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7

SONG.

[I.]

Beauty and merit now are join'd,
An angel's form, an angel's mind
Are sweetly met in thee;
Thy soul, which all the virtues grace,
Shines forth with lustre in thy face,
From affectation free.

II.

Who in thy form, too lovely maid!
Can read thy temper there display'd;
Can look and calmly see?
The face that with such beauty charms,
The breast which so much virtue warms,
Is sure too much for me!