198

E MMA.

O! precious are you all, and prizes too, 4 Or could we take such guilty pains for you?

Believe it not— As long as passion lasts,

A charm about the chosen maid it casts;. And the poor girl has little more to do

Than just to keep in sight as you pursue:

Chance to a ruin leads her; you behold,

And straight the angel of her taste is told;

Chance to a cottage leads you, and you trace

A virtuous pity in the angel's face;

She reads a work you chance to recommend

And likes it well— at least, she likes the friend;

But when it chances this no more is done

She has not left one virtue— No! not one!

But be it said, good sir, we use such art,. Is it not done to hold a fickle heart, 4 And fix a roving eye?— Is that design

Shameful or wicked that would keep you mine?