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" His aged widow and his daughter live,

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. “ Romantic wish! would this the daughter were com

When, frie enquiring, from herself he found She was the same, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak The mingled passions that surpriz'd his heart, And thro' his nerves in fhivering transport ran? Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avowd, 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 Aluth'd a higher bloom, As thus Palemon, pallionate, and just, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul.

“ And art thou then Acaito's dear remains ? *si She, whom my refless gratitude has fought

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 nourilh'd up my fortune! Say, ah where, ". In what requester'd desart, haft thou drawn "The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven? “ Into fach beauty spread, and blown so fair:;

“ Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, “ Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender year3 ? O let me now, into a richer foil, Transplant thee safe! where vernal funs, and thowers, “ Difuse their warmest, largest influence; ." And of my garden be the pride, and joy! “ Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits “ Acafto's daughter, his whose open flores, " Tho' vaft, were little to his ampler heart, “. The father of a country, thus to pick The very refuse of those harvelt-fields, " Which from his bountcous friend hip I enjoy. “ Then throw that ihainiful 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 ine lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss, 6. That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee!",

Here ceas'd the youth: yer Aill his speaking eye Express'd the sacred triumph of his foul, With conscious virtue, gratitude, ar.d love, Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'J. Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible, and all In sweet disorder loit, she bluh'd consent, The nesvs immediate to her mother brought,


While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pind 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 fhone 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.

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By the Honourable Mr. N.


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HE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,

Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear;
Unlike the fatt'ries of a lover's pen,
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 sincere,
But greater yours, fincerity 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 minillers are seldom true.
Hence oft from reason heedless beauty Atrays,
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 molt 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;


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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 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 fill superior to your sex's arts,
Nor think dishonefty a proof of parts;
For you the plaineft is the wiselt rule,
A Cunning Woman is a Knavífh 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 wilh their place.
Virtue is amiable, mild, serene,
Without all beauty, and all peace within :
The honour of a prude is rage and form,
Tis uglinefs in its most frightful form:


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