lvet were
her Lips, and redder than Vermillion; her Hand and Arm more white than
Milk; her Feet small, and her Gate stately, and on her Shoulders were
display'd her auborn Tresses, hanging in Ringlets to her Waste; in
short, every Part that was visible invited to hidden Charms; her Looks
were languishing, and her Eye-Balls large, which, perpetually rowling,
cast a thousand Darts at all Beholders. _Amaryllis_ the Daughter of a
wealthy Merchant and no less admir'd for her Beauty than the lovely
_Theodora_; she was made up of Perfections, and whomsoever she saw
unguarded, she was sure to captivate: These two Ladies were both of them
cross'd in their amorous Inclinations; _Theodora_, before she was
thirteen Years of Age, had made a powerful Conquest over the Affections
of a Youth of Gallantry, his Name was _Leander_, and he was the eldest
Son of a Nobleman of _Naples_; but _Theodora_'s Father having no regard
to the Happiness of his Daughter, after _Leander_ had made his
Addresses, he forbad him his House, not approving the Circumstances or
the Character of the young Gentleman; for the Father of _Theodora_ was a
mercenary Courtier, having no regard to any but such as were in their
Nature Misers and sanctified Hypocrites, and _Leander_ being a Gentleman
inclin'd to Extravagancy. _Leander_ setting a greater value upon his
Education, Manners and good Nature than his Fortune, was oblig'd to
desist in his Pretensions and to sink under the oppression of Avarice:
He determin'd to leave _Ferara_, since he was there to see his
Happiness, no more, however, he resolv'd to send his Fair One, a moving
_Billet Doux_ before his Departure, which he did, and it was as follows.

To the _GODDESS_ of _Ferara_, the Beautiful _THEODORA_.

_Divine Creature,

It is not to be admir'd that I, the meanest of your Servants, should be
rejected by your wealthy Parents, and that Heaven should deny me a
Happiness which it self only ought to enjoy; Why did Nature make you so
Beautiful and Deserving, and me so unworthy of your Affection? My misery
increases with your Happiness, unless you participate my Pains; you are
in the Bud of your Beauty, which when full blown, will be like the Sun
in the midst of the Horizon, Illuminating the whole World, but its
penetrating Rays not to be gaz'd upon. You are the Lilly and I am the
Thorn; you beautify the rich fertile Vale, whilst I retire to the barren
Mountains. I will pass the Alps 'till I approach the most