"Such as she culls, when at her death
"The world does smell her sacrifice."

Nature of these a mistress made;

But would have form'd a lover too; And such as might this nymph persuade To all that love for love should do.

This second work she well began,
With leisure, and by slow degrees;
But found it hard to make a man,
That could so choice a beauty please.

She wrought, and wrought, and then gave o'er:
Then did another model try;
But, less contented than before,

She laid the work for ever by.

I ask'd the cause; and straight she said, ""Tis very possible, I find,

"To match the body which I made; "But I can never fit her mind.

"For that still various seems and strange; "And since all lovers various be, "And apt as mistresses to change,

"I cannot make my work agree.

"Now sexes meet not by design,

"When they the world's chief work advance,

"But in the dark they sometimes join,
"As wandering atoms meet by chance."

EDMOND WALLER,

Born 1605, and died 1687.

CHLORIS, farewell! I now must go :
For, if with thee I longer stay,
Thy eyes prevail upon me so,

I shall prove blind, and lose my way.

Fame of thy beauty, and thy youth, Among the rest me hither brought: Finding this fame fall short of truth

Made me stay longer than I thought.

For I'm engag'd by word, and oath,
A servant to another's will:
Yet, for thy love, I'd forfeit both,
Could I be sure to keep it still.

But what assurance can I take,

When thou, fore-knowing this abuse,

For some more worthy lover's sake,

May'st leave me with so just excuse?

For thou may'st say, 'twas not thy fault, That thou didst thus inconstant prove, Being by my example taught

To break thy oath, to mend thy love.

No, Chloris, no! I will return,

And raise thy story to that height, That strangers shall at distance burn, And she distrust me reprobate.

Then shall my love this doubt displace, And gain such trust, that I may come And banquet sometimes on thy face,

But make my constant meals at home.

OF SYLVIA.

OUR sighs are heard; just heav'n declares
The sense it has of lovers' cares.
She that so far the rest outshin'd,
Sylvia, the fair, while she was kind,
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandsome now.

So when the sky makes us endure
A storm, itself becomes obscure.

Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, Hiding from Flavia's self her name; Lest she, provoking heaven, should prove How it rewards neglected love. Better a thousand such as I,

Their grief untold, should pine and die, Than her bright morning, overcast With sullen clouds, should be defac'd.

OF LOVE.

ANGER in hasty words or blows
Itself discharges on our foes;
And sorrow, too, finds some relief
In tears, which wait upon our grief.
So ev'ry passion, but fond love,
Unto its own redress does move:
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs;
Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures which render him despis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
For women, born to be controll❜d,
Stoop to the forward and the bold,