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XXII.

SET BY

MR. DE FE SCH

SINCE by ill fate I'm forc'd away,

And fnatch'd fo foon from those dear arms; Against my will I must obey,

And leave thofe fweet endearing charms.

Yet ftill love on; and never fear,
But you and conftancy will prove

Enough my prefent flame to bear,

And make me, though in abfence, love:

For, though your prefence fate denies,
I feel, alas! the killing smart;
And can with undifcerned eyes,
Behold your picture in my heart.

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XXIII.

SET BY

1

IN

MR. DE FESCH.

N vain, alas! poor Strephon tries
To eafe his tortur'd breaft;
Since Amoret the curé denies,
And makes his pain a jeft.

Ah! fair-one, why to me fo coy?
And why to him fo true,

Who with more coldness flights the joy,
Than I with love purfue?

Die then, unhappy lover! die;

For, fince fhe gives thee death, The world has nothing that can buy A minute more of breath.

Yet, though I could your fcorn outlive,

"Twere folly; fince to me

Not love itself a joy can give,

But, Amoret, in thee.

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XXIV.

SET BY

M R. DE FES CH.

WE

ELL! I will never more complain

Or call the Fates unkind;

Alas! how fond it is, how vain!
But felf-conceitedness does reign
In every mortal mind.

'Tis true they long did me deny,
Nor would permit a fight;

I rag'd; for I could not efpy,
Or think that any harm could lie
Difguis'd in that delight.

At laft, my wifhes to fulfil,
They did their power refign;

I faw her; but I wish I ftill
Had been obedient to their will,
And they not unto mine.

Yet I by this have learnt the wit,

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Never to grieve or fret:

Contentedly I will fubmit,

And think that best which they think fit,

Without the least regret.

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XXV.

SET BY M R.

CHLOE

HLOE beauty has and wit,

And an air that is not common;

Every charm in her does meet,

Fit to make a handfome woman.

But we do not only find

C. R.

Here a lovely face or feature;
For fhe 's merciful and kind,
Beauty's anfwer'd by good-nature. -

She is always doing good,

Of her favours never fparing,
And, as all good Chriftians fhould,
Keeps poor mortals from despairing.

Jove the power knew of her charms,
And that no man could endure them,

So, providing 'gainst all harms,

Gave to her the power to cure them.

And 'twould be a cruel thing,

When her black eyes have rais'd defire, Should the not her bucket bring,

And kindly help to quench the fire.

XXVI.

XXVI.

SINCE, Moggy, I mun bid adieu,

How can I help defpairing?

Let cruel fate us ftill purfue,

There's nought more worth my caring.

'Twas she alone could calm my foul,
When racking thoughts did grieve me;
Her eyes my trouble could control,
And into joys deceive me.

Farewel, ye brooks; no more along
Your banks mun I be walking:
No more you'll hear my pipe or fong,
Or pretty Moggy's talking.

But I by death an end will give
To grief, fince we mun fever:
For who can after parting live,
Ought to be wretched ever.

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