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IN the small and great world too, What most charms a woman's heart? It is doubtless what is new, For its blossoms joy impart; Nobler far is what is true, For fresh blossoms it can shoot Even in the time of fruit.
With the Nymphs in wood and cave Paris was acquainted well, Till Zeus sent, to make him rave, Three of those in Heav'n who dwell; And the choice more trouble gave Than e'er fell to mortal lot, Whether in old times or not.
Tenderly a woman view, And thoult win her, take my word; He who's quick and saucy too, Will of all men be preferr'd; Who ne'er seems as if he knew If he pleases, if he charms,-- He 'tis injures, he 'tis harms.
Manifold is human strife, Human passion, human pain; Many a blessing yet is rife, Many pleasures still remain.
Yet the greatest bliss in life, And the richest prize we find, Is a good, contented mind.
He by whom man's foolish will Is each day review'd and blamed, Who, when others fools are still, Is himself a fool proclaim'd,-- Ne'er at mill was beast's back press'd With a heavier load than he.
What I feel within my breast That in truth's the thing for me! 1789.

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