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30bn Pomfret

was born in Bedfordshire in 1667, and entering holy orders became
rector of Malden in his native county. He was the author of a poem
called 'The Choice' (1699), in which some passages were so misunder-
stood, that Dr. Compton, the Bishop of London, hesitated, if he did
not actually refuse, to induct him to a more important benefice. The
Bishop discovered his error when it was too late.
Pomfret came up
to London apparently to explain matters, and here he caught the pre-
vailing infection, of which he died in 1703. The last paragraph in his
preface to Poems upon Several Occasions—the volume which included
'The Choice'-may be quoted as indicating the nature of his own
claims upon public recognition as against those of others :-'To please
every one would be a new thing, and to write so as to please nobody
would be as new; for even Quarles and Wythers have their admirers.
The author is not so fond of fame to desire it from the injudicious
many; nor of so mortified a temper not to wish it from the discerning
few. 'Tis not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of the
applauders, which establishes a valuable reputation; and if a Rymer

or a Congreve say 'tis well, he will not be at all sollicitous
how great the majority may be to the contrary.'

Lines to a Friend wishful
to be Married

I WOULD not have you choose a mate,
From too exalted, or too mean a state,
For in both these we may expect to find
A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind.
Who moves within the middle region shares
The least disquiets, and the smallest cares,

Let her extraction with true lustre shine;

If something brighter, not too bright for thine Her education liberal, not great;

Neither inferior nor above her state.

Let her have wit; but let that wit be free
From affectation, pride, or pedantry :

;

For the effect of woman's wit is such,
Too little is as dangerous as too much.
But chiefly let her humour close with thine
Unless when yours does to a fault incline;
The least disparity in this destroys,
Like sulphurous blasts, the very buds of joys.
Her person amiable, straight, and free
From natural, or chance deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if equal thine;
For women past their vigour, soon decline :
Her fortune competent; and, if thy sight
Can reach so far, take care 'tis gathered right.
If thine's enough, then hers may be the less:
Do not aspire to riches in excess.

For that which makes our lives delightful prove
Is a genteel sufficiency and love.

George Granville

Lord Lansdowne, was born in 1667. During the reign of William III. he remained in obscurity, but, on the accession of Queen Anne, entered Parliament, and held various public offices. He died in 1735.

Loving at First Sight

No warning of the approaching flame,
Swiftly, like sudden death, it came;
Like travellers, by lightning killed,
I burnt the moment I beheld.

In whom so many charms are placed
Is with a mind as nobly graced ;
The case, so shining to behold,
Is filled with richest gems, and gold.

To what my eyes admired before
I add a thousand graces more;
And fancy blows into a flame

The spark that from her beauty came.

The object thus improved by thought,
By my own image I am caught;
Pygmalion so, with fatal art,

Polished the form that stung his heart.

William Congreve

was born at Bardsey, near Leeds, in 1670. He was educated first at a school in Kilkenny, and then at Dublin University. Arrived in London, he studied for the law, but the stage claimed his attentions. He wrote various highly successful comedies, including The Old Bachelor, Love for Love, and The Way of the World, and a tragedy called The Mourning Bride. He died in 1729.

The Petition

GRANT me, gentle Love, said I,

One dear blessing ere I die ;
Long I've borne excess of pain,
Let me now some bliss obtain.

Thus to almighty Love I cried,
When angry thus the god replied:
Blessings greater none can have,
Art thou not Amynta's slave?
Cease, fond mortal, to implore,

For Love, even Love himself's no more.

False though she be

FALSE though she be to me and love,

I'll ne'er pursue revenge;

William Congreve

For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met, They could not always last; And though the present I regret I'm grateful for the past.

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