DEAR Caffy, thou must purge and bleed;
I fear thou wilt be mad indeed.
But now by friendship's facred laws
I here conjure thee, tell the cause;
And Cælia's horrid fact relate:
Thy friend would gladly fhare thy fate.
To force it out my heart muft rend;
Yet when conjur'd by fuch a friend-
Think, Peter, how my foul is rackt!
These eyes, these eyes beheld the fact.
Now bend thine ear, fince out it muft;
But when thou feeft me laid in duft,
The fecret thou shalt ne'er impart,
Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart;
(How would her virgin foul bemoan
A crime to all her fex unknown !);
Nor whisper to the tattling reeds
The blackest of all female deeds:
Nor blab it on the lonely rocks,
Where Echo fits, and lift'ning mocks ;
Nor let the zephyrs' treach rous gale
Thro' Cambridge waft the direful tale;
Nor to the chatt'ring feather'd race
Difcover Cælia's foul difgrace.
But if you fail, my spectre dread
Attending nightly round your bed:
And yet I dare confide in you;
So take my fecret, and adieu.
NOR wonder how I loft
Oh! Cælia, Calia, Cælia fh.
See the lady's dreffing-room, above, p. 356. V. 118.
The End of the SIXTH VOLUME.