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Rh Here, in a Grotto, helter'd cloe from Air, And creen'd in Shades from Day's deteted Glare, She ighs for ever on her penive Bed, Pain at her Side, and Megrim at her Head, Two Handmaids wait the Throne: Alike in Place, But diff'ring far in Figure and in Face, Here tood Ill-nature like an ancient Maid, Her wrinkled Form in black and white array'd; With Store of Prayers for Mornings, Nights, and Noons, Her Hand is fill'd; her Boom with Lampoons. There Affectation, with a ickly Mein, Shows in her Cheek the Roes of eighteen, Practis'd to lip, and hang the Head aide, Faints into Airs, and languihes with Pride; On