Pleasure (Written in her thirteenth year) Away! unstable, fleeting Pleasure, Thou troublesome and golided treasure; When the false jewel changes hue, There's naught, O man, that's left for you! What many grasp at with such joy, Is but her shade, a foolish toy; She is not found at every court, At every ball, and every sport, But in that heart she loves to rest, That's with a guiltless conscience blest. |
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