190 Did she not all her sex's arts pursue,

To bring the angel forward to my view?

Was not the rising anger oft suppress'd?

Was not the waking passion hush'’d to rest?

And when so mildly sweet you look'd and spoke, Did not the woman deign to wear a cloak?

A cloak she wore, or, though not clear my sight,

I might have seen her— Think you not I might?

EMMA. O! this is glorious!— while your passion lives, To the loved maid a robe of grace it gives; And then, unjust! beholds her with surprise

Unrobed, ungracious, when the passion dies.

HRNRV. For this, my Emma, I to heaven appeal, I felt entirely what I seem'’d to feel; Thou wert all precious in my sight, to me The being angels are supposed to be;

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Bot'ſt Nicht

Ward Die H Wenn Hatt'ſt Gewiß Obſcho

Vortr Der

Dann Daß i

Beim War g Wie ſt So ſa