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The charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chaste defire
Sprung in his bofom, to himself unknown.
For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field :
And thus in secret to his soul he figh'd.
“ What pity! that so delicate a form,
“ By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense
“ And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell,
". Should be devoted to the rude embrace
« Of fome indecent clown! She looks, methinks,
" Of old Acaíto's line; and to
mind “ Recalls that patron of my happy life, “ From whom my liberal fortune took its rife ; “ Now to the dust gone down ; his houses, lands, “ And once fair-fpreading family, dissolv’d. « 'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, « Urg'd by remembrance fad, and decent pride, “ Far from those scenes which knew their better days, “ His aged widow and his daughter live, " Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. “ Romantic wish! would this the daughter were !”
When, strict enquiring, from herself he found
She was the same, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak
The mingled paffions that surpriz'd his heart,
And thro' his nerves in shivering transport ran?
Then blaz’d his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold;
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once.
Confus'd, and frightened at his sudden tears,
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, paflionate, and just,
Pour's out the pious rapture of his soul.
66 And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ?
“ She, whom my restless gratitude has sought
“ So long in vain? O heavens! the very fame,
“ The softened image of my noble friend ;
“ Alive his every look, his every feature,
“ More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring!
“ Thou sole surviving blossom from the root
“ That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,
“ In what sequefter'd desart, hast thou drawn
“ The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven?
“ Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair :
“ Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain,
“ Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years ?
“ O let me now, into a richer foil,
Transplant thee fafe! where vernal suns, and showers, “ Diffuse their warmest, largest influence ; “ And of my garden be the pride, and joy ! "Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits “ Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores, • Tho' valt, were little to his ampler heart, “ The father of a country, thus to pick F 5
refuse of those harvest-fields, « Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. “ Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand, “ But ill apply'd to such a rugged task; “ The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; “ If to the various blessings which thy house " Has on me lavish’d, thou wilt add that bliss, « That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee !"
Here ceas'd the youth : yet still his speaking eye Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul, With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love, Above the vulgar joy divinely rais’d. Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible, and all In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. The news immediate to her mother brought, While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin’d away The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate; Amaz’d, and scarce believing what she heard, Joy feiz d her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam Of setting life shone on her evening hours : Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair; Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves, And good, the grace of all the country round..
HE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear;
Unlike the flatt'ries of a lover's pen,
Such truths as women seldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I Mew
What female vanity might fear to know:
Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere,
But greater yours, fincerity to bear.
Hard is the fortune that your sex attends ;
Women, like princes, find few real friends :
All who approach them their own ends pursue:
Lovers and ministers are seldom true.
Hence oft from reason heedless beauty strays,
And the most trusted guide the most betrays:
Hence by fond dreams of fancy'd pow'r amus'd,
When most you tyrannize you're most abus’d.
What is your sex's earliest, latest care,
Your heart's supreme ambition ? To be fair :
For this the toilet ev'ry thought employs,
Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys :
For this, hands, lips, and eyes are put to school,
And each instructive feature has its rule ;
And yet how few have learnt, when this is giv'n,
Not to disgrace the partial boon of heav'n?
How few with all their pride of form can move
How few are lovely, that were made for love?
Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess
An elegance of mind as well as dress;
Be that your ornament, and know to please
By grateful nature's unaffected ease.
Nor make to dang’rous wit a vain pretence,
But wisely rest content with modest sense;
For wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,
Too strong for feeble women to sustain ;
Of those who claim it, more than half have none,
And half of those who have it, are undone.
Be still superior to your sex's arts,
Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts ;
For you the plainest is the wisest rule,
A Cunning Woman is a Knavilh Fool.
Be good yourself, nor think another's shame
Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame.
Prudes rail at whores, as statesmen in disgrace
At ministers, because they wish their place.
Virtue is amiable, mild, serene,
Without all beauty, and all peace within:
The honour of a prude is rage and storm,
'Tis ugliness in its most frightful form:
Fiercely it stands defying gods and men,
As fiery monsters guard a giant's den.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great:
A woman's noblest station is retreat ;