 | Letters and poems |  |
74
Epigram.
Written in a Lady's Table-Book.
With what strange Raptures wou'd my Soul be blest,Were but her Book an Emblem of her Breast?
As I from that all former Marks efface,
And, uncontroul'd, put new ones in their place;
So might I chase all others from her Heart,
And my own Image in the stead impart.
But, ah! how short the Bliss wou'd prove, if he
Who seiz'd it next, might do the same by me.
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