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Ostella forth of Town: To my Heart.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Ostella forth of Town: To my Heart.

Heart be Content, though she be gone,
let Reason govern thee:
Thou hast so much of Pleasure known,
'tis fit a season'd Misery
should temper thy Prosperity.
Absence doth whet the Appetite,
which Presence dull'd before,
There is no Pleasure truly great,
nor sweet of such effectual pow'r,
'till season'd with a little Sow'r.

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He cannot truly prize Delight,
that ne'r knew Misery;
Nor deem the glory of the Light,
untill by wanting it, he be
sensible of its purity.
Think this the time of thy lost health
which when restor'd to thee,
Ev'n from the Ruine of thy Wealth
it brings a perfect Remedy,
to double thy Felicity.