to my Love-sick Heart: Her sacred Presence all my Parts do render Vocal, except my Tongue, that stupid Member. Her Wit my Soul inspires with thoughts too great, For words to comprehend, shou'd silence break. If in kind glances, by a swift surprize, I do behold the Aspect of her Eyes;

Alternate Paroxysms of Cold and Heat, My Vital Spirits strangely do defeat. Thus various Passions in my Breast do rove, Yet all do meet and terminate in Love.

Oh wou'd kind Heav'n but be so much my friend, To make my Fate upon my choice depend: All my Ambition here I wou'd confine, And only this fair Virgin shou'd be mine; Lock'd in her Arms in Love and Peace I'd lye, And whilst I breathe, my Flames shou'd never dye: For shou'd that Beauty which she do's possess, Fade into Autumn, I cou'd love no less.