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She next the stately Bull implor'd;
And thus reply'd the mighty lord:
“Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a fav’rite Cow
Expects me near yon' barley-mow;
And, when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus, might seern unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind.”

The Goat remark’d, “ her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye:” “ My back,” says he, “may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.”

The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd
“ His sides a load of wool sustain'd;
Said, he was slow, confess'd his fears ;
For Hounds ate Sheep as well as Hares.”

She now the trotting Calf address’d, To save from death a friend distress'd.

“ Shall I,” says he,

of tender age, In this important care engage ? Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those ! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart ; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu ; For see, the hounds are just in view"




SAY, thou dear possessor of my breast, Where now's my boasted liberty and rest ! Where the gay moments that I once have known! O where that heart I fondly thought my own! From place to place I solitary roam, Abroad uneasy, not content at home. I scorn the beauties common eyes adore, The more I view them, feel thy worth the more: Unmov'd I hear them speak, or see them fair, And only think on thee,—who art not there. In vain would books their former succour lend, Nor wit, nor wisdom, can relieve their friend; Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure, And wisdom shows the ill without the cure.

When from thy sight I waste the tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, and things to say;
But when thy presence gives the time I seek,
My heart's so full, I wish, but cannot speak.

And could I speak with elegance and ease, Till now not tedious of the art to please; Could I, at woman who so oft exclaim, Expose (nor blush) thy triumph and my shame; A bjure those maxims I so lately priz'd, And court that sex I foolishly despis’d; Own thou hast soften'd my obdurate mind, And thou reveng'd the wrongs of womankind : Lost were my words, and fruitless all my pain, In vain to tell thee, all I write in vain: My humble sighs shall only reach thy ears, And all my eloquence shall be my tears.

And now (for more I never must pretend)
Hear me not as thy lover, but thy friend :
Thousands will fain thy little heart ensnare
(For without danger none like thee are fair);

But wisely choose who best deserves thy flame,
So shall the choice itself become thy fame :
Nor yet despise, though void of winning art,
The plain and honest courtship of the heart;
The skilful tongue in love's persuasive lore,
Though less it feels, will please and flatter more,
And, meanly learned in that guilty trade,
Can long abuse a fond unthinking maid.
And since their lips, so knowing to deceive,
Thy unexperienc'd youth might soon believe,
And since their tears, in false submission drest,
Might thaw the icy coldness of thy breast ;
O! shut thine eyes to such deceitful woe:
Caught by the beauty of thy outward show,
Like me they do not love, whate’er they seem,
Like me--with passion founded on esteem.

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