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And further he says, men no longer shall boast
A science their slight and ill treatment hath lost;
But that women alone for the future shall write;
And who can resist, when they doubly delight?
And, lest we should doubt what he said to be true,
Has begun by inspiring Sapphira and You.



WHEN home I return'd from the dancing last night, And elate by your praises attempted to write,

I familiarly call'd on Apollo for aid,

And told him how many fine things you had said.
He smil'd at my folly, and gave me to know,

Your wit, and not mine, by your writings you shew:
And then, says the God, still to make you more vain,
He hath promis'd that I shall enlighten your brain;
When he knows in his heart, if he speak but his mind,
That no woman alive can now boast I am kind:
For since Daphne to shun me grew into a laurel,
With the sex I have sworn still to keep up the quarrel.
I thought it all joke, till by writing to you,
I have prov'd his resentment, alas! but too true.



I'LL not believe that Phoebus did not smile, Unhappily for you I know his style;

To strains like yours of old his harp he strung,
And while he dictated Orinda sung.

Did beauteous Daphne's scorn of proffer'd love
Against the sex his indignation move?
It rather made you his peculiar care,

Convinc'd from thence, ye were as good as fair.
As mortals, who from dust receiv'd their birth,
Must when they die return to native earth;
So too the laurel, that your brow adorns,
Sprang from the fair, and to the fair returns.

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Who sent Compliments to a



YOUR Compliments, dear Lady, pray forbear, Old English services are more sincere ;

You send Ten Hearts, the tithe is only mine, Give me but One, and burn the other Nine.

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WHY should the charming Galatea shun
The bleeding conquests that her eyes have won?
Oh! stay, and give us yet a gentler fate;
For absence is more cruel than your hate.
Love in those eyes so absolutely reigns,

We're slaves by choice, nor wish to quit our chains ;
Vain of our wounds, and proud to be undone,
We would not from the glorious ruin run.
Her charms the limit of an isle disdain,

And spread a powerful empire o'er the main.

Shall she to barbarous coasts from hence remove,
And melt their tyrant hearts with flames of love?
To punish haughty slaves, that proudly dare,
Triumph o'er beauty and insult the fair?

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