“That bounteous nature, in her happiest mood,
“E’er fram’d in mould celestial to grace
“This nether world?”—Oh! my beloved mother!
Turn, turn those tear-worn eyes, and let one smile,
One cheering look of sweet serenity,
Beam forth to comfort my afflicted soul!
Edm. Oh! heavens! my gentle Flavia, would I could!
But this corroding, pensive melancholy,
Most venom-like, destroys its nourisher.
Oh! Vortigern, my lov’d, once loving husband,