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New praises still remain ;
Beauty like her's may well infuse
New flights, new fancies, like a Muse,
'Tis not her form alone I prize,
Which ev'ry fool, that has his eyes,
To say she's fair is but to say,
When the sun shines at noon 'tis day,
But I'm in love with Peggy's mind,
seventy, was her humble admirer; he played Fondle wife in the Old Bachelor, to her Letitia. She acted Cordelia and Ophelia to Garrick's Lear and Hamlet: her company was sought after by persons of the first rank and character, who were proud of her acquaintance, and charmed with her conversation: she was President of a Select Society of Beaux Esprits, called the "Beaf Steak Club," and was the only woman admitted. She was mistress of a good understanding much improved by company and books; she died, 1760. She was not unlike in her person to Miss Farren the present amiable and accomplished Countess of Derby.
That can adorn the fair,
Excepting one you scarce can miss,
She who professes all the rest,
That Virtue shares alone;
To seek perfection is a jest,
They who have fewest faults the best,
And Peggy has but one.
TO KITTY WALKER:*
KITTY, crown'd with Loves and Graces,
While another has your heart?
Tho' a moment's inclination,
May a transient joy impart;
Can I hope for lasting passion,
While another has your heart.
Kitty Walker was kept by the Earl of Loudon; but probably it was not he who had her heart. I believe this and other verses following was really addressed to Mrs. Woffington, the actress, with whom Sir Charles was in love, and who was in love with Mr. Garrick. One day, that Sir Charles taxed her with having been with the latter, though she promised to see him no more, she vowed she had not seen him for ages. "Nay," said Sir Charles, "I know you saw him yesterday, "Well,” replied she, "is not that an age."-W.
O, that I could gain it wholly,
But to think of that were folly,
For another has your heart.
'Tis no longer your's to give me;
Kitty, at those words you start;
And durst you hope you could deceive me, While another has your heart.
my breast thy beauteous face is,
Grav'd by Cupid's powerful dart
But from thence I'll blot those traces,
Gods, how jealous torments move me,
Oh, what anguish, and what smart; None on earth like me can love thee,
Tho' another has your heart.
MRS. WOFFINGTON, 1740.
IF when the breast is rent with pain,
It be no crime, the nymph should know it; O Woffington accept the strain,
Pity! though you'll not cure the poet.
Should you reject my ardent prayer,
No more the Theatre I seek,
But when I'm promised there to find you;
All Horton's merits now grow weak,
And Clive remains far far behind you.
'Tis thus the polished pebble plays,
And gains awhile some vulgar praises; But soon withdraws its feeble rays,
When the superior diamond blazes.