The Lady's Looking-Glass

Celia and I the other Day Walk'd o'er the Sand-Hills to the Sea: The setting Sun adorn'd the Coast, His Beams entire, his Fierceness lost: And, on the Surface of the Deep, The Winds lay only not asleep: The Nymph did like the Scene appear, Serenely pleasant, calmly fair: Soft fell her words, as flew the Air. With secret Joy I heard Her say, That She would never miss one Day A Walk so fine, a Sight so gay. But, oh the Change! the Winds grow high: Impending Tempests charge the Sky: The Lightning flies: the Thunder roars: And big Waves lash the frighten'd Shoars. Struck with the Horror of the Sight, She turns her Head, and wings her Flight; And trembling vows, She'll ne'er again Approach the Shoar, or view the Main. Once more at least look back, said I; Thy self in That large Glass descry: When Thou art in good Humour drest; When gentle Reason rules thy Breast; The Sun upon the calmest Sea Appears not half so bright as Thee: 'Tis then, that with Delight I rove Upon the boundless Depth of Love: I bless my Chain: I hand my Oar; Nor think on all I left on Shoar. But when vain Doubt, and groundless Fear Do That Dear Foolish Bosom tear; When the big Lip, and wat'ry Eye Tell Me, the rising Storm is nigh: 'Tis then, Thou art yon' angry Main, Deform'd by Winds, and dash'd by Rain; And the poor Sailor that must try Its Fury, labours less than I. Shipwreck'd, in vain to Land I make; While Love and Fate still drive Me back: Forc'd to doat on Thee thy own Way, I chide Thee first, and then obey: Wretched when from Thee, vex'd when nigh, I with Thee, or without Thee, die.