1 791* LITER ARif IVTELLIGEKCER. 263 



" Goddefs (llie faid), fince poor Squalina more 



*' Thy favour gains, than e'er did cat before ; 



" O grant me yet one day to breathe the air 



" In the lov'd prefence of my raiftrefs fair, 



" To tell her with my laft, ray parting breath, 



*' Thy faithful puffy loves thee after death !" 



Lo-je, a Rondeau. 

 Peace ! thou fond flutt'rer, prithee peace ! 

 Why lliak'ft thou thus my troubled bread ? 



1 let thy painful throbbing ceafe, 

 And give me back my wonted reft : 

 For now forlorn I wafte the day, 

 And now forlorn I wafte the night ; 



1 court the fun's declining ray, 



I Ijnguifti for the morning's light ; 

 Then peace, fond fiutt'rer ! prithee peace, 

 And let thy painful throbbing ceafe. 



" While my refiftlefs troubled head, 



*' Rolls the warm tide thy veins along ; 



" Still ftiall thy pulfes madly beat, 



*' Irregular, and wild, and ftrong. 



" Ne'er flialt thou quell the inward ftorm, 



" Till Ifabella's heavenly charms, 



" Her gently yeilding, lovely form, 



" Shall pant within thy circling arms : 



" Then I'll eafe thy troubled breaft, 



" And give thee back thy wonted reft." 



Carlos. 



^* 



