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May his look his father's be,
So as to strike instantly,
Yet his mother's too express

In a certain bashfulness.

Such renown, from him, through her,
Wait thy race's character,
As attends Ulysses' son
From a mother, a paragon..

Close the door, ye virgins, now ;
'Tis enough. But you, your vow,
Keep, ye link'd in love and beauty,
And fulfil your age's duty.

THE END,

PRINTED BY C. H, REYNELL, BROAD STREET,

GOLDEN SQUARE.

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