112 THE POEMS OF ANNE �When, did'st thou e're a pleasing rule obtain, A glorious Empire's but a glorious pain, Thou, art indeed, but vanity's cheife sourse, But foyle to witt, to want of witt a curse, For often, by thy gaudy sign's descry'd A fool, which unobserv'd, had been untry'd, And when thou doest such empty things adorn, 'Tis but to make them more the publick scorn. I know thee well, but weak thy reign wou'd be 30 �Did n'one adore, or prize thee more then me. I see indeed, thy certain ruine neer, But can't affoard one parting sigh, or tear, Nor rail at Time, nor quarrell with my glasse, But unconcern'd, can lett thy glories passe. �SOME PIECES OUT OF THE FIKST ACT OF THE AMINTA �OF TASSO �DAPHNE'S Answer to SYLVIA, declaring she should esteem all as Enemies, who should talk to her of Love �Then, to the snowy Ewe, in thy esteem, �The Father of the Flock a Foe must seem, �The faithful Turtles to their yielding Mates. �The chearful Spring, which Love and Joy creates, �That reconciles the World by soft Desires, �And tender Thoughts in ev'ry Breast inspires, �To you a hateful Season must appear, �Whilst Love prevails, and all are Lovers here. �Observe the gentle Murmurs of that Dove, �And see, how billing she confirms her Love! �For this, the Nightingale displays her Throat, 10 �And Love, Love, Love, is all her Ev'ning Note. �The very Tygers have their tender Hours, �And prouder Lyons bow beneath Love's Pow'rs. �Thou, prouder yet than that imperious Beast, ��� �
