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No wailing ghost shall dare appear

To vex with fhrieks this quiet grove:
But shepherd lads affemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch fhall here be seen,

No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays fhall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
The red-breast oft at ev'ning hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid:
With hoary mofs, and gather'd flow'rs,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the fylvan cell,
Or 'midst the chace on every plain,

The tender thought on thee fhall dwell,
Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly fhed:
Belov'd, 'till life could charm no more,
And mourn'd, 'till Pity's felf be dead.



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Say, thou dear poffeffor of my breaft, Where now's my boafted liberty and rest! Where the gay moments which I once have known, O where that heart I fondly thought my own! From place to place I folitary roam,

Abroad uneafy, nor content at home,
I fcorn the beauties common eyes adore,

The more I view them, feel thy worth the more;
Unmov'd I hear them fpeak, or fee them fair,
And only think on thee who art not there.

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In vain would books their formal fuccour lend,
Nor wit, nor wisdom can relieve their friend;
Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure,
And wisdom fhews the ill without the cure.
When from thy fight I waste the tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, and things to fay;
But when thy presence gives the time I seek,
My heart's fo full, I wish, but cannot speak.

And could I fpeak with eloquence and ease,
'Till now not studious of the art to please,
Could I, at woman who so oft exclaim,
Expose (nor blufh) thy triumph and my shame,
Abjure those maxims I fo lately priz'd,
And court that sex I foolishly defpis'd,
Own thou haft foften'd my obdurate mind,
And thou reveng'd the wrongs of womankind:
Loft were my words, and fruitless all my pain,
In vain to tell thee all I write in vain ;
My humble fighs shall only reach thy ears,
And all my eloquence fhall be my tears,

And now (for more I never muft pretend)
Hear me not as thy lover, but thy friend;
Thousands will fain thy little heart enfnare,
For without danger none like thee are fair;
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But wifely chufe who beft deferves thy flame,
So fhall the choice itself become thy fame;
Nor yet defpife, though void of winning art,
The plain and honeft courtship of the heart:

The skilful tongue in love's persuasive lore,
Though lefs it feels, will please and flatter more,
And meanly learned in that guilty trade
Can long abuse a fond, unthinking maid.
And fince their lips, fo knowing to deceive,
Thy unexperienc'd youth might foon believe,
And fince their tears in falfe fubmiffion dreft
Might thaw the icy coldness of thy breast,
O! fhut thine eyes to fuch deceitful woe;
Caught by the beauty of thy outward show,
Like me they do not love, whate'er they seem,
Like me with paffion founded on esteem.


Answer to the foregoing Lines.

By the late Lord HERVEY.


MOO well these lines that fatal truth declare,
Which long I've known, yet now I blush to hear.
But fay, what hopes thy fond ill-fated love,
What can it hope, though mutual it should prove?
This little form is fair in vain for
In vain for me thy honeft heart is true;
For would't thou fix difhonour on my name,

And give me up to penitence and shame;
Or gild my ruin with the name of wife,
And make me a poor virtuous wretch for life:
Could'ft thou fubmit to wear the marriage chain,
(Too fure a cure for all thy prefent pain)
No faffron robe for us the godhead wears,
His torch inverted, and his face in tears.
Though every fofter wifh were amply crown'd,
Love foon would ceafe to fmile where Fortune frown'd:

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