Plate XXII.

Published as the Act directs, by Harrison and Co Sept. 1,1782.

Page 302-Line

How did juft pity fweeten thy controul!

• How didft thou ftrain thy virtue-propping foul!
How didft thou wish th' unfinish'd courfe to run!
And act in will, what pow'r has left undone!
For this, fince death, detraction wounds thy fame,
And infolent reproach corrodes thy name.

Ungrateful people! unrepenting ftate!

Haft thou, O queen! deferv'd th'ungentle fate?'

He ceas'd: each lift'ning monarch fhook his head, While fhe, to whom he spoke, thus answering, faid, 'O, Denmark! wonder not at ills like thofe; • Angels, if crown'd in England, would have foes! • Defert like mine, with living glories paid, • Can fear no fcandal, when become a fhade. If aught's left wanting to my people's pray'r, • Mourn not th' unfinish'd progrefs of my care. ‹ When princes some wish'd good in vain pursue, By them not done, 'tis left for Heav'n to do.

Let us in peace enjoy our filent bed;

Truth always triumphs when the ferves the dead.'

THE ART OF COQUETRY.

BY MRS. LENNOX.

YE lovely maids! whofe yet unpractis'd hearts

Ne'er felt the force of love's refiftlefs darts;

Who juftly fet a value on your charms,

Pow'r all your wish, but beauty all your arms;
Who o'er mankind wou'd fain exert your sway,
And teach the lordly tyrant to obey;
Attend my rules, to you alone addrefs'd,
Deep let them fink in every female breast;
The queen of love herself my bofom fires,
Affifts my numbers, and my thoughts inspires:

Me

Me fhe inftructed in each fecret art,

That first fubdues, and then enflaves the heart;
The figh that heaves by stealth, the starting tear,
The melting languish, the obliging fear;
Half-utter'd wishes, broken, kind replies,
And all the filent eloquence of eyes;

To teach the fair by various wiles to move
The foften'd foul, and bend the heart to love.
Proud of her charms, and conscious of her face,
The haughty beauty calls forth ev'ry grace;
With fierce defiance throws the killing dart;
By force fhe wins, by force fhe keeps the heart.
The witty fair a nobler game pursues,
Aims at the head, but the rapt foul fubdues.
The languid nymph enflaves with softer art,
With sweet neglect the fteals into the heart;
Slowly the moves her swimming eyes around,
Conceals her fhaft, but meditates the wound:
Her gentle languishments the gazers move,
Her voice is mufic, and her looks are love.
To few tho' Nature may thefe gifts impart,
What the witholds the wife can win from art;
Then let your airs be fuited to your face,
Nor to a languish tack a sprightly grace.

The short round face, brifk eyes, and auburn hair,
Muft fmiling joy in every motion wear;

The quick unfettled glance muft deal around,
Hide all defign, and feem by chance to wound.

Dark rolling eyes a languish may affume;
Thefe the foft looks and melting airs become:
The penfive head upon the hand reclin'd,
As if fome fweet diforder fill'd the mind;
Let the heav'd breaft a ftruggling figh reftrain,
And feem to stop the falling tear with pain.
The youth, who all the foft diftrefs believes,
Soon wants the kind compaffion which he gives.

But

But beauty, wit, and youth, may fometimes fail,
Nor always o'er the stubborn foul prevail :
Then let the fair-one have recourse to art;
Who cannot ftorm, may undermine the heart.
First form your artful looks with studious care;
From mild to grave, from tender to severe.
Oft on the careless youth your glances dart;
A tender meaning let each glance impart.
Whene'er he meets your looks, with modest pride
And foft confusion, turn your eyes afide.
Let a foft figh steal out, as if by chance;
Then cautious turn, and fteal another glance.
Caught by these arts, with pride and hope elate;
The deftin'd victim rushes on his fate:
Pleas'd, his imagin'd victory pursues,
And the kind maid with soft attention views;
Contemplates now her shape, her air, her face,
And thinks each feature wears an added grace;
Till gratitude, which first his bofom proves,
By flow degrees fublim'd, at length he loves.
"Tis harder ftill to fix than gain a heart;
What's won by beauty, must be kept by art.
Too kind a treatment the bleft lover cloys,
And oft despair the growing flame destroys;
Sometimes with smiles receive him, fometimes tears
And wifely balance both his hopes and fears.
Perhaps he mourns his ill-requited pains,

Condemns your sway, and ftrives to break his chains;
Behaves as if he now your fcorn defy'd;
And thinks at least he fhall alarm your pride:
But with indifference view the feeming change;
And let your eyes to feek new conquefts range;
While his torn breaft with jealous fury burns,
He hopes, defpairs, adores; and hates by turns;
With anguish now repents the weak deceit,
And powerful paffion bears him to your feet.