ELEGY
To
Miss
D—W—D.
The addressee is Hammond's mistress Catherine Dashwood.
In
the
Manner
of
OVID
.
By
the
late
Mr.
HAMMOND
.
O
Say
,
thou
dear
possessor
of
my
breast
,
Where
now's
my
boasted
liberty
and
rest
!
Where
the
gay
moments
which
I
once
have
known
,
O
where
that
heart
I
fondly
thought
my
own
!
From
place
to
place
I
solitary
roam
,
Abroad
uneasy
,
nor
content
at
home
.
I
scorn
the
beauties
common
eyes
adore
,
The
more
I
view
them
,
feel
thy
worth
the
more
;
Unmov'd
I
hear
them
speak
,
or
see
them
fair
,
And
only
think
on
thee
—
who
art
not
there
.
In
vain
would
books
their
formal
succour
lend
,
Nor
wit
,
nor
wisdom
can
relieve
their
friend
;
Wit
can't
deceive
the
pain
I
now
endure
,
And
wisdom
shews
the
ill
without
the
cure
.
When
from
thy
sight
I
waste
the
tedious
day
,
A
thousand
schemes
I
form
,
and
things
to
say
;
But
when
thy
presence
gives
the
time
I
seek
,
My
heart's
so
full
,
I
wish
,
but
cannot
speak
.
And
cou'd
I
speak
with
eloquence
and
ease
,
Till
now
not
studious
of
the
art
to
please
,
Cou'd
I
,
at
woman
who
so
oft
exclaim
,
Expose
(
nor
blush
)
thy
triumph
and
my
shame
,
Abjure
those
maxims
I
so
lately
priz'd
,
And
court
that
sex
I
foolishly
despis'd
,
Own
thou
hast
soften'd
my
obdurate
mind
,
And
thou
reveng'd
the
wrongs
of
womankind
:
Lost
were
my
words
,
and
fruitless
all
my
pain
,
In
vain
to
tell
thee
all
I
write
in
vain
;
My
humble
sighs
shall
only
reach
thy
ears
,
And
all
my
eloquence
shall
be
my
tears
.
And
now
(
for
more
I
never
must
pretend
)
Hear
me
not
as
thy
lover
,
but
thy
friend
;
Thousands
will
fain
thy
little
heart
ensnare
,
For
without
danger
none
like
thee
are
fair
;
But
wisely
chuse
who
best
deserves
thy
flame
,
So
shall
the
choice
itself
become
thy
fame
;
Nor
yet
despise
,
tho'
void
of
winning
art
,
The
plain
and
honest
courtship
of
the
heart
:
The
skilful
tongue
in
love's
persuasive
lore
,
Tho'
less
it
feels
,
will
please
and
flatter
more
,
And
meanly
learned
in
that
guilty
trade
Can
long
abuse
a
fond
,
unthinking
maid
.
And
since
their
lips
,
so
knowing
to
deceive
,
Thy
unexperienc'd
youth
might
soon
believe
,
And
since
their
tears
in
false
submission
drest
Might
thaw
the
icy
coldness
of
thy
breast
,
O
!
shut
thine
eyes
to
such
deceitful
woe
;
Caught
by
the
beauty
of
thy
outward
show
,
Like
me
they
do
not
love
,
whate'er
they
seem
,
Like
me
—
with
passion
founded
on
esteem
.