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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
ardour move, And your affection sway.
And when, to all my fondness blind,
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.
HE charms which blooming beauty shows
From faces heav'nly fair,
With semblance apt, compare.
With semblance apt, for ah! how foon
How soon they all decay!
And beauty fades away.
But when bright virtue shines confess'd,
With sweet discretion join'd;
And wisdom guides the mind :
When charms like these, dear maid, conspire
Thy person to approve,
And everlasting love.