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 The hint was taken—and the party given; And Fanny, as I said some pages since, Was there in power and loveliness that even, And he, her sire, demeaned him like a prince, And all was joy—it looked a festival, Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall.

But Fortune, like some others of her sex, Delights in tantalizing and tormenting; One day we feed upon their smiles—the next Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting. (If in the last four lines the author lies, He's always ready to apologize.)

Eve never walked in Paradise more pure Than on that morn when Satan played the devil, With her and all her race. A love-sick wooer Ne'er asked a kinder maiden, or more civil, Than Cleopatra was to Antony The day she left him on the Ionian sea.

The serpent—loveliest in his coilèd ring, With eye that charms, and beauty that outvies