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An honest heart, a conscience free from blame,
Not of great acts, but good, give me the name ;
In vain we plant, we build, our stores increase,
If conscience roots up all our inward peace.
What need of arms, of instruments of war,
Of battering engines that destroy from far?
The greatest king and conqueror is he
Who lord of his own appetites can be :
Bleft with a power that nothing can destroy,
And all have equal freedom to enjoy.
Whom worldly luxury and pomps allure,
They tread on ice, and find no footing fure.
Place me, ye powers ! in fome obscure retreat;
O keep me innocent, make others great ;
In quiet shades, content with rural sports,
Give me a life remote from guilty courts,
Where, free from hopes or fears, in humble ease
Unheard-of I may live, and die in peace.
Happy the man who thus, retir’d from fight,
Studies himself, and seeks no other light ;
But most unhappy he, who sits on high,
Expos’d to every tongue and every eye,
Whose follies, blaz’d about, to all are known,
And are a secret to himself alone :
Worse is an evil fame, much worse than none.



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HLOE's the wonder of her 'sex,

is How might such killing eyes perplex,

With virtue to defend her!

But Nature, graciously inclin'd,

Nor bent to vex but please us, Has to her boundless beauty join'd

A boundless will to ease us.

ON TH E S A M E. BRIG RIGHT as the day, and like the morning fair, Such Chloe is---and common as the---air.



S A M E.

OF injur'd fame, and mighty wrongs receiv’d,

Chloe complains, and wondrously 's aggriev'd ; '! That free, and lavish of a beauteous face, The fairest and the foulest of her race ; She's mine, or thine, and strolling up and down Sucks in more filth than any sink in town, I not deny, this, I have said 'tis true; What wrong! to give fo bright a nymph her due !


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Ç. ORI N N A. CORINNA in the bloom of youth

Was coy to every lover ; Regardless of the tenderest truth,

No soft complaint could move her.
Mankind was hers : all at her feet

Lay prostrate and adoring;
The witty, handsome, rich, and great,

In vaja alike imploringa
But now, grown old, she would repair

Her lofs of time and pleasure ;
With willing eyes, and wanton air,

Inviting every gazer.
But Love's a summer flower, that dies

With the hirit weather changing ;
The lover, like the swallow, Aies

From sun to fun, still ranging. Myra, let this example more

Your foolish heart to reason ; Youth is the proper time for love, And

age is Virtue's season.




S A M E.

Sowell Corinna likes the joy,

She vows she'll never more be coy; She drinks eternal draughts of pleafure :

Eternal draughts will not suffice,

Ah give me, give me more, she cries, 'Tis all too little measure.

Thus wifely she makes up for time
Mil-spent while youth was in its prime:
So travellers who waste the day
Careful and cautious of their way,
Noting at length the setting fun,
They mend their pace as night comes on,
Double their speed to reach their inn,
And whip and four through thick and thin.

B E L 1 N D A

BELINDA's pride's an arrant cheat,

A foolish artifice to blind;.
Some honest glance, that fcorns deceit,

Does still reveal her native mind.

With look demure, and forc'd disdain,

She idly acts the saint;
We see through this disguise, as plain

As we distinguish paint.

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The pains she takes are vainly meant

To hide her amorous heart, 'Tis like perfuming an ill scent,

The smell 's too strong for art. So have I feen


fools design With formal looks to pass for wise ; But Nature is a light will shine,

And break through all disguise.

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N vain a thousand slaves have try'd
To overcome Clarinda's pride :

Pity pleading,

Love persuading,
When her icy heart is thaw'd,
Honour chides, and strait she's aw'd,

Foolish creature,

Follow Nature,
Waste not thus your prime ;

Youth's a treasure,

Love's a pleasure, Both destroy'd by Time.


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