A Series of Genuine Letters Between Henry and Frances

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W. Richardson and L. Urquhart, 1770

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28. oldal - Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
78. oldal - Like as the culver, on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate, And in her songs sends many a wishful vow For his return, that seems to linger late ; So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love : And wandering here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove : Ne joy of aught that under...
239. oldal - I am not merry ; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
78. oldal - Lilceas the Culver36 on the bared bough fits mourning for the abfence of her mate ; and, in her fongs fends many a wifhful vow, for his return that feems to linger late: So I alone now left difconfolate, mourn to myfelf the abfence of my love : and, wand'ring here and there all defolate, feek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
107. oldal - Л subject soon exhausts itself with me. You must get some of your volume friends to spin the text for you.
123. oldal - THE heavy hours are almoft paft That part my love and me : My longing eyes may hope at laft, Their only wifh to fee. But how, my Delia, will you meet The man you've loft fo long ? Will love in all your pulfes beat, And tremble on your tongue? Will you in every look declare, Your heart is ftill the fame ; And heal each...

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