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Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold;
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once.
Confus'd, and frightened at his fudden tears,
Her rifing beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, passionate, and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul.

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"And art thou then Acasto's dear remains?

She, whom my restless gratitude has fought "So long in vain? O heavens! the very fame,

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The foftened image of my noble friend;

"Alive his every look, his every feature,
"More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring!
"Thou fole surviving blossom from the root
"That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,
" In what sequester'd defart, haft thou drawn
"The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven?
"Into fuch beauty spread, and blown so fair:
"Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain,

"Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years?

"O let me now, into a richer foil,

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Transplant thee safe! where vernal funs, and showers, " Diffuse their warmest, largest influence; " And of my garden be the pride, and joy! "Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits

"Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores, "Tho' vast, were little to his ampler heart, "The father of a country, thus to pick

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"The very refuse of those harvest-fields,
"Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.
" Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
"But ill apply'd to such a rugged task;
"The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine;
"If to the various blessings which thy house
"Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
"That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee !"
Here ceas'd the youth: yet still his speaking eye
Express'd the sacred triumph of his foul,
With confcious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all

In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd confent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierc'd with anxious thought, the pin'd away
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate;
Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours:
Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair;
Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.

ADVICE TO A LADY.

By the Honourable Mr. N

THE counfels of a friend, Belinda, hear,

Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear;

Unlike the flatt'ries of a lover's pen,

Such truths as women seldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I shew
What female vanity might fear to know :
Some merit's mine, to dare to be fincere,
But greater yours, sincerity to bear.

Hard is the fortune that your sex attends;
Women, like princes, find few real friends :
All who approach them their own ends pursue:
Lovers and ministers are seldom true.
Hence oft from reason heedless beauty strays,
And the most trusted guide the most betrays:
Hence by fond dreams of fancy'd pow'r amus'd,
When most you tyrannize you're most abus'd.

What is your sex's earliest, latest care, Your heart's fupreme ambition? To be fair: For this the toilet ev'ry thought employs, Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys: For this, hands, lips, and eyes are put to school, And each instructive feature has its rule; And yet how few have learnt, when this is giv'n, Not to disgrace the partial boon of heav'n?

How few with all their pride of form can move?
How few are lovely, that were made for love?

Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess
An elegance of mind as well as dress;
Be that your ornament, and know to please
By grateful nature's unaffected ease.

Nor make to dang'rous wit a vain pretence,

But wifely reft content with modest sense;
For wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,
Too strong for feeble women to sustain;

Of those who claim it, more than half have none,
And half of those who have it, are undone.

Be still fuperior to your sex's arts,
Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts;
For you the plainest is the wisest rule,
A Cunning Woman is a Knavish Fool.
Be good yourself, nor think another's shame

Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame.
Prudes rail at whores, as ftatesmen in disgrace
At ministers, because they with their place.
Virtue is amiable, mild, serene,
Without all beauty, and all peace within :
The honour of a prude is rage and storm,
'Tis ugliness in its most frightful form :
Fiercely it stands defying gods and men,
As fiery monsters guard a giant's den.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great:
A woman's noblest station is retreat;

Her

Her fairest virtues fly from public fight,
Domestic worth, that shuns too ftrong a light.

To rougher man ambition's task resign:
"Tis ours in senates or in courts to shine,
To labour for a funk corrupted state,
Or dare the rage of envy, and be great.
One only care your gentle breasts should move,
Th' important business of your life is love:
To this great point direct your constant aim,
This makes your happiness, and this your fame.

Be never cool reserve with passion join'd;
With caution chuse; but then be fondly kind.
The selfish heart, that but by halves is giv'n,
Shall find no place in love's delightful heav'n;
Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless,
The virtue of a lover is excess.

Contemn the little pride of giving pain,
Nor think that conquest juftifies disdain;
Short is the period of insulting pow'r;
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour,
Soon will refume the empire which he gave,
And foon the tyrant shall become the flave.
Bleft is the maid, and worthy to be blest,
Whose soul, entire by him she loves possess'd,
Feels ev'ry vanity in fondness loft,
And asks no pow'r, but that of pleasing most:
Her's is the bliss in just return to prove

The honest warmth of undissembled love ;

For

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