To SELINDA Sailing

See, my Selinda, how the Groves Deceive th' ill-judging Eye! And, as the Boat more nimbly moves, More swiftly seem to fly.

So to your Slave with Speed runs on The Day, when you are near; But O! how tedious, when you're gone, The ling'ring Hours appear!

What secret Cause, Selinda, trace, Can such Deceit impart:— The Hours have sure an equal Pace, But ah!—not so my Heart.