Acrostic, Addressed to an Old Maid, An

Miss
Kind, good-natur'd, easy Fair,
In thy Form what matchless Air!
To feast us with such ripen'd Charms,
To fire our Hearts with Love's Alarms;
You the Power, yours the Sway;

(Hell-born Cruelty away)
In pity to our am'rous Flame,
Let us not all, all sigh in vain;
Lead not Apes to give us Pain.
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