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OF TEMPER.
73


To blast the rose that health's bright cheek adorns,
And fill each festive heart with latent thorns:
For the sly fiend, of every heart possest,
Steals on th' affection of her female guest;
And, by her soft address seducing each,
Eager she plies them with a brandy peach:
They with keen lip the luscious fruit devour;
But swiftly feel its peace-destroying power.
Quick thro' each vein new tides of frenzy roll:
All evil passions kindle in the soul,
Drive from each feature every cheerful grace,
And glare ferocious in the sallow face;
The wounded nerves in furious conflict tear,
Then sink, in blank dejection and despair.
Effects more dire, thus tempting to deceive,
The apple wrought not in the soul of Eve;
Howe'er disguis'd, in jelly or in jam,
Spleen has no poison surer than a dram.
"But haste we now," (the heavenly leader cries)
"To where this penal world's last wonder lies!"