Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/158

By her own Act, the Springs of Life destroy,
The Principles, and Being of her Joy?
Sensual and base———Can Nature then approve
Blessings obtain'd, by cursing whom we love?
Possessing, she is lost; renouncing, I;
Where then's the Doubt? Die, die, Constantius, die.
Honour and Love, ye Tyrants, I obey,
Where-e'er your cruel Call directs my Way,
To Shame, to Chains, or to a certain Grave
Lead on, unpitying Guides, behold your Slave.

Ori. Love's an ignoble Joy, below your Care,
Glory shall make amends with Fame in War;
Honour's the noblest Chace, pursue that Game,
And recompence the Loss of Love with Fame:
If still against such Aids your Love prevails,
Yet Absence is a Cure that seldom fails.

Con. Tyrannick Honour! what Amends canst thou
E'er make my Heart, by flattering my Brow?
vain Race of Fame! unless the Conquest prove
In search of Beauty, to conclude in Love.
Frail Hope of Aids! for Time or Chance to give
That Love, which spite of Cruelty can live!
From your Disdain, since no Relief I find,
I must love Absent, whom I love Unkind;
Tho' Seas divide us, and tho' Mountains part,
That fatal Form will ever haunt my Heart.
O! dire Reverse of Hope, that I endure,
From sure Possession, to Despair as sure!