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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 sudden tears,
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, paflionate, and just,
Pour's out the pious rapture of his soul.
66 And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ?
“ She, whom my restless gratitude has sought
“ So long in vain? O heavens! the very fame,
“ The softened image of my noble friend ;
“ Alive his every look, his every feature,
“ More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring!
“ Thou sole surviving blossom from the root
“ That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,
“ In what sequefter'd desart, hast thou drawn
“ The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven?
“ Into such 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 suns, 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' valt, were little to his ampler heart, “ The father of a country, thus to pick F 5
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 talk; “ 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 facred triumph of his soul, With conscious 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, she pin'd away The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate; Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard, Joy seized 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..
HE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear;
Unlike the flatt'ries of a lover's
Such truths as women seldom learn from men,
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I Thew
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
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.
sex's earliest, latest care,
Your heart's supreme 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 poffefs
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 wisely rest 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 superior to your sex's arts,
Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts ;
For you the plainest is the wifest rule,
A Cunning Woman is a Knavilh Fool.
Be good yourself, nor think another's shame
Can raise your merit, or adorn your
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 faireft virtues fly from public fight,
Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
To rougher man ambition's tak resign:
"Tis ours in fenates or in courts to shine,
To labour for a funk corrupted state,
Or dare the
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 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 sweet extremes alone can truly bless,
The virtue of a lover is excess.
Contemn the little pride of giving pain,
Nor think that conquest justifies disdain ;
Short is the period of insulting pow'r ;
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour,
Soon will resume the empire which he gave,
And soon the tyrant shall become the slave.
Blest is the maid, and worthy to be blest,
Whose foul, entire by him she loves poffefs'd,
Feels ev'ry vanity in fondness lost,
And asks no pow'r, but that of pleasing moft :
Her's is the bliss in just return to prove
The honest warmth of undissembled love;