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On Chafers April 1788 - t

The Chafers nightly haunt the trees,
And they my torments are;
Yet I'll enjoy the evening breeze,
Still with them at roar.

The souls of Beaux, the're thought by some,
To that I cant agree;
For if they were, to Belles they'd come,
In quiet still leave me.

On [Miss?] E. M. Brisco

Behold the gentle [Milicent?] advance,
Behold her seeming of a Ball divine,
And see her lovely mingle in the dance,
And see her hair in golden ringlets shine-
Graceful she [points the toe?], exact in time,
She now draws back- I here must end my rhyme.

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