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The Wiccamical Chaplet

a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford
  
  

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 I. 
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 VII. 
 VIII. 
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 XV. 
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 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
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SONG, TO A LADY,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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SONG, TO A LADY,

Who observed that almost all Songs were alike.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Eliza, you say that all Songs are the same,
And turn on the subject of Love:
That they paint but the brightness or strength of a Flame,
The softness or faith of a Dove.
Is it strange that a Regent who governs our lives
And is ever our blessing or curse,
In stories of prose to be uppermost strives,
Or thrusts himself forward in verse?

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To the free in a court, or the slave in a cell,
This flattering vision remains:
Tho' in palaces Cupid is happy to dwell,
Yet he visits the wretched in chains.
If gallant and gay, in the reign he refin'd,
Great Villars with Shrewsbury toy'd:
Poor Mary of Scotland, in durance confin'd,
The love of her Bothwell enjoy'd.
Thro' every toil of Ulysses, his bride
Was a hope that surviv'd to the last:
When to baffle the force of a Cyclop he tried,
Or rode thro' the waves on a mast.
Then say not, Eliza, the passion can tire,
Or too oft with its shadow we play;
For you its reality live to inspire,
And waken each amorous lay.
The man who in love is forbidden to write,
And must heavier studies pursue,
Should never, Eliza, come into your sight,
Or venture to listen to you.