Nor comfort find at the return of day.
The briny tears in copious torrents flow,
Nor can my trembling hand the theme pursue:
The pangs I feel may Damon never know;
Amanda’s gone, my dearest friend adieu.
CELIA
AND
HER LOOKING GLASS.
AS Celia, who a coquette was,
O’er fading charms lamented,
She frown’d upon her looking-glass,