To Mris S. H. on her taking something ill I said, pp.13-14.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

To the Tune of, Hallow Ev’n


WHY hangs that cloud upon thy brow? 

That beauteous heav’n ere while serene? 

Whence do these storms and tempefts flow, 

Or what this gust of passion mean? 

And must then mankind lose that light, 

Which in thine eyes was wont to shine, 

And ly obscur’d in endless night, 

For each poor silly speech of mine? 


Dear child, how can I wrong thy name, 

Since ‘tis acknowledg’d at all hands, 

That could ill tongues abuse thy fame, 

Thy beauty can make large amends: 

Or if I durst profanely try 

Thy beauty’s powerful charms t’upbraid, 

Thy virtue well might give the lie, 

Nor call thy beauty to its aid. 


For Venus every heart t’ensnare, 

With all her charms has deckt thy-face, 

And Pallas with unusual care, 

Bids wisdom heighten every grace, 

Who can the double pain endure? 

Or who must not resign the field 

To thee, celestial maid, secure 

With Cupid’s bow and Pallas’ Shield? 


If then to thee such power is given, 

Let not a wretch in torment live, 

But smile, and learn to copy heaven, 

Since we must sin ere it forgive. 

Yet pitying Heaven not only does 

Forgive th’ offender and th’ offence, 

But even itself appeas’d bestows, 

As the reward of penitence.

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