To a Lady who forbade to
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hat ! no more Favours ? Not a Ribbon more,Not Fan nor Muff to hold as heretofore ?Must all the little Blisses then be left,And what was once Love's Gift, become our Theft ?May we not look ourselves into a Trance,Teach our Souls Parley at our Eyes, not glance,Not touch the Hand, not by soft Wringing thereWhisper a Love that only yes can hear ?Not free a Sigh, a Sigh thaf s there for you ?Dear, must I love you, and not love you too ?Be wise, nice, fair : for sooner shall they traceThe feather'd Choristers from Place to Place,29
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