299
Of mirth the parent, though the child of art,
A stranger to myself in every part;
Each India has a native in my breast,
The West my sweetness, and my fire the East.
While milder climes my virtue to complete,
Quicken my softness, and correct my heat;
My dearest friends upon my vitals prey,
And as they see me sinking, grow more gay.
is solved by Punch.
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