FROM A GENTLEMAN.
Think not I love with feeble flame;
Think not my love untrue;
And think, if I am aught to blame
In too much loving you.
TO A MILLINER.
Forgive me, pale Miss, if you think I am rude,
But your mein and your manners declare you a prude;
With finicking fingers you coil up the lace,
Your caps and your ribbons, with ill-contriv’d grace;