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Cease, cease to ask her name,
Shall only sounded be.
may be sure 'tis she.
Three goddesses appear!
She conquer'd everywhere.
ON THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND.
ZHAT do scholars and bards and astro
nomers wise Mean by stuffing our heads with
nonsense and lies, By telling us Venus must always appear
In a car, or a shell, or a twinkling star,
Without all this bustle I saw the bright dame;
PHILIP, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.
TO MRS. CREWE.
DAZHERE the loveliest expression to features
is join'd, By Nature's most delicate pencil de
sign'd; Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art, Speak the softness and feeling that dwell in the
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, mysterious Enchanter, O tell ! By what wonderful art, by what magical spell,
My heart is so fenced that for once I am wise,
without rapture on Amoret's eyes ; That my wishes, which never were bounded before, Are here bounded by friendship, and ask for no
more? Is it reason? No, that my whole life will belie, For who so at variance as reason and I ? Ambition, that fills up each chink in
heart, Nor allows
softer sensation a part ? Oh no! for in this all the world must agree, One folly was never sufficient for me. Is my mind on distress too intensely employ'd, Or by pleasure relax'd, by variety cloy'd ? For alike in this only, enjoyment and pain Both slacken the springs of those nerves which
they strain. That I've felt each reverse that from Fortune can
flow, That I've tasted each bliss that the happiest know, Has still been the whimsical fate of Where anguish and joy have been ever at strife : But, tho'versed in extremes, both of pleasure and
pain, I am still but too ready to feel them again. If then, for this once in my life, I am free, And escape from the snares that catch wiser than
'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms; For though brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness
that warms ; As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze, But feel not their warmth, though their splendour
we praise, So beauty our just admiration may claim, But love, and love only, the heart can inflame !
Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES Fox.
WEET Nea! for your lovely sake
I weave these rambling numbers, Because I've lain an hour awake,
And can't compose my slumbers; Because your beauty's gentle light
Is round my pillow beaming,
Some witchery o'er my dreaming.
Because we've pass'd some joyous days,
And danced some merry dances ; Because we love old Beaumont's plays,
And old Froissart's romances ! Because whene'er I hear
words Some pleasant feeling lingers ; Because I think your heart has chords,
That vibrate to your fingers !
Because you've got those long, soft curls,
I've sworn should deck my goddess ; Because you're not like other girls,
All bustle, blush, and bodice ! Because your eyes are deep and blue,
Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little child and you
Would make one's home so cozy!
Because your little tiny nose
Turns up so pert and funny ; Because I know you choose your
beaux More for their mirth than money ;
Because I think you'd rather twirl
A waltz, with me to guide you,
And a coronet beside you!
Because you don't object to walk,
And are not given to fainting ;
Of flowers, and Poonah-painting ;
To sew one on a button ;
To dine on simple mutton!
Because I think I'm just so weak
As, some of those fine morrows,
My story—and my sorrows;
A matter quickly over,
ADVICE TO A LADY IN AUTUMN.
ROSSES' milk, half-a-pint, take at seven,
or before, Then sleep for an hour or two, and no
At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when
alone There's no pleasure in bed.—Mary, bring me my