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Show 228 E S 0 P. The Soul's the worthy Object of m y Care.; The Soul, that Sample of Divinity, that glorious Ray of Heavenly Light. The Soul, that aweful Throne of Thought, that facred Seat of Contemplation. The Soul, that noble Source of Wifdom, That Fountain of Comfort, That Spring of Joy, that happy Token of eternal Life; the Soul, that- . Efop. Pray, Lady, are you married ? Hort. W h y that Queftion, Sir ? Efop. Only that I might wait upon your Husband to wifh him Joy. Hort. W h e n People of m y Compofition would m a-ry, they firft find fomething of their own Species to join with 5 I never could refolve to take a thing of comm o n Fabnck to m y Bed, left when his brutifh Indina-tton prompt him, he fhou'd make m e Mother to a Torm like his own. Efop. Methinks a Lady fo extremely nice, fhould be much at a lofs w ho to converfe with. Hort- I keep m y Chamber, and converfe with mv felt; tis better being alone, than to mif-ally one's Con-verfation : ' M;n are fcandalous, and W o m e n are infip?d, Difcourfe without Figure makes m e fick at m y Soul; U the Charms of a Metaphor ! *^h w 1 ? ? " 0 " ? there is in ^ e words of Erudition ; i he Mufick of them is inimaginable. Efop. Will you hear a Fable, Lady ? Hon .Willingly, Sir, the Apologue pleafes m e when the Application of it is juft. Efop. It is, I'll anfwer for it. 'Once on a time, a Nightingale To Changes prone ; Vnconfianty fickle, whimfical, QA Female one) Who fung like others of her kind, Hearing a ivell-taught Linnet's Airs, Had ether matters in her mind, Te E S 0 p. To imitate him ft)e prep ' *29 Her Fancy ftrait^as on the Wing: I fly, quoth floey * As well as he ; I don't \now why L fhould not try As well as he to fing. From that day forth fhe changed her Note She fod'd her Voice, fhe fire&d her T^at - She did, as learned Women do • Till every thing That heard her fing, Wou'd run away from her as I from y0u. Kontntefola}EXitm?rH"ni^ 'Mongfi all the Wits that are allow'd to fhine, Methinks there's nothing yet approaches mine ; §ure I was fent the homely Age t'adorn-, *s What Star. I know not, rul'd when I was born, Y But every thing, befides my felf, 's my Scorn. J (Exit. ACT II. Enter Euphronia and Doris. Dor.X X 7Hat in the name of Jove's the matter with V V you? Speak, for Heaven's fake. Euph, O h ! what (hall I do ? Doris, I'm undone. Dor, |