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That new state-maxim he invented first,
(To aged Time's last revolution curst)
That teaches monarchs to oblige their foes,
And their best friends to beggary expose;
"For these," he said, "would still beg on and serve;
'Tis the old bade of loyalty to starve:
But harden'd rebels must by bribes be won,
And paid for all the mighty ills they 've done:
When wealth and honour from their treasons flow,
How can they choose but very loyal grow?"
This faise ungrateful maxim Byrsa taught,
Vast sums of wealth from thriving rebels brought;
Titles and power to thieves and traitors sold,
Swell'd his stretch'd coffers with o'er-flowing gold.
Hence all these tears-in these first seeds was sown
His country's following ruin, and his own.

Of that accurst and sacrilegious crew,
Which great by merit of rebellion grew,
Had all unactive perish'd and unknown,
The false 3 Antonius had suffic'd alone,
To all succeeding ages to proclaim

Of this state principle the guilt and shame.
Antonius early in rebellious race
Swiftly set out, nor slackening in his pace,
The same ambition that his youthful heat
Urg'd to all ills, the little daring brat
With unabated ardour does engage
The loathsome dregs of his decrepit age;
Bold, full of native and acquir'd deceit,
Of sprightly cunning and malicious wit;
Restless, projecting still some new design,
Still drawing round the government his line,
Bold on the walls, or busy in the mine:
Lewd as the stews, but to the blinded eyes
Of the dull crowd as Puritan precise;
Before their sight he draws the juggler's cloud
Of public interest, and the people's good.
The working ferment of his active mind,
In his weak body's cask with pain confin'd,
Would burst the rotten vessel where 'tis pent,
But that 'tis tapt to give the treason vent.

[hand,

Such were the men that from the statesman's Not pardon only, but promotion gain'd: All officers of dignity or power These swarming locusts greedily devour; Preferr❜d to all the secrets of the state, These senseless sinners in the council sate, In their unjust deceitful balance laid, The great concerns of war and peace were weigh'd. This wise 4 Lovisius knew, whose mighty mind Had universal empire long design'd; And when he all things found were bought and sold, Thought nothing there impossible to gold: With mighty sums, through secret channels brought, On the corrupted counsellors he wrought: Against the neighbouring Belgians they declare A hazardous and an expensive war. Their fresh affronts and matchless insolence To Cæsar's honour made a fair pretence; Mere outside this, but, ruling by his pay, Cunning Lovisius did this project lay, By mutual damages to weaken those Who only could his vast designs oppose. But Cæsar, looking with a just disdain Upon their bold pretences to the main, Sent forth his royal brother from his side, To lash their insolence, and curb their pride;

* Earl of Shaftesbury.

• French king.

Britaunicus, by whose high virtues grac'd,
The present age contends with all the past;
Him Heaven a pattern did for heroes form,
Slow to advise, but eager to perform,
In council calm, fierce as a storm in fight,
Danger his sport, and labour his delight:
To him the fleet and camp, the sea and field,
Did equal harvests of bright glory yield.
No less each civil virtue him commends,
The best of subjects, brothers, masters, friends;
To merit just, to needy virtue kind,
True to his word, and constant to his friend:
What's well resolv'd as bravely he pursues,
Fix'd in his choice, as careful how to choose.
Honour was born, not planted in his heart,
And virtue came by Nature, not by art:
Where glory calls, and Cæsar gives command,
He flies; his pointed thunder in his hand.
The Belgian fleet endeavour'd, but in vain,
The tempest of his fury to sustain:
Shatter'd and torn, before his flags they fly
Like doves that the exalted eagle spy,
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high:
He, Neptune like, when, from his watery bed
Above the waves lifting his awful head,
He smiles, and to his chariot gives the rein,
In triumph rides o'er the asserted main;
And now returns the watery empire won,
At Cæsar's feet to lay his trident down.
But who the shouts and triumphs can relate
Of the glad isle that his return did wait?
Rejoicing crowds attend him on the strand,
Loud as the sea, and numerous as the sand.
A joy too great to be by words exprest,
Shines in each eye, and beats in every breast:
So joy the many, but the wiser few
The godlike prince with silent wonder view.
The grateful senate his high acts confess
In a vast gift, but than his merit less.
Britannicus is all the voice of Fame,
Britannicus! she knows no other name;
The people's darling, and the court's delight,
Lovely in peace, as dreadful in the fight!
Shall he, shall ever he, who now commands
So many thousand hearts, and tongues, and bands;
Shall ever he, by some strange crime of Fate,
Fall under the ignoble vulgar's hate?
Who knows? the turns of Fortune who can tell?
Who fix her globe, or stop the rolling wheel?
The crowd's a sea, whose wants run high or low,
According as the winds, their leaders, blow.
All calm and smooth, till from some corner flies
An envious blast, that makes the billows rise:
The blast, that whence it comes, or where it

goes,

We know not; but where-e'er it lists it blows. Was not of old the Jewish rabble's cry Hosanna first, and after crucify?

Now Byrsa with full orb illustrious shone, With beams reflected from his glorious son; All power his own, but what was given to those That counsellors by him from rebels rose; But, rais'd so far, each now disdains a first, The taste of power does but inflame the thirst. With envious eyes they Byrsa's glories see, Nor think they can be great, while less than he. Envy their cunning sharpen'd, and their wit, Enough before for treacherous councils fit: T'accuse him openly not yet they dare, But subtly by degrees his fall prepare:

They knew by long-experienc'd desert
How near he grew rooted to Cæsar's heart;
To move him hence, requir'd no common skill,
But what is hard to a resolved will?
They found his public actions all conspire,
Wisely apply'd, to favour their desire:
But one they want their venom to suggest,
And make it gently slide to Cæsar's breast:
Who fitter than 5 Villerius for this part?
And him to gain requir'd but little art,
For mischief was the darling of his heart.
A compound of such parts as never yet
In any one of all God's creatures met:
Not sick men's dreams so various or so wild,
Or of such disagreeing shapes compil'd;
Yet, through all changes of his shifting scene,
Still constant to buffoon and harlequin,
As if he 'ad made a prayer, than his of old
More foolish, that turn'd all he touch'd to gold.
God granted him to play th' eternal fool,
And all he handled turn to ridicule.
Thus a new Midas truly he appears,
And shows, through all disguise, his asses ears.
Did he the weightiest business of the state
At council or in senate-house debate,
King, country, all, he for a jest would quit,
To catch some little flash of paltry wit:
How full of gravity soe'er he struts,
The ape in robes will scramble for his nuts:
Did he all laws of Heaven or Earth defy,
Blaspheme his god, or give his king the lie;
Adultery, murders, or ev'n worse, commit,
Still 'twas a jest, and nothing but sheer wit:
At last this edg'd-tool, wit, his darling sport,
Wounded himself, and banish'd him the court:
Like common jugglers, or like common whores,
All his tricks shown, he was kick'd out of doors.
Not chang'd in humour by his change of place,
He still found company to suit his grace;
Mountebanks, quakers, chymists, trading varlets,
Pimps, players, city sheriffs, and suburb harlots;
War his aversion, once he heard it roar,
But, "Damn him if he ever hear it more!"
And there you may believe him, though he swore.
But with play-houses, wars, immortal wars,
He wag'd, and ten years rage produc'd a 6 farce.
As many rolling years he did employ,
And hands almost as many, to destroy
Heroic rhyme, as Greece to ruin Troy.
"Once more," says Fame, "for battle he prepares,
And threatens rhymers with a second farce:
But, if as long for this as that we stay,
He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his play."
This precious tool did the new statesmen use
In Cæsar's breath their whispers to infuse:
Suspicion's bred by gravity, beard, and gown;
But who suspects the madman and buffoon?
Drolling Villerius this advantage had,
And all his jests sober impressions made:
Besides, he knew to choose the softest hour,
When Cæsar for a while forgot his power,
And, coming tir'd from empire's grand affairs,
In the free joys of wine relax'd his cares.
'Twas then he play'd the sly successful fool,
And serious mischief did in ridicule.

Then he with jealous thoughts his prince could fill,
And gild with mirth and glittering wit the pill.

Duke of Buckingham.

The Rehearsal.

With a grave mien, discourse, and decent state,
He pleasantly the ape could imitate,
And soon as a contempt of him was bred,
It made the way for hatred to succeed.
Gravities disguise

The greatest jest of all, "he'd needs be wise-" [Here the writer left off.]

OVID, BOOK I. ELEGY V.

[air.

"TWAS noon, when 1, scorch'd with the double fire Of the hot Sun and my more hot desire, Stretch'd on my downy couch at ease was laid, Big with expectance of the lovely maid. The curtains but half drawn, a light let in, Such as in shades of thickest groves is seen; Such as remains when the Sun flies away, Or when night's gone, and yet it is not day. This light to modest maids must be allow'd, Where Shame may hope its guilty head to shrowd. And now my love, Corinna, did appear, Loose on her neck fell her divided air; Loose as her flowing gown that wanton'd in the In such a garb, with such a grace and mien, To her rich bed approach'd th' Assyrian queen. So Laïs look'd, when all the youth of Greece With adoration did her charms confess. Her envious gown to pull away I try'd, But she resisted still, and still deny'd; But so resisted, that she seem'd to be Unwilling to obtain the victory. So 1 at last an easy conquest had, Whilst my fair combatant herself betray'd: But, when she naked stood before my eyes, Gods! with what charms did she my soul surprise! What snowy arms did I both see and feel! With what rich globes did her soft bosom swell! Plump as ripe clusters, rose each glowing breast, Courting the hand, and sueing to be prest! In every limb what various charms were spread, Where thousand little Loves and Graces play'd! One beauty did through her whole body shine. I saw, admir'd, and press'd it close to mine. The rest, who knows not? Thus entranc'd we lay, Till in each other's arms we dy'd away; O give me such a noon (ye gods) to every day.

HORACE, BOOK II. ODE IV.1
BLUSH not, my friend, to own the love
Which thy fair captive's eyes do move:
Achilles, once the fierce, the brave,
Stoop'd to the beauties of a slave;
Tecmessa's charms could overpower
Ajax, her lord and conqueror;
Great Agamemnon, when success
Did all his arms with conquest bless,
When Hector's fall had gain'd him more
Than ten long rolling years before,
By a bright captive virgin's eyes
Ev'n in the midst of triumph dies.
You know not to what mighty line
The lovely maid may make you join; -

See another imitation of this ode in Yalden's Poems.

See but the charms her sorrow wears!
No common cause could draw such tears:
Those streams sure that adorn her so
For loss of royal kindred flow:
Oh! think not so divine a thing
Could from the bed of commons spring;
Whose faith could so unmov'd remain,
And so averse to sordid gain,
Was never born of any race
That might the noblest love disgrace.
Her blooming face, her snowy arms,
Her well-shap'd legs, and all the charms
Of her body and her face,

I, poor 1, may safely praise.
Suspect not, love, the youthful rage
From Horace's declining age;
But think remov'd, by forty years,
All his flames and all thy fears.

HORACE, BOOK II. ODE VIII.

If ever any injur'd power,
By which the false Bariné swore,
False, fair Bariné, on thy head

Had the least mark of vengeance shed;
If but a tooth or nail of thee
Had suffer'd by thy perjury,

1 should believe thy vows; but thou
Since perjur'd dost more charming grow,
Of all our youth the public care,
Nor half so false as thou art fair.
It thrives with thee to be forsworn
By thy dead mother's sacred urn,
By Heaven, and all the stars that shine
Without, and every god within:
Venus hears this, and all the while
At thy empty vows does smile,
Her nymphs all smile, her little son
Does smile, and to his quiver run;
Does smile, and fall to whet his darts,
To wound for thee fresh lovers' hearts.
See all the youth does thee obey,
Thy train of slaves grows every day;
Nor leave thy former subjects thee,
Though oft they threaten to be free,
Though oft with vows false as thine are,
Their forsworn mistress they forswear,
Thee every careful mother fears

For her son's blooming tender years;
Thee frugal sires, thee the young bride
In Hymen's fetters newly ty'd,
Lest thou detain by stronger charms
Th' expected husband from her arms.

HORACE AND LYDIA. BOOK III. ODE IX.

HORACE.

WHILST I was welcome to your heart,
In which no happier youth had part,
And, full of more prevailing charms,
Threw round your neck his dearer arms,
I flourish'd richer and more blest
Than the great monarch of the east.

LYDIA.

Whilst all thy soul with me was fill'd,
Nor Lydia did to Chloe yield,
Lydia, the celebrated name,

The only theme of verse and Fame,
I flourish'd more than she renown'd,
Whose godlike son our Rome did found,

HORACE.

Me Chloe now, whom every Muse And every Grace adorns, subdues; For whom I'd gladly die, to save Her dearer beauties from the grave.

LYDIA.

Me lovely Calaïs does fire
With mutual flames of fierce desire;
For whom 1 twice would die, to save
His youth more precious from the grave,,

HORACE.

What if our former loves return,
And our first fires again should burn;
If Chloe's banish'd, to make way
For the forsaken Lydia?

LYDIA

Though he is shining as a star,
Constant and kind as he is fair;
Thou light as cork, rough as the sea,
Yet I would live, would die with thee,

THE CYCLOPS.

THEOCRITUS, IDYLL. XI.
Inscribed to Dr. Short.

O SHORT, no herb, no salve was ever found
To ease a lover's heart, or heal his wound;
No med'cine this prevailing ill subdues,
None, but the charms of the condoling Muse:
Sweet to the sense, and easy to the mind,
The cure; but hard, but very hard, to find.
This you well know, and surely none so well,
Who both in Physic's sacred art excel,
And in Wit's orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phoebus, and the tuneful Nine.

Thus sweetly sad of old, the Cyclops strove
To soften his uneasy hours of love.
Then, when hot youth urg'd him to fierce desire,
And Galatea's eyes kindled the raging fire,
His was no common flame, nor could he move
In the old arts and beaten paths of love;
Nor flowers nor fruits sent to oblige the fair,
Nor more to please curl'd his neglected hair;.
His was all rage, all madness; to his mind
No other cares their wonted entrance fiud.
Oft from the field his flock return'd alone,
Unheeded, unobserv'd: he on some stone,
Or craggy cliff, to the deaf winds and sea,
Accusing Galatea's cruelty,

Till night, from the first dawn of opening day,
Consumes with inward heat, and melts away.
Yet then a cure, the only cure, he found,
And thus apply'd it to the bleeding wound;
From a steep rock, from whence he might survey
The flood (the bed where his lov'd sea-nymph lay),

His drooping head with sorrow bent he hung,
And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful song.
"Fair Galatea, why is all my pain
Rewarded thus?-soft love with sharp disdain?
Fairer than falling snow or rising light,
Soft to the touch as charming to the sight;
Sprightly as unyok'd heifers, on whose head
The tender crescents but begin to spread;
Yet, cruel, you to harshness more incline,
Than unripe grapes pluck'd from the savage vine.
Soon as my heavy eye-lids seal'd with sleep,
Hither you come out from the foaming deep;
But, when sleep leaves me, you together fly,
And vanish swiftly from my opening eye,
Swift as young lambs when the fierce wolf they spy.
I well remember the first fatal day

That made my heart your beauty's easy prey.
'Twas when the flood you, with my mother, left,
Of all its brightness, all its pride, bereft,
To gather flowers from the steep mountain's top;
Of the high office proud, I led you up;
To hyacinths and roses did you bring,
And show'd you all the treasures of the spring.
But from that hour my soul has known no rest,
Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast:
I rage, I burn. Yet still regardless you
Not the least sign of melting pity shew:
No; by the gods that shall revenge my pain!
No; you, the more I love, the more disdain.
Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn'd, I know
Why you despise and fly the Cyclops so;
Because a shaggy brow from side to side,
Stretch'd in a line, does my large forehead hide;
And under that one only eye does shine,
And my flat nose to my big lips does join.
Such though I am, yet know, a thousand sheep,
The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep;
With sweetest milk they fill my flowing pails,
And my vast stock of cheeses never fails;
In summer's heat, or winter's sharpest cold,

My loaded shelves groan with the weight they hold.

With such soft notes I the shrill pipe inspire,
That every listening Cyclops does admire;
While with it often I all night proclain
Thy powerful charms, and my successful flame.
For thee twelve does, all big with fawn, I feed;'
And four bear-cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed.
Ah! come to me, fair nymph! and you shall

find

These are the smallest gifts for thee design'd.
Ah! come, and leave the angry waves to roar,
And break themselves against the sounding shore.
How much more pleasant would thy slumbers be
In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me!
There the straight cypress and green laurel join,
And creeping ivy clasps the cluster'd vine;
There fresh, cool rills, from Etna's purest snow,
Dissolv'd into ambrosial liquor, flow.

Who the wild waves and blackish sea conld choose, And these still shades and these sweet streams refuse?

But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with hair,
Without a fire defy the winter air,
Know I have mighty stores of wood, and know
Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow.
My soul, my life itself should burn for thee,
And this one eye, as dear as life to me.
Why was not I with fins, like fishes, made,
That I, like them, might in the deep have play'd?

Then would I dive beneath the yielding tide,
And kiss your hand, if you your lips deny'd,
To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear,
And flowers that crown each season of the year.
But I'm resolv'd I'll learn to swim and dive
Of the next stranger that does here arrive,
That th' undiscover'd pleasures I may know
Which you enjoy in the deep flood below.
Come forth, O nymph! and coming forth forget,
Like me that on this rock unmindful sit,
(Of all things else unmindful but of thee)
Home to return forget, and live with me.
With me the sweet and pleasing labour choose,
To feed the flock, and milk the burthen'd ewes,
To press the cheese, and the sharp runnet to infuse.
My mother does unkindly use her son,
By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
For me she never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your ear my amorous tale:
No; though she knows I languish every day,
And sees my body waste, and strength decay.
But I more ills than what I feel will feign,
And of my head and of my feet complain;
That, in her breast if any pity lie,
She may be sad, and griev'd, as well as I.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy reason fled? If your young lambs with new-pluck'd boughs you fed, [wise;

And watch'd your flock, would you not seem more Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies. Perhaps you may, since this proves so unkind, Another fairer Galatea find.

Me many virgins as 1 pass invite

To waste with them in love's soft sports the night;
And, if I but incline my listening ear,
New joys, new smiles, in all their looks appear.
Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
It seems, are somebody as well as she!"

Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And sooth'd with gentle verse his fierce desire;
| Thus pass'd his hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the riches of the world were his.

TO CELIA.

FLY swift, ye hours; ye sluggish minutes, fly;
Bring back my love, or let her lover die.
Make haste, O Sun, and to my eyes once more,
My Cælia brighter than thyself restore.
In spite of thee, 'tis night when she's away,
Her eyes alone can the glad beams display,
That make my sky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will she lift up her sacred light,
And chase away the flying shades of night!
With her how fast the flowing hours run on!
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone!
So slowly time when clogg'd with grief does move;
So swift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an age since I beheld her last.
O, my auspicious star, make haste to rise,
To charm our hearts, and bless our longing eyes!
O, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And cheer my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirsty soul does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue!
Where pointed wit with solid judgment grows,
And in one easy stream united flows.

Whene'er you speak, with what delight we hear, You call up every soul to every ear!

Nature's too prodigal to womankind, Ev'n where she does neglect t' adorn the mind; Beauty alone bears such resistless sway,

As makes mankind with joy and pride obey.
But, oh when wit and sense with beauty's
join'd,

The woman's sweetness with the manly mind;
When Nature with so just a hand does mix
The most engaging charms of either sex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does something form not human but divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The noblest work of her almighty power!
Nor ought our zeal thy anger to create,
Since love's thy debt, nor is our choice, but fate.
Where Nature bids, worship I'm forc'd to pay,
Nor have the liberty to disobey;
And whensoe'er she does a poet make,

She gives him verse but for thy beauty's sake.
Had I a pen that could at once impart
Soft Ovid's nature and high Virgil's art,

Then the immortal Sacharissa's name

Should be but second in the list of Fame;

What mean these streams still falling from thine

eyes,

Fast as those sighs from thy swoln bosom rise? Has the fierce wolf broke through the fenced ground?

Have thy lambs stray'd? or has Dorinda frown'd? THYRSIS. The wolf? Ah! let him come, for now he may :

Have thy lambs stray'd? let them for ever stray:
Dorinda frown'd? No, she is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd:
Alas! she smil'd; for to the lovely maid
None had the fatal tidings yet convey'd.
Tell me then, shepherd, tell me, canst thou find
As long as thou art true, and she is kind,
A grief so great, as may prevail above
Ev'n Damon's friendship, or Dorinda's love?
DAM. Sure there is none. THYR. But, Damon,
there may be.

What if the charming Floriana die? [true?
DAM. Far be the omen! THYR. But suppose it
DAM. Then should I grieve, my Thyrsis, more
than you.

She is THYR. Alas! she was, but is no more: Now, Damon, now, let thy swoln eyes run o'er:

Each grove, each shade, should with thy praise be Here to this turf by thy sad Thyrsis grow,

fill'd,

And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windsor yield.

SPOKEN TO THE QUEEN,

IN TRINITY COLLEGE NEW COURT.

THOU equal partner of the royal bed,
That mak'st a crown sit soft on Charles's head;
In whom, with greatness virtue takes her seat,
Meekness with power, and piety with state;
Whose goodness might ev'n factious crowds re-
Win the seditious, and the savage tame; [claim,
Tyrants themselves to gentlest mercy bring,
And only useless is on such a king!
See, mighty princess, see how every breast
With joy and wonder is at once possest:
Such was the joy which the first mortals knew,
When gods descended to the people's view,
Such devout wonder did it then afford,
To see those powers they had unseen ador'd,
But they were feign'd; nor, if they had been true,
Could shed more blessings on the Earth than you :
Our courts, enlarg'd, their former bounds disdain,
To make reception for so great a train:
Here may your sacred breast rejoice to see
Your own age strive with ancient piety;
Soon now, since blest by your auspicious eyes,
To full perfection shall our fabric rise.
Less powerful charms than yours of old could call
The willing stones into the Theban wall,
And ours, which now its rise to you shall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great name shall
grow,

FLORIANA,

A PASTORAL,

UPON THE DEATH OF HER GRACE MARY DUTCHESS
OF SOUTHAMPTON, 1680.
DAMON.

TELL me, my Thyrsis, tell thy Damon, why
Does my lov'd swain in this sad posture lie?

And, when my streams of grief too shallow flow,
Let-in thy tide to raise the torrent high,
Till both a deluge make, and in it die.

DAM. Then, that to this wish'd height the flood might swell,

Friend, I will tell thee.-THYR. Friend, I thee will tell,

How young, how good, how beautiful she fell.
Oh! she was all for which fond mothers pray,
Blessing their babes when first they see the day.
Beauty and she were one, for in her face
Sat sweetness temper'd with majestic grace;
Such powerful charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet such attractive goodness as might draw
The humblest, and to both give equal law.
How was she wonder'd at by every swain!
The pride, the light, the goddess of the plain!
On all she shin'd, and spreading glories cast
Diffusive of herself, where-e'er she past,
There breath'd an air sweet as the winds that blow
From the blest shores where fragrant spices grow:
Ev'n me sometimes she with a smile would grace,
Like the Sun shining on the vilest place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the delight
Of feasting on her eyes my longing sight:
But to a being so sublime, so pure,
Spar'd my devotion, of my love secure.

[bright,

DAM. Her beauty such: but Nature did design That only as an answerable shrine To the divinity that's lodg'd within. Her soul shin'd through, and made her form so As clouds are gilt by the Sun's piercing light. In her smooth forehead we might read exprest The even calmness of her gentle breast: And in her sparkling eyes as clear was writ The active vigour of her youthful wit. Each beauty of the body or the face Was but the shadow of some inward grace. Gay, sprightly, cheerful, free, and unconfin'd, As innocence could make it, was her mind; Yet prudent, though not tedious nor severe, Like those who, being dull, would grave appear; Who out of guilt do cheerfulness despise, And, being sullen, hope men think them wise.

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