THE RIVAL NYMPHS.

A TALE.

CLarissa blest with ev'ry Grace,
 A Shape divine, and charming Face,
 Had triumph'd long o'er many a Swain,
 And oft' been woo'd, but woo'd in vain;
 Not so Amanda, blooming Youth,
 Soft Innocence, and artless Truth,
 Were all the Beauties she cou'd boast,
 Not form'd by Nature for a Toast;
 Yet some there were, who in her Mind
 A thousand nameless Charms cou'd find:
 She lov'd not Visits, Park, or Play,
 But mop'd, and read her Time away;
 Insensible to a Degree,
 Her Heart was all her own, and free;
 Yet oft of Love's soft pleasing Pains,
 The Nymph wou'd write in melting Strains. 
The lambent Flame that warm'd her Breast,
 Each tender flowing Line confess'd;
 Moneses, whose enchanting Form
 Was one continu'd endless Charm:
 To whom indulgent Heav'n had join'd,
 All that cou'd beautify a Mind;
 Had often own'd bright Beauty's Power,
 Had sigh'd and lov'd — for half an Hour. 
But yet the lovely Youth confess'd,
 Whoe'er could wound his destin'd Breast,
 Her Charms must over Time prevail,
 Her Wit must please when Beauty fail'd;
 Yet since he cou'd not hope to find,
 One blest with all those Charms of Mind;
 He thought Clarissa worth his Care,
 And all the Hours he had to spare;
 Soft Vows, and tender speaking Eyes,
 Pleading Looks, and melting Sighs;
 Make the believing Maid approve
 His false, but well dissembled Love. 
But while Clarissa's Charms he own'd,
 He with a secret Passion burn'd. 
Amanda found the Way to win
 His Heart, and let her Image in;
 His Pain the lovely Youth conceals,
 All but what his Eyes reveals:
 His Eyes, that all his Passion tell,
 And speak the Love he felt so well. 

Amanda heard the Youth complain,
 She heard and felt an equal Flame;
 But still with native Shyness arm'd,
 She shuns the lovely Swain she charm'd;
 His Looks, his Sighs, his Actions move,
 And in soft Language plead for Love. 

Clarissa still exults, and cries,
 He's yet a Victim to my Eyes;
 He neither will, nor can be free;
 Me he still love's, and only Me:
 Ah! cease to claim my charming Prize;
 Amanda, to the Fair replies,
 Cou'd I, Clarissa, cou'd I boast,
 The Hearts that to thy Charms are lost,
 With Joy I wou'd them all resign,
 To keep my lov'd Moneses mine. 

In vain the Nymph declares her Flame,
 Clarissa still asserts her Claim;
 And 'till the lov'd Moneses owns,
 The conqu'ring Maid for whom he burns;
 'Till he'll the happy Fair unfold,
 The Sequel must remain untold.