“Speak not of them; I would she knew how dear
I hold her yet!—But dost thou give the tear
To my loved Frances?—No! I cannot part
With one who has her face, who has her heart.
With looks so pleasing, when I thee behold,
She lives—that bosom is no longer cold—
Then tell me—Art thou not—in pity speak—
One whom I sought, while living meant to seek—
Art thou my Fanny?—Let me not offend—
Be something to me—be a sufferer’s friend— 700