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E'en crowded routs where dullness ever dwells,
Can yield delight to fashionable belles.
Old maids and prudes cach night, to feed their spleen,
There, seeking whom they may devour, are seen,
And, ftill repining that they must be chaste,
Would mar those pleasures they're forbid to taste ;
With envious eye the brilliant nymph they view,
Whilst eager crowds where'er Mhe moves pursue.
If to the play-house she by chance repair,
(Not oft frequented by the well bred fair)
When through the house a solemn tilence reigns,
Each bofum feeling what the actor feigns,
E'en in the midst of fome affecting part,
That wakes each soft emotion of the heart,
The doors fly open whilft the pit beneath
Their discontent in sullen murmurs breathe :
Torward Me Ateps with graceful air, and spreads
A blaze of beauty o'er their wond'ring heads :
Pit, boxes, gall’ries, all at once concur,
Torget the play, and fix their eyes on her.
Scarce to thc ftage she turns her high-plum'd head,
Or seems to mark one syllable that's faid;
But careless fits, and on her arm reclin'd
Hears civil speeches from the beaux behind ;
Or gently liftens while some well-dress'd youth
In whisper'd accents vows eternal truth.
Obedient till to pleasure's sprightly call
She quits the play, and seeks the livelier ball :
Each white glov d bean with hafte his fuit prefers,
Presents his hand, and humbly begs for hers.
Well pleas’d the hears the suppliant crowds intreat,
And feels the triumph of her charms complete.
Should fonie bleft youth be to the rest prefer’d,
Whose vows in private are with favour licard,
As through the dance with graceful eafe the moves;
Their meeting hands express their confcicus loves,
Malicious eyes the lover's looks restrain,
And cold discretion foals bis lips in vain ;


The faithful hand can unobserv'd impart
The secret feelings of a tender heart :
And oh! what bliss, when each alike is pleas'd!
The hand that squeezes, and the hand that's squeez'd,
But whither, wliither does my fancy roam ;
Ah! let me call the idle wand'rer home.
Already Phæbus, with unwelcome ray,
Has chas'd, alas! the winter's fogs away;
Through the sad town, at each deserted door,
Less frequent now the footman's thunders roar,
And waggon's loading in the dusty street,
Forbode the horrors of a long retreat.
Ye fifter sufforers, who must foon or late
All share my sorrows, and partake my fate,
Who, when condemnd these blest abodes to quit,
Like me may weep, but must like me fubmit,
When overcome by man's superior force,
Revenge is still the injured fair's resource :
Revenge at least may make our fuff'rings less,
A husband's anguish fooths a wife's diftress,
When far from town, in some sequefter'd spot,
You mourn the hardship of our sex's lot,
Ill humour, vapours, sullenness and spleen,
May add fresh horrors to the gloomy scene,
And make the tyrants who contrive your

Partake the misery themselves create.
If, press'd by cares, they need a friend's relief,
Be all your study to augment their grief;
If pleas'd or gay, your utmost arts employ
To fink their spirits and dispel their joy ;
Oppose their projects, cross their fav'rite views,
Their wihes fruitrate, their requefto refuse;
And make them feel that discontented wives
Can prove the torment of their huband's lives.

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By the Right Hon. the Earl of CARLISLE,

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DOET of nature, thou whose boundless art

Describ'd each power that rules the throbbing

Feigni'd all that love, that glory e'er inspir’d,
That warm'd a Romeo, or a Percy fir'd,
In love's sweet cause be now thy magic try'd,
And charm with future scenes my destin'd bride!

Lo! at thy call, fiends cross the blafted heath,
And rising spectres daunt the pale Macbeth,
Who doom'd by guilt his anxious eye to cast
O'er dim futurity's unravellid waste,
On alien brows beheld his wrested crown,
Deplor'd the past, and saw the future frown!

Oh, once again these wond'rous spells prepare,
With milder visions point th' ein bodied air !
No more in caves let fires infernal glow,
Nor call thy phantoms from the world below.
In Laura's fight let Hymen’s altar blaze,
Let Cupid's torch diffuse its brightest rays,
Let smiling hours in festive circles dance,
And white-rob'd priests to meet our steps advance }
In difta'nt view be love's clear pledges shown,
And all the long succession live oyr own!

So, round the farour'd tomb, thy hallow'd urn, May ev'ry muse her vestal incense burn! Still may

those laureat brows their honours wear, Secure from critics, envy, and Voltaire ! Still on the stage thou reard 'It may Garrick {tand, For Shakespeare's lyre obeys no other hand! Still feep thy page near Laura's pillow plac'd, And future comments grace thee like the last !

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HERE the loveliest expression to features is

join'd By nature's most delicate pencil design'l ; Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art, Speak the softness and feeling that dwell in the heart ; Where in manners enchanting no blemish we trace, But the soul keeps the promise we had from the face ; Sure philosophy, reason, and coldness must prove Defences unequal to shield us from love :

Then tell me, myfterious enchanter, oh tell ; By what wonderful art, by what magical spell, My heart is so fenc'd that for once I am wise, And gaze without raptures on Amoret's eyes; . That my wishes which never were bounded before, Are here bounded by friendship, and ak for no more..

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