ON THE QUEEN.
When we reflect upon our charming Queen,
Her wit, her beauty, her imperial mien,
Majeſtic Juno in her air we find,3
The form of Venus, with Minerva’s mind:
Who was ſo grac’d, ſhe, ſhe was fit alone
With royal James to fill the Britiſh throne.6
LOVE.
To love is to be doom’d on earth to feel
What after death the tortur’d meet in hell.
The vulture dipping in Prometheus’ ſide
His bloody beak, with his torn liver dy’d,
Is love: The ſtone that labours up the hill,5
Mocking the lab’rer’s toil, returning ſtill,
Is love: Thoſe ſtreams where Tantalus is curſt
To ſit, and never drink, with endleſs thirſt;
Thoſe loaden boughs that with their burthen bend
To court his taſte, and yet eſcape his hand;10
All this is love, that to diſſembled joys
Invites vain men, with real grief deſtroys.12
