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On Chafers April 1788 - t
The Chafers nightly haunt the trees, And they my torments are; Yet I'll enjoy the evening breeze, Still with them at roar.
The souls of Beaux, the're thought by some, To that I cant agree; For if they were, to Belles they'd come, In quiet still leave me.
On [Miss?] E. M. Brisco
Behold the gentle [Milicent?] advance, Behold her seeming of a Ball divine, And see her lovely mingle in the dance, And see her hair in golden ringlets shineGraceful she [points the toe?], exact in time, She now draws back- I here must end my rhyme.