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SONG. From the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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 I. 
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SONG. From the same.

Sung by Preciosa, in Return to the Former.

My Virtue on my low Estate
A golden Lustre richly sheds;
And Wealth, and gaudy Titles great,
In its intrinsic Worth exceeds.
My quiet Bosom never sighs,
That I am lov'd or prais'd by none;
The Peace my chearful Mind enjoys,
Depends upon my self alone.
My honest Heart, renouncing Ill,
Is natively to Truth inclin'd;
And watchful Heav'n, indulgent still,
Will guide my Fortune, and be kind.

142

Fain wou'd I see if Beauty's Pow'r
Can boast the high Prerogative
To be accepted for a Dow'r,
And of it self Promotion give.
If Souls are equal, as 'tis said,
A Peasant's then may nobly vye
With Monarchs proud, in Pomp array'd,
And boast as real Dignity.
And something in my own I find,
Which bids me hope a higher Fate;
Tho' Love and Greatness in one Mind
Cou'd never yet erect their Seat.