Scarce yet the parallel would be compleat,
Not that so beautiful, nor this so sweet.
Of old the thinking dotards did agree
To stint the graces to the number three;
Had Hero bleft those times, they soon had found
Too dull their notion, and too strait their bound:
When e'er she smil'd, had view'd with dumb surprize,
Ten thousand graces sporting in her eyes.
The bright immortal must with pleasure hear
A priestess, far above all mortals fair:
In beauty's charms (could beauty's cause be try'd)
If not a rival, surely near ally'd.
No wonder then each youth a flame confest,
And with heav'd hands the sweet enchantress blest:
None but inspir'd with tender thoughts, began
To wish himself (in vain!) the happy man.
Desiring eyes on the lov'd object hung,
Where-e'er she glided thro' the wond'ring throng,
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HERO AND