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When Persian customs, fashionable grown, Made nature start, and her best work disown, Male infants are divorc'd from all that can, By timely progress ripen into man. Thus circling nature dampt, a while restrain Her hasty course, and a pause remains; Till working a return t'her wonted post, She seeks her self, and to her self is lost.
No, 'twas a fatal Truth: Alcippus, hadst thou seen her, whilst the Priest Was giving thee to fair Erminia, What languishment appear'd upon her Eyes, Which never were remov'd from thy lov'd Face, Through which her melting Soul in drops distill'd, As if she meant to wash away thy Sin, In giving up that Right belong'd to her, Thou hadst without my aid found out this truth: A sweet composure dwelt upon her looks, Like Infants who are smiling whilst they die; Nor knew she that she wept, so unconcern'd And freely did her Soul a passage find; Whilst I transported had almost forgot The Reverence due t'her sacred self and Place, And every moment ready was to kneel, And with my lips gather the precious drops, And rob the Holy Temple of a Relick, Fit only there t'inhabit.
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