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O FICKLE females, ever you're the same; A woman's a woman, both in mind and name Some fair we find, and some unlike the dove, But CONSTANCY'S the highest charm of love. YE prudes, for ever doubt of full success; Don't boast at all: too much you may profess, How good soever your design may be, Not less is ours, you easily may see; The MATRON'S tale is not beyond belief: To entertain, our object is in chief. THE widow's only errors were her cries; And mad design her life to sacrifice; For, merely setting husband-dead in place of one of this patibulary race, Was surely not a fault so very grave: Her lover's life was what she sought to save. A LIVING drum-boy, truly be it said, Is better far, than any monarch dead. BELPHEGOR ADDRESSED TO MISS DE CHAMMELAY YOUR name with ev'ry pleasure here I place, The last effusions of my muse to grace. O charming Phillis! may the same extend Through time's dark night: our praise together blend; To this we surely may pretend to aim Your acting and my rhymes attention claim. Long, long in mem'ry's page your fame shall live; You, who such ecstacy so often give; O'er minds, o'er hearts triumphantly you reign: In Berenice, in Phaedra, and Chimene, Your tears and plaintive accents all engage: Beyond compare in proud Camilla's rage; Your voice and manner auditors delight; Who strong emotions can so well excite? No fine eulogium from my pen expect: With you each air and grace appear correct My first of Phillis's you ought to be; My sole affection had been placed on thee; Long since, had I presumed the truth to tell; But he who loves would fain be loved as well. NO hope of gaining such a charming fair, Too soon, perhaps, I ceded to despair; Your friend, was all I ventured to be thought, Though in your net I more than half was caught. Most willingly your lover I'd have been; But time it is our story should be seen. ONE, day, old Satan, sov'reign dread of hell; Reviewed his subjec
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