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That Love alone inflicts the secret wound!
Silver and Gold are Cupid's surest Arms !
One Thousand Pounds outweighs ten thousand charms!
But art thou sure, that in thy tender heart
These worldly baubles bear no sordid part ?
And canst thou say, sincerely canst thou say,
Should adverse fortune on thy Charmer prey,
That still unchanged thy Passion would remain ?
That still thou wouldst abide a faithful Swain ?
If in the cursed South Sea her all were lost,
Still would her eyes, their former conquests boast?
And would She, dost thou think! in every state,
The same emotions in thy soul cr te ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For if you sigh for Wealth, you do not love!

Again, my friend, incline thy patient ear!
For thou hast many Questions still to hear.
This chosen Damsel, this triumphant She,
Canst thou no blemish in her person see?
Her temper, shape, her features and her Air
(Though never yet was born a faultless Fair!),
Do they all please? In body, or in mind,
Canst thou no blot, nor imperfection, find ?
Does o'er her skin no mole, nor pimple, rise;
Or do e'en these seem beauties in thy eyes?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For if you spy one Fault, you do not love!

Do you, within, a sudden impulse feel
To dress, look florid, and appear genteel?
Do you affect to strike the gazing Maid
With glittering gems, with velvet, and brocade?
Your snowy wrists, do Mechlin pendants grace;
And do the smartest wigs adorn thy face?
Do you correct your gait, adjust your Air;
And bid your tailor take uncommon care ?
Before your Glass, each morning do you stand;
And tie your neck-cloth with a critic's hand ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For Dressing ever was a mark of Love!

Do books and worldly cares no longer please ?
Can no diversions give your heart-pains ease ?
Have Wealth and Honours lost their wonted charms;
And does Ambition yield to Cupid's Arms ?
Is your whole frame dissolved, by Love ingrost,
To Study, Interest, and Preferment lost?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For if aught else prevails, you do not love!

Do all your thoughts, your wishes, and desires, Comply with her; and burn with mutual fires ? If She loves Balls, Assemblies, Operas, Plays; Do they, in you the same amusement raise ? If She, at Ombre loves to waste the night; Do you, in Ombre take the same delight?

If to the Ring, her graceful horses prance;
Does your new chariot to the Ring advance ?
If in the Mall, She chooses to appear,
Or if at Court; do you attend her there?
What She commends, does your officious tongue
Approve; and censure what She judges wrong?
Are all her loves, and her aversions, thine ?
In all her joys and sorrows dost thou join ?
Art thou, my friend! united to her frame;
Thy heart, thy Passions, and thy soul the same ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For without Sympathy, you cannot love!

Didst thou e'er strive (once more kindly say !)
With Friends and Wine to drive thy cares away ?
And have e'en these endeavours proved in vain ?
Will neither Friends, nor Wine, remove thy pain ?
Dost thou sit pensive, full of thought, repine;
And, in thy turn, forget the circling Wine ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For if Wine drowns your flame, you do not love!

Art thou a tame, resigned, submissive Swain ? Canst thou bear scorn, repulses, and disdain ? Can no ill treatment, nor unkind returns, Quench the strong flame, which in thy marrow burns ? But do they rather aggravate thy smart; And give a quicker edge to every dart?

Does not each scornful look, or angry jest,
Drive the keen Passion deeper in thy breast?
Do not her poignant questions and replies,
Thy partial ears agreeably surprise ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove !
For if you can resent, you do not love!

Whole life-long days you have enjoyed her sight;
Say, were your eyes e'er sated with delight?
Did not you wish next moment to return ?
Did not your breast with stronger ardours burn ?
Did not each view, another view provoke ;
And every meeting give a deeper stroke ?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For there is no Satiety in Love!

Perhaps, you judge it an imprudent flame ;
And therefore live at distance from the Dame.
But what is the effect ? Does absence heal
Those wounds which, smarting in her sight you feel?
Does not, to her your mind unbidden stray ?
Does not your heart confess her distant sway?
Does not each rising thought enhance your pain;
And don't you long to see her once again?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove!
For that which Absence cancels, is not Love!

Suppose, once more, your parents, or your friends, Either for peevish, or prudential, ends, Should thwart thy choice! thy promised bliss oppose! Wouldst thou, for her, engage all these thy foes ? Wouldst thou despise an angry father's frown; And scorn the noisy censures of the Town? Couldst thou, possessed of her, with patience see The coxcomb's finger pointed forth at thee? Would it not vex you, as you pass along, To hear the little spleen of every tongue ?

'There goes the fond young fool; who, t' other day, In heedless wedlock threw himself away! And, to indulge the rash ungoverned heat Of a vain Passion, lost a good estate!' Would not such insults grate thy tender ear? Couldst thou, besides, without compunction bear The scornful smile, and the disdainful sneer?

From hence, a real Passion you may prove! For he who loves with Reason, does not love !

Still must I touch thee in a tenderer part !
Would not a happy rival stab thy heart?
Couldst thou behold the darling of thy breast
With freedom by another Youth carest?
Say, couldst thou, to thy dearest friend, afford
A kiss, a smile, or one obliging word ?
Say, at a Public Ball, or Private Dance,
When the brisk Couples artfully advance,
Couldst thou, unmoved with indignation stand,

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