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The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot]

... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes

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TO AN UNFORTUNATE BEAUTY.

Say, lovely maid with downcast eye,
And cheek with silent sorrow pale;
What gives thy heart the lengthen'd sigh,
That heaving tells a mournful tale?
Thy tears which thus each other chase,
Bespeak a breast o'erwhelm'd with woe;
Thy sighs, a storm that wrecks thy peace,
Which souls like thine should never know.
Oh! tell me doth some favour'd youth,
Too often blest, thy beauties slight?
And leave those thrones of love and truth,
That lip, and bosom of delight?

410

What though to other nymphs he flies,
And feigns the fond impassion'd tear,
Breathes all the eloquence of sighs,
That treach'rous won thy artless ear?
Let not those nymphs thy anguish move,
For whom his heart may seem to pine—
That heart shall ne'er be blest by love,
Whose guilt can force a pang from thine.