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able Account Adieu Affection againſt alſo Amuſement anſwer appear becauſe become begin Body certainly charming Children Country dear deareſt extremely fame fear feel firſt fome FRANCES to HENRY Friend give Hand happened happy Harry Head Health hear Heart HENRY to FRANCES hope Hour Idea Indulgence juſt Kind laſt late leaſt leave Letter LETTER LETTER live London look Love Manner Matter mean Mind Morning moſt muſt myſelf Name Nature never Night Occaſion once Pain Paragraph perhaps Perſon Place pleaſed Pleaſure poor Poſt pray preſent Reaſon received Reflection rejoice returned ſaid ſame ſay ſee ſeems ſend Senſe ſet ſhall ſhe ſhould ſince ſome ſometimes ſoon ſpeak Spirits ſtill Subject ſuch ſuffer ſure tell thank theſe Thing thoſe thought Three turn uſed Weather whole Wife wiſh Woman World write wrote yourſelf
Page 28 - Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Page 78 - Like as the culver, on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate, And in her songs sends many a wishful vow For his return, that seems to linger late ; So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love : And wandering here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove : Ne joy of aught that under...
Page 239 - I am not merry ; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
Page 78 - Lilceas the Culver36 on the bared bough fits mourning for the abfence of her mate ; and, in her fongs fends many a wifhful vow, for his return that feems to linger late: So I alone now left difconfolate, mourn to myfelf the abfence of my love : and, wand'ring here and there all defolate, feek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
Page 107 - Л subject soon exhausts itself with me. You must get some of your volume friends to spin the text for you.
Page 123 - THE heavy hours are almoft paft That part my love and me : My longing eyes may hope at laft, Their only wifh to fee. But how, my Delia, will you meet The man you've loft fo long ? Will love in all your pulfes beat, And tremble on your tongue? Will you in every look declare, Your heart is ftill the fame ; And heal each...