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Ye too, my Lordlings! oft have seen the hour when love of Shepherd-lass your souls hath smit; and ye, my Ladies! oft the couthless boor hath meshed your Ladyships in Vulcan-net. These waiting nocturns to the tryst fain scour, those scale the casements and o’er pantiles flit: Yet hold I mainly that such loves indign are more the Mother’s than the Son’s design.