“Young Celia gay,
The other day,
Before her mirror standing,
Exclaim’d-“”my form is Nature’s pride,
And beyond measure charming!
To night, no doubt,
At Fidgeum’s rout,
New conquests I shall make;
I’ll dress with taste, and smile divine,
‘Twill make each beau’s heart ache.
Her aim to please,
With thoughts like these,
The room she entered gay,
Her darts she dealt without remorse,-
All owned her magic sway.
The sequel mind,
Death stood behind,
With dart so keenly pointed,
He aim’d a blow,-alas! too sure,
Which her’s for ever blunted.
(Elizabeth Beverley)”
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