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Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,

Of dumps fo dull and heavy; The frauds of men were ever so Since summer first was leavy.

Then figh not fo, &c.

N vain, Philander, at my feet

You urge your guilty flame, With well-dissembled tears in treat, New oaths and impious vows repeat,

And wrong Loves sacred name.

Ah! cease to call that passion love,

Whofe end is to betray; Too foon, should I comply, you'd prove What sensual views

your

ardour move, And your affection sway.

And when, to all my fondness blind,
You'd chase me from

your

breast, Deluded wretch! when could I find That calm content, that peace of mind,

Which I before poffefs’d.

IN CLASS V.

BY THE REV. THOMAS: FITZGERALD.

ΤΗ

HE charms which blooming beauty shows

From faces heav'nly fair,
We to the lily and the rose,

With semblance apt, compare.

With semblance apt, for ah! how foon

How soon they all decay!
The lily droops, the rose is gone,

And beauty fades away.

But when bright virtue shines confess'd,

With sweet discretion join'd;
When mildness calms the peaceful breast,

And wisdom guides the mind :

When charms like these, dear maid, conspire

Thy person to approve,
They kindle generous chatte desire,

And everlasting love.

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