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March, march (quoth I), the word straight give,

Let's lose no time, but leave her; . That giant upon air will live,

And hold it out for ever.

To such a place our camp remove

As will no siege abide :
I hate a fool that starves her love

Only to feed her pride.

PURSUING beauty, men descry

The distant shore, and long to prove (Still richer in variety)

The treasures of the land of love.

We women like weak Indians stand,

Inviting from our golden coast
The wand'ring rovers to our land;

But she who trades with them is lost.

With humble vows they first begin,

Stealing unseen into the heart;
But by possession settled in, .

They quickly act another part.

For beads and baubles we resign

In ignorance our shining store ; Discover nature's richest mine,

And yet the tyrants will have more.

Be wise, be wise, and do not try

How he can court, or you be won; For love is but discovery ;

When that is made, the pleasure's done.

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STELLA and Flavia every hour

Do various hearts surprise ;
In Stella's soul is all her power,

And Flavia's in her eyes.
More boundless Flavia's conquests are,

And Stella's more confin'd;
All can discern a face that's fair,

But few a heavenly mind.

Stella, like Britain's monarch, reigns

O'er cultivated lands;
Like eastern tyrants Flavia deigns

To rule o'er barren sands.

Then boast, fair Flavia, boast thy face,

Thy beauty's only store,
Each day that makes thy charms decrease

Will yield to Stella more.

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W HEN gentle Celia first I knew,
A breast so good, so kind, so true,

Reason and taste approv'd;
Pleas’d to indulge so pure a flame,
I call'd it by too soft a name,

And fondly thought I lov'd.

Till Chloris came, with sad surprise
I felt the lightning of her eyes

Thro' all my senses run ;
All glowing with resistless charms,
She filld my breast with new alarms,
· I saw, and was undone.

O Celia ! dear unhappy maid,
Forbear the weakness to upbraid

Which ought your scorn to move :
I know this beauty false and vain,
I know she triumphs in my pain,

Yet still I feel I love. .,

Thy gentle smiles no more can please,
Nor can thy softest friendship ease

The torments I endure ;
Think what that wounded breast must feel
Which truth and kindness cannot heal,

Nor even thy pity cure.

Oft shall I curse my iron chain,
And wish again thy milder reign

With long and vain regret;
All that I can, to thee I give,
And could I still to reason live

I were thy captive yet.

But passion's wild impetuous sea
Hurries me far from peace and thee,

'Twere vain to struggle more :Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies, While swelling tides around him rise,

And push his bark from shore.

In vain he spreads his helpless arms,
His pitying friends with fond alarms

In vain deplore his state;
Still far and farther from the coast,
On the high surge bis bark is tost,

And foundering yields to fate..

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W HEN first upon your tender cheek I saw the morn of beauty break

With mild and chearing beam, I bow'd before your infant shrine, The earliest siglis you had were mine,

And you my darling theme,

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I saw you in that opening morn
For beauty's boundless empire born,

And first confess'd your sway;
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,

I gave my heart away.

I watch'd the dawn of every grace,
And gaz'd apon that angel face,

While yet ’twas safe to gaze ;
And fondly blest each rising charm,
Nor thought such innocence could harm

The peace of future days.

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