BURNING with love, tormented with despair,
Unable to forget or ease his care;
In vain each practis'd art Alexis tries;
In vain to books, to wine or women flies;
Each brings Euthalia's image to his eyes.
In Locke's or Newton's page her learning glows;
Dryden the sweetness of her numbers shews;
In all their various excellence I find
The various beauties of her perfect mind.
How vain in wine a short relief I boast!
Each sparkling glass recalls my charming toast.
To women then successless I repair,
Engage the young, the witty, and the fair.
When Sappho's wit each envious breast alarms,
And Rosalinda looks ten thousand charms;
In vain to them my restless thoughts would run;
Like fairest stars, they show the absent sun.