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Show 14 <P 0 E M S. r This is m y doom, and fuch a ridling Fate As all impoffibles doth complicate. For Obligation here is Injury, Conftancy Crime, Friendfhip a Herefie. And you appear fo much on Ruine bent, Your own deftruction gives you now Content: For our twin-Spirits did fo long agree, You muft undo your felf to mine me. And, like fome Frantick Goddefs, you're inclin'd. T o raze the Temple where you are enfhrin'd. And, what's the Miracle of Cruelty, Kill that which gave you ImmdrtaJity. While glorious Friendfhip, whence your Honour fpririgs, Lies gafping in the Crowd of common things; And I'm fo odious, that for beinp kind Doubled and ftudied Murthers-;are defign'd. Thy fin's all Paradox, for fhouldft thou be Thy felf again, th* wouldft be fevere to me. For thy Repentance coming now fo Iate? Would only change, and not relieve m y Fate. So dangerous is the confequence of ill, Thy leaft of Crimes is to be cruel ftill. For of thy Smiles I fhould yet more complain, If I fhould live to be betray'd a^ain. Live then (fair Tyrant ) in Security, From both m y Kindnefs and Revenge be free ; While I, who to the Swains had fiing thy Fame, And taught each Echo to repeat thy Name, Will now m y private Sorrow entertain, T o Rocks and Rivers, not to thee, complain. And though before our Union cherifli'd me, 'Tis now m y pleafuf e that w e difagree. For from m y bafilon your laft Rigour grew. And you ktlt'd m e becaufe I worfhipp'd you. But m y worft Vows fhall be your Happinefs, And nor to be difturb'd by m y diftrefs. And thougl k would m y facred flames pollute, To make m y heart a fcorned proftitute ; Yet POEMS. 55 Yet 1*11 adore the Author of m y Death., And kifs the Hand that robs m e of m y breath. . To Regina Collier, on her cruelty to Philafter. TRiumphant Queen of fcorn 1 how ill doth fn In all that cwcetnefs, fuch injurious Wit ? Unjuft and Cruel! what can be your prize, T o make one heart a double Sacrifice ? Where fuch ingenious Rigour you do fhew T o break his Heart, you break his Image too j And by a Tyranny that s ftrange and new, You murther him becaufe he worfhip* you. N o pride can raife you, or can make him ftart, Since Love and Honour do enrich his heart. Be Wife and Good, left when Fate will be juft She fhould o erthrow thofe glories in the duft Rifle your Beauties, and you thus forlorn Make a cheap Victim to another's fcorn ; And in thofe Fetters which you do upbraid, Your felf a wretched Captive may be made. Redeem the poyfon'd Age, let it be feen There's no fuch freedom as to ferve a Queen. But you I fee are lately Round-head grown, * And w h o m you vanquifh you infult upon. To Philafter, on his Melancholy for Regina. Mve over now thy tears, thou vain JJ And double Murtherer j For every minute of thy pain Wounds both thy felf and her. Then leave this dulnefs; for 'tis our belief, Thy Queen muft cure, or not deferve, thy Grief. |