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And unknown regions dare descry; Still as they walk they look behind,

Lest fame a secret foe should find

From some malicious eye.

Loud mirth is theirs, and pleasing praise,

To beauty's Shrine address'd ;
The sprightly fongs, the melting lays,

Which charm the soften'd breast;
Theirs lively wit, invention free,
The sharp bon mot, keen repartee,

And ev'ry art coquets employ;
The thoughtless day, the jocund night,
The spirits brisk, the sorrows light,

That fly th’approach of joy.

Alas!

Alas! regardless of their doom,

The lovely victims rove ;
No sense of sufferings yet to come

Can now their prudence move :
But see! where all around them wait

The ministers of female fate,

An artful, perjur'd, cruel train ;
Ah! shew them where in ambush stand,
To seize their prey, the faithless band

Of false deceitful men !

Thefe thall the luft of gaming wear,

That harpy of the mind,
With all the troop of rage and fear,

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Qr pining love shall waste their youth,
Or jealousy, with rankling tooth,

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That gnaws bright Hymen's golden chain,
Who opens wide the fatal gate,
For sad distrust and ruthless hate,

And sorrow's pallid train.

Ambition this shall tempt to fix

Her hopes on something high,
To barter for a coach and fix,

Her peace and liberty.
The stings of scandal these shall try,
And affectation's haughty eye,

That scowls on those it us'd to greet,
The cutting sneer, th'abusive song,
And false report that glides along,

With never-resting feet.

And

And lo! where in the vale of years

A grilly 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,

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Remains a-while at her command

A tea-pot, or an egg.

To each her suff’rings : all must grieve,

And pour a silent groan,
At homage others charms receive,

Or flights that meet their own :

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But ill the voice of truth severe
Will suit the gay, regardless ear,

Whofe joy in mirth and revels lies!
Thought would destroy this paradise.
No more ! - Where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise.

AN

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