The Poets, when they paint a pair
Of perfect lovers, urge their care,
To give them mutual charms;
If dying softness seize the fair,
The swain must sure, with languid air,
Dissolve into her arms.
Nay all, who write, and all, who read,
In this one point, are still agreed,
Which proves the maxim right,
That real LOVE is only found,
Where correspondent tastes abound,
And hearts are formed alike.
The man of sentiment and ease,
Must choose him, if he wish to please,
A sentimental wife;
While airy KATE will have her beau,
To trip it, 'with fantastic toe,'
Adown the dance of life.
ALMORAN'S heart is wrapt in flames;
No blood runs riot through your veins,
But all is calm and pure;
Hearts opposite can ne'er be friends;-
He now takes back his own-and sends
This COUNTERPART of yours.
This heart, he knows, will suit your worth;
He's tried the merit of them both,
With calculation nice;
Both, when he shivered by your side,
And, when his fingers he applied,
To shape the expressive ICE.