PLAYS.

Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose,

Whose chain of flowers no force can sever;

And Modesty, who, when she goes,

Is gone, forever!

PLAYS.

A'

LAS, how soon the hours are over

Counted us out to play the lover!
And how much narrower is the stage
Alloted us to play the sage!

But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands! beside,

How long the audience sit before us:

How many prompters, what a chorus!

41

Has been my heart's undoing.

Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me,

I scorn'd the lore she brought me,

My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,

I hung with gaze enchanted,