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I'LL not believe that Phoebus did not smile,
To strains like yours of old his harp he strung,
Did beauteous Daphne's scorn of proffer'd love
Who sent Compliments to a
UPON THE TEN OF HEARTS.
YOUR Compliments, dear Lady, pray forbear,
LADY MARY CHAMBERS.
INTENDED VOYAGE INTO TURKEY.
BAINBRIGG BUCKEREDGE, ESQ;
WHY should the charming Galatea shun
We're slaves by choice, nor wish to quit our chains;
Vain of our wounds, and proud to be undone,
Ev'n he, whose nod a thousand beauties wait,
But O! bright Nymph, let not a long return Make wretched we your tedious absence mourn: Let then the barbarous nations soon restore Fair Galatea to the British shore:
Else they expect in vain the war should cease, And England's Moderator signs in vain the peace.
LADY MARCHIONESS GREY.
BY THE HONORABLE
MISS MARGARET YORKE.
THY shades, Vacuna, and thy verdant meads,
And O! inspire my verse, while it recites
When Wray the ear with uncouth phrases wounds:
Now graver studies give more solid joys: