Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.
When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine, Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.
Trust me--with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.
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