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And unknown regions dare defcry;

Still as they walk they look behind,

Left fame a fecret foe fhould find

From fome malicious eye.

Loud mirth is theirs, and pleafing praife,
To beauty's fhrine address'd;

The fprightly fongs, the melting lays,

Which charm the foften'd breaft;

Theirs lively wit, invention free,

The fharp bon mot, keen repartee,

And ev'ry art coquets employ ;

The thoughtless day, the jocund night,
The fpirits brifk, the forrows light,

That fly th' approach of joy.

Alas!

Alas! regardless of their doom,

The lovely victims rove;

No fenfe of fufferings yet to come

Can now their prudence move:

But fee! where all around them wait
The minifters of female fate,

An artful, perjur'd, cruel train ;

Ah! fhew them where in ambush stand,

To feize their prey, the faithless band

Of falfe deceitful men !

Thefe fhall the luft of gaming wear,

That harpy of the mind,

With all the troop of rage and fear,

That follows close behind:

Or pining love fhall wafte their youth,

Or jealoufy, with rankling tooth,

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That gnaws bright Hymen's golden chain,

Who opens wide the fatal gate,

For fad diftruft and ruthlefs hate,
And forrow's pallid train.

Ambition this fhall tempt to fix

Her hopes on fomething high,

To barter for a coach and fix,

Her peace and liberty.

The ftings of fcandal these fhall try,

And affectation's haughty eye,

That fcowls on those it us'd to greet,

The cutting fneer, th' abufive fong,

And false report that glides along,

With never-refting feet.

And

And lo! where in the vale of years

A grifly tribe are seen ;

Fancy's pale family of fears,

More hideous than their queen :

Struck with th' imaginary crew

Which artless nature never knew

These aid from quacks, and cordials beg,

While this, transform'd by folly's hand,

Remains a-while at her command

A tea-pot, or an egg.

To each her fuff'rings: all muft grieve,

And pour a filent groan,

At homage others charms receive,

Or flights that meet their own:

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But ill the voice of truth severe

Will fuit the gay, regardless ear,

Whofe joy in mirth and revels lies!

Thought would deftroy this paradife.
Where ignorance is bliss,

No more!

'Tis folly to be wife.

AN

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