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And sever'd was that beauteous neck,

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd; And mangled was that beauteous breast,

On which her love-sick head repos'd. And ravish'd was that constant heart

She did to' ev'ry heart prefer ; For tho' it could its king forget,

'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amid those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,

• Yet, yet, (she cry'd,) I follow thee. My death, my death alone, can shew

* The pure, the lasting love I bore : • Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,

. And let us, let us weep no more ! The dismal scene was o'er and past,

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd; The maid drew tack her languid head,

And, sighing forth his name, expir'd. Tho' justice ever must prevail,

The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall we hear a tale

So sad, so tender, yet so true.

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FLAVIA
I told my nymph, I told her true,

My fields were small, my flocks were few;
While falt'ring accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.
Of crops destroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold:
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere ?

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How chang’d by Fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind:
She heard and shed a gen'rous tear;
And is not Flavia then sivcere?
How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for dress :
This too she heard and smild to hear;
And Flavia, sure, must be sincere.
Go shear you flocks, ye jovial swains !
Go reap the plenty of your plains :
Despoil'd of all' which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.

GILBERT COOPER.

SONG.
AWAY et nought to love displeasing,

My Winifreda,-move thy fear;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,

Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care.
What tho' no grants of royal donors

With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honours,

And to be noble, we'll be good.
What tho' from fortune's lavish bounty

No mighty treasures we possess,
We'll find within our pittance plenty,

And be content without excess. Still shall each kind returning season

Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,

Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke,
And all the great ones much shall wonder

How they admire such little folk. Thro' youth and age, in love excelling,

We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,

And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures,

Whilst round my knees they fondly clung, To see them look their mother's features,

To hear 'em lisp their mother's tongue ! And when with envy time transported

Shall think to rob us of our joys, You'll in your girls again be courted,

And I'll go wooing in my boys.

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LORD LYTTELTON.

'ADVICE TO A LADY. 1731. THE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,

Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear,
Unlike the flatteries of a lover's pen,
Such truths as women seldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I show
What female vanity might fear to know :
Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere;
But greater your's, 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 fancied power amus'd,
When most you tyrannize, you're most abus'd.

What is your sex's earliest, latest care,
Your heart's supreme ambition ?-To be fair.
For this, the toilet every thought employs,
Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys :
For this, hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school,
And each instructed feature has its rule:
And yet how few have learnt, when this is given,
Not to disgrace the partial boon of Heav'n!
How few with all their pride of form can move !
How few are lovely, that are 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 graceful Nature's unaffected ease.

Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence,
But wisely rest content with modest sense ;
For wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,
Too stron or feeble woman to sustain :

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

Be still superior 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 statesmen in disgrace At ministers, because they wish 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 fairest virtues fly from public sight, Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.

To rougher man Ambition's task resign, 'Tis ours in senates or in courts to shine, To labour for a sunk corrupted state, Or dare the rage of Envy, and be great. One only care your gentle breasts should move, The' 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 given, Shall find no place in Love's delightful heaven; Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless : The virtue of a lover is excess.

A maid unask'd may own a well-plac'd flame; Not loving first, but loving wrong, is shame.

Contemn the little pride of giving pain, Nor think that conquest justifies disdain. Short is the period of insulting power :: Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour;

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