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Then blaz'd his fmother'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, paffionate, and juft,

Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul.

"And art thou then Acafto's dear remains? "She, whom my restless gratitude has fought "So long in vain? O heavens! the very fame, "The foftened image of my noble friend; "Alive his every look, his every feature, "More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring! "Thou fole furviving blossom from the root “That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where, "In what fequefter'd defart, haft thou drawn "The kindeft afpect 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, "Transplant thee fafe! where vernal funs, and showers, "Diffuse their warmeft, largest influence;

"And of my garden be the pride, and joy!
"Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits

"Acafto's daughter, his whofe open stores,
"Tho' vaft, were little to his ampler heart,
The father of a country, thus to pick
F 5


"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 mafter, all, my fair, are thine;

"If to the various bleffings which thy house
"Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
"That dearest blifs, the power of bleffing thee !"
Here ceas'd the youth: yet ftill his speaking eye
Express'd the facred triumph of his soul,
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 consent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,

While, pierc'd with anxious thought, fhe pin'd away
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate ;

Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,

Joy feiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life fhone on her evening hours:
Not lefs enraptur'd than the happy pair ;
Who flourish'd long in tender blifs, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.



By the Honourable Mr. N

HE 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 feldom 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, fincerity to bear.

Hard is the fortune that your fex attends;
Women, like princes, find few real friends:
All who approach them their own ends pursue:
Lovers and minifters are feldom true.

Hence oft from reafon heedless beauty ftrays,
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 fex's earlieft, 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 inftructive feature has its rule;
And yet how few have learnt, when this is giv'n,
Not to difgrace the partial boon of heav'n?

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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 ftrong 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 ftill fuperior to your fex's arts,

Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts;
For you the plaineft is the wifeft 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 statesmen in disgrace
At minifters, because they wish their place.
Virtue is amiable, mild, ferene,

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 ftands defying gods and men,
As fiery monfters guard a giant's den.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great:
A woman's nobleft station is retreat;


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

To rougher man ambition's task resign:
"Tis ours in fenates or in courts to fhine,
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 paffion join'd;
With caution chufe; 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 fweet extremes alone can truly bless,
The virtue of a lover is excefs.

Contemn the little pride of giving pain,
Nor think that conqueft juftifies difdain;
Short is the period of infulting pow'r;
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour,
Soon will refume the empire which he gave,
And foon the tyrant shall become the slave.
Bleft is the maid, and worthy to be blest,
Whose foul, entire by him she loves poffefs'd,
Feels ev'ry vanity in fondness loft,

And asks no pow'r, but that of pleasing moft:
Her's is the bliss in just return to prove

The honeft warmth of undiffembled love;


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