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“ Ambition never won my mynde,
" For many its victim I have knowne; 6. Alas! like mee, here once confin'd -
" Their houres of peace for ever flowne.
" Torne from my friends, from all the joyes,
" That virtuous freedom can afford; • But more my bleeding bofom fighes,
“ Torne from my love-my wedded lorde.
And they have ta’en that haplesse fayre,
And to the drearye tow're have borne; Nor hecde the pangs of keene despaire,
With which her breaking hearte is torne.
There dooin'd her future life to weare,
No more the balm of hope to knowe, Shee yields her to the fiend despaire,
That points the barbed dart of woe.