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Written extempore in a young Lady's Pocket-Book.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


185

Written extempore in a young Lady's Pocket-Book.

Pure as thy virgin heart, these leaves,
No taint of modish vice receives;
Judgment and wit, (how rarely join'd!)
The early produce of thy mind,
Direct thy thoughts, by taste refin'd:
But as the purest gold, they say,
Can never mix without allay;
My pencil that allay procures,
The dross is mine—the finer gold is yours.