CHARACTERS.
51
And from her lips no idle ſentence broke.
Each nicer elegance of art ſhe knew;
Correctly fair, and regularly true.
Her ready fingers plied with equal ſkill
The pencil's taſk, the needle, or the quill.
So pois'd her feelings, ſo compos'd her ſoul,
So ſubject all to reaſon's calm controul,
One only paſſion, ſtrong, and unconfin'd,
Diſturb'd the balance of her even mind:
One paſſion rul'd deſpotic in her breaſt,
In every word, and look, and thought confeſt:
But that was love, and love delights to bleſs
The generous tranſports of a fond exceſs.
On
