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dreamt of him, repeated in my sleep all his beautiful conceptions, till I have started from my couch in a paroxysm of delight!

Ah, Lady Worrymore! you should have lived some centuries earlier, and been the Laura of that impassioned poet yourself.

I wish she had, with all my heart.

But I have not yet seen your sweet composition, Mr. Clermont; pray, pray, give it to me! this very moment—O this very moment! I die to peruse it! I am miserable till I see it! it will haunt my thoughts the whole day!

Dear Lady Worrymore, will you shame the divine Mr. Clutterbuck's lecture so much as to think of it then?

Ah! my dear Miss Frankland, you are too severe: Shakspeare should indeed be paramount to every thing. Dear Shakspeare! dear Petrarch! I doat on them both. (Looking at her watch.) Bless me! I am behind my time. Adieu, adieu! (To .) And you will send me your sonnet? you will do me that