IN Celia's arms while bless'd I lay,
My soul in bliss dissolved away:
'Tell me,' the charmer cried, 'how well
'You love your Celia; Strephon, tell.'
Kissing her glowing, burning cheek,
'I'll tell,' I cried — but could not speak.
At length my voice return'd, and she
...
I HATE the town and all its ways;
Ridottos, operas, and plays;
The ball, the ring, the mall, the court;
Wherever the beau-monde resort;
Where beauties lie in ambush for folks,
Earl Straffords, and the Duke of Norfolks;
All coffee-houses, and their praters;
All courts of...