Men drop fo faft, ere life's mid stage we tread,
Few know fo many friends alive as dead.
Yet, as immortal, in our uphill chace
We prefs coy fortune with unflacken'd pace;
Our ardent labours for the toys we feck
Join night to day, and Sunday to the week.
Our very joys are anxious, and expire
Between faticty and fierce defire.

Now what reward for all this grief and toil?
But one-a female friend's endearing fimile;
A tender fmile, our forrow's only balm,
And, in life's tempeft, the fad failor's calm.
How have I feen a gentle nymph draw nigh,
Peace in her air, perfuafion in her eye;
Victorious tendernefs! it all o'ercame;
Hufbands look'd mild, and favages grew tame.

The fylvan race our active nymphs purfue;
Man is not all the game they have in view:
In woods and fields their glory they complete,
There Mafter Betty leaps a five-barr'd gate;
While fair Mifs Charles to toilets is contin'd,
Nor rafhly tempts the barb'ious fun and wind.
Some nymphs affect a more heroic breed,
And vault from hunters to the manag'd steed;
Command his prancings with a martial air;
And Fobert has the forming of the fair.

Poffeft of ev'ry virtue, grace, and art,
That claims juft empire o'er the female heart.
He met her paffion, all her fighs return'd,
And in full rage of youthful ardour burn'd.
Large his poffeffions, and beyond her own:
Their blifs the theme and envy of the town.
The day was fix'd; when, with one acre more,
In ftept deform'd, debauch'd, difcas'd thrcefcore.
The fatal fequel I thro' fhame forbear:
Of pride and av'rice who can cure the fair?

Man's rich with little, were his judgment true;
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few;
Thofe few wants anfwer'd bring fincere delights,
But fools create themfelves new appetites.
Fancy and pride fcek things at vait expence,
Which relith nor to reafon nor to fenfe.
When furfeit or unthankfulness destroys,
In nature's narrow fphere, our folid joys,
In fancy's airy land of noife and show,
Where nought but dreams, norcal pleatures grow,
Like cats in air pumps, to fubfift we strive
On joys too thin to keep the foul alive.

Lemira's fick, make hafte, the doctor call:
He comes; but where's his patient? At the ball.
The doctor ftares, her woman curt'fies low,
And cries," My lady, Sir, is always fo."
Divertions put her maladies to flight;
"True, fhe can't ftand, but fhe can dance all night.
"I've known my lady (for the loves a tune)

66

More than one fteed muft Delia's empire feel," For fevers take an opera in June;
Who fits triumphant o'er the flying wheel;
And, as the guides it thro' th' admiring throng,
With what an air fhe fmacks the filken thong!
Graceful as John fhe moderates the reins,
And whiftles fweet her diuretic strains.
Sefoftris-like, fuch charioteers as thefe
May drive fix harnefs'd monarchs, if they pleafe.
They drive, row, run, with love of glory imit;
Leap, fwim, fhoot-flying, and pronounce on wit.
O'er the belles lettres lovely Daphne reigns,
Again the god Apollo wears her chains.
With legs tofs'd high on her fophce the fits,
Vouchffing audience to contending wits;
Of each performance fhe's the final teft;
One a&t read o'er, the prophefies the reft;
And then pronouncing with decifive air,
Fully convinces all the town-fhe's fair.
Had lovely Daphne Hecateffa's face,
How would her elegance of rafte decrease!
Some ladies judgment in their features lies,
And all their genius fparkles from their eyes.
But hold, the cries, lampooner! have a care:
Muft I want common fenfe because I'm fair?
Oh no! fee Stella: her eyes thine as bright
As if her tongue was never in the right;
And yet what real learning, judgment, fire!
She feems infpir'd, and can herfelf infpire.
How then (if malice rul'd not all the fair)
Could Daphne publish, and could the forbear?
We grant that beauty is no bar to fense,
Nor is 't a fanétion for impertinence.

"And tho' perhaps you'll think the practice bold,
"A midnight park is fov'reign for a cold.
"With colics, breakfafts of green fruit agree;
"With indigeftions, fupper juit at three."
A ftrange alternative! replies Sir Hans;
Muft women have a doctor, or a dance?
Tho' fick to death, abroad they fafely roam;
But droop and die, in perfect health, at home.
For want-but not of health-are ladies ill;
And tickets cure beyond the doctor's pill.

Alas! my heart, how languifhingly fair
Yon lady lolls! with what a tender air!
Pale as a young dramatic author, when
O'er darling lines fell Cibber waves his pen.
Is her Lord angry, or has Vinychid ?
Dead is her father, or the mask forbid ?
"Late fitting up has turn'd her roses white."
Why went the not to bed? "Becaufe 'twas

Sempronia lik'd her man, and well the might,
The youth in perfon and in parts was bright;

night."

Did the then dance or play." Nor this, nor that."
Well, night foon fteals away in pleafing chat.
"No, all alone, her pray'rs the rather chofe,
"Than be that wretch to fleep till morning rofe."
Then Lady Cynthia, miftrefs of the shade,
Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed.
This her pride covets, this her health denies;
Her foul is filly, but her body's wife.

Others with curious arts dim charms revive,
And triumph in the bloom of fifty-five.
You in the morning a fair nymphi invite,
To keep her word a brown one comes at night;
Next day the thines in gloffy black, and then
Revolves into her native red again.

* Lap-dog.

Like a dove's neck, the fhifts her tranfient charms,
And is her own dear rival in your arms.

But one admirer has the painted lafs;
Nor finds that one but in her looking-glafs.
Yet Laura's beautiful to fuch excefs,
That all her art scarce makes her please the less:
To deck the female cheek He only knows,
Who paints lefs fair the lily and the rofe.

"And then that charming party for to-morrow!"
Tho' weil the knows 'twill languish into forrow.
But the dares never boast the prefent hour;
So grofs that cheat, it is beyond her pow'r.
For fuch is or our weaknets or our curfe,
¦ Or rather fuch our crime, which still is worse,
The prefent moment, like a wife, we thun,
And ne'er enjoy, becaufe it is our own.

Pleafures are few, and fewer we enjoy;
Pleafure, like quickfilver, is bright and coy;
We ftrive to grafp it with our utmost skill,
Still it cludes us, and it glitters still:
If feiz'd at laft, compute your mighty gains;
What is it but rank poifon in your veins?

How gay they fimile! fuch bleffings nature pours,
O'erftock'd mankind enjoy but half her ftores;
In diftant wilds, by human eyes unfeen,
She rears her flow'rs, and fpreads her velvet green.
Pure gurgling rills the lonely defart trace,
And wafte their mufic on the favage race.
Is Nature then a niggard of her blifs?
Repine we guiltlefs in a world like this?
But our lewd taftes her lawful charms refufe,
And painted art's deprav'd allurements choofe.
Such Fulvia's paffion for the town; fresh air
(An odd effect!) gives vapours to the fair:
Green fields, and flady groves, and crystal springs,
And larks and nightingales, are odious things:
But smoke, and duft, and noife, and crowds, delight;
And to be preft to death, tranfports her quite.
Where filver riv'lets play thro' flow'ry meads,
And woodbines give their fweets, and limes their"
fhades,

Black kennels' abfent odours fhe regrets,
And ftops her nofe at beds of violets.

Is ftoimy life preferr'd to the ferenc ?
Or is the public to the private fcene ?
Retir'd, we tread a finooth and open way;
Thro' briers and brambles, in the world we ftray,
Stiff oppofition, and perplex'd debate,
And thorny care, and rank and ftinging hate,
Which choak our paffage, our career controul,
And wound the firmeft temper of the foul.
O facred folitude, divine retreat!
Choice of the prudent, envy of the great!
By thy pure ftream, or in thy waving thade,
We court fair Wisdom, that celeftial maid:
The genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace
(Strangers on earth!) are Innocence and Peace.
There, from the ways of men laid fafe afhore,
We fmile to hear the diftant tempeft roar;
There,bleft with health, with bufinefs unperplex'd,
This life we relifh, and enfure the next;
There too the Mufes fport; thefe numbers free,
Pierian Eaftbury! I owe to thee.

There fport the Mufes, but not there alone;
Their facred force Amelia feels in town.
Nought but a genius can a genius fit;
A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit.
Both wits! tho' miracles are faid to ccafe,
Three days, three wondrous days, they liv'd in
With the fourth fun a warm difpute arofe [peace;
On Durfey's poefy, and Bunyan's profe.
The learned war both wage with equal force,
And the fifth morn concluded the divorce.

Phobe, tho' fhe poffeffes nothing lefs,
Is proud of being rich in happinefs;
Laboriously purtues delufive toys,
Contcat with pains, fince they're reputed joys.
With what well-acted tranfport will the fay,
"Well, fure, we were fo heppy yesterday!

As Flavia in her glafs an angel fpies,
Pride whispers in her ear pernicious lyes;
Tells her, while the furveys a face fo fine,
There's no fatiety of charms divine:
Hence, if her lover yawns, all chang'd appears
Her temper, and the melts (fweet foul !) in tears.
She, fond and young, laft week her with enjoy'd,
In foft amusement all the night employ'd;
The morning came, when Strephon waking found
(Surprising fight!) his bride in forrow drown'd.
"What miracle,' faysStrephon, makes thee weep?'
Ah barbarous man!" fie cries," how could you
ileep?"

Men love a miftrefs as they love a feaft;
How grateful one to touch, and one to tafte!
Yet fure there is a certain time of day,
We with our miftrefs and our meat away.
But foon the fated appetites return;
Again our ftomachs crave, our botoms burn.
Eternal love let Man then never fwear;
Let women never triumph, not despair.
Nor praife nor blame too much the warm or chill;
Hunger and love are foreign to the will.

There is indeed a paffion more refin'd,
For thofe few nymphs whofe charms are of the
But not of that unfafhionable fet
[mind:
Is Phillis: Phillis and her Damon met.
Eternal love exactly hits her taste;
Phillis demands eternal love at leaft.
Embracing Phillis with foft fmiling eyes,
Eternal love I vow, the fwain replies:
But fay, my all, my miftrefs, and my friend!
What day next week th' eternity fhail end?

Some nymphs prefer aftronomy to love;
Elope from mortal men, and range above.
The fair philofopher to Rowley flies,
Where in a box the whole creation lies.
She fees the planets in their turns advance;
And fcorns, Poitier, thy fublunary dance.
Of Defagulier the befpeaks fresh air,
And Whitton has engagements with the fair.

What vain experiments Sophronia tries!
'Tis not in air-pumps the gay colonel dies,
But tho' to-day this rage of fcience reigns
(O fickle fex!) foon end her learned pains.
Lo! Pug from Jupiter her heart has got,
Turns out the fars, and Newton is a fot.
Το tuin; he never took the height
Of Saturn, yet is ever in the right:
She ftr kes each point with native force of mind,
While puzzled learning blanders far behind.

A a z

Grateful

Graceful to fight, and elegant to thought,
The great are vanquish'd, and the wife are taught.
Her breeding finifh'd, and her temper fweet;
When ferious, caty, and when gay, difcreet;
In glittring fcenes, o'er her own heart fe-

vere;

In crowds collected, and in courts fincere;
Sincere and warm with zeal well understood,
She takes a noble pride in doing good.
Yet, not fuperior to her fex's cares,
The mode the fixes by the gown the wears;
Of filks and china the's the laft appeal;
In thefe great points the leads the commonweal;
And if difputes of empire rife between
Mechlin, the queen of lace, and Colberteen,
'Tis doubt! 'tis darknefs! till fufpended fate
Affumes her nod to close the grand debate.
When fuch her mind, why will the fair exprefs
Their emulation only in their drets?
But, oh! the Nymph that mounts above the fkies,
And, gratis, clears religious myfteries!
Refolv'd the church's welfare to enfure,
And make her family a finccure.
The theme divine at cards fhe'll not forget,
But takes in texts of fcripture at piquet;
In thofe licentious meetings acts the prude,
And thanks her Maker that her cards are good.
What angels would thefe be, who thus excel
In theologies, could they few as well!
Yet why should not the fair her text purfue?
Can fhe more decently the doctor woo?
'Tis hard too, fhe who makes no ufe but chat
Of her religion, fhould be barr'd in that.

Ifaac, a brother of the canting ftrain,
When he has knock'd at his own skull in vain,
To beauteous Marcia often will repair
With a dark text, to light it at the fair.
Oh how his pious foui exults to find
Such love for holy men in womankind!
Charin'd with her learning, with what rapture he
Hangs on her bloom, like an industrious bee!
Hums round about her; and w`th all his pow'r
Extracts fweet wildom from fo fair a flow'r!

The young and gay declining, Abra flies
At nobler game, the mighty and the wife:
By nature more an eagle than a dove,
She impioufly prefers the world to love.

And yet in female fcales a fop outweighs,
And wit must wear the willow with the bays.
Nought fhines fo bright in vain Liberia's eye
As riot, impudence, and perfidy;

The youth of fire, that has drunk deep, and play'd,
And kill'd his man, and triumph'd o'er his
maid;

For him, as yet unhang'd, fhe fpreads her charms,
Snatches the dear deftroyer to her arms,
And amply gives (tho' treated long amils)
The man of merit his revenge in this.

If you refent, and with a woman ill,
But turn her o'er one moment to her will.
The languid lady next appears in ftate,
Who was not born to carry her own weight;
She lolls, recls, ftaggers, till fome foreign aid
To her own ftature lifts the feeble maid.
Then, if ordain'd to fo fevere a doom,
She by just stages journeys round the room:
But, knowing her own weakness, the defpairs
To fcale the Alps-that is, afcend the stairs.
My fan! let others fay who laugh at toil;
Fan! hood! glove! fearf! is her laconic ftyle.
And that is poke with fuch a dying fall,
That Betty rather fees than hears the call:
The motion of her lips, and meaning eye,
Pierce out the idea her faint words deny.
Ch liften with attention moft profound!
Her voice is but the fhadow of a found.
And help! oh help! her spirits are so dead,
One hand fearce lifts the other to her head.
If there a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er,
She pants! the finks away! and is no more.
Let the robust and the gigantic carve;
Life is not worth fo much, fhe'd rather ftarve:
But chew the must herself, ah cruel fate!
That Rofalinda can't by proxy cat.

An antidote in female caprice lies
(Kind heaven!) against the poifon of their eyes.
Thaleftris triumphs in a manly mien;
Loud is her accent, and her phrafe obfcene,
In fair and open dealing where's the shame?
What nature dares to give, the dares to name.
This honeft fellow is fincere and plain,
And justly gives the jealous husband pain.
(Vain is the talk to petticoats aflign'd,
If wanton language thews a naked mind.)

Can wealth give happinefs? look round, and fee And now and then, to grace her eloquence,

What gay diftrefs! what splendid misery !
Whatever fortune lavishly can pour,
The mind annihilates, and calls for more:
Wealth is a cheat, believe not what it fays;
Like any lord it promifes and pays.
How will the mifur ftartle to be toid
Of fuch a wonder as infolvent gold!
What nature wants has an intrinfic weight;
All more is but the fashion of the plate,
Which, for one moment, charms the fickle view:
It charms us now; anon we caft anew,
To fome freth birth of fancy more inclin'd:
Then wed not acres, but a noble mind.

Miftaken lovers! who make worth their care,
And think accomplishments will win the fair.
The fair, 'tis true, by genius should be won,
As now'rs unfold their beauties to the fun;

An oath fupplies the vacancies of sense.
Hark! the thrill notes tranfpierce the yielding air
And teach the neighb'ring echoes how to fwear.
By Jove, is faint, and for the simple swain;
She on the chriftian fyftem is profane.
But tho' the volley rattles in your ear,
Believe her drefs, fhe's not a grenadier.
If thunder's awful, how much more our dread
When Jove deputes a lady in his stead!
A lady! pardon my mistaken pen;
A fhamelefs woman is the worst of men.

Few to good-breeding make a juft pretence,
Good-breeding is the bloffom of good fenfe;
The laft refult of an accomplish'd mind,
With outward grace, the body's virtue, join'd.
A violated decency now reigns;

And nymphs for failings take peculiar pains.

He's dear, you frugal; chufe my cheaper lay,
And be your reformation all my pay.

Lavinia is polite, but not profane;
To church as conftant as to Drury-lane.
Sue dently in form pays Heaven its due;
Ant nike a civil vifit to her pew.
He lifted tan, to give a folemn air,
Comens hur face, which paffes for a pray'r:
Curt'fies to curt'fies then with grace fucceed;
Not one the fair omits, but at the crued.
Or, if she joins the fervice, 'tis to fpcak;
Thro' dreadful filence the pent heart might break;
Untaught to bear it, women talk away

To God himtelf, and fondly think they pray.
But fweet the accent, and their air venn'd;
For they're before their Maker-and mankind:
When ladies once are proud of praying well,
Satan himself will toll the parith bell.

Acquainted with the world, and quite well bred,
Drufa receives her vifitants in bed;
But, chafte as ice, this Vefta, to defy
The very blackest tongue of calumny,
When from her fheets her lovely form the lifts,
She begs you just would turn you while the thifts.
Thofe charms are greatest which decline the
fight;

That makes the banquet poignant and polite.
There is no woman where there's no relerve;
And 'tis on plenty your peor lovers itarve.

But, with the modern Fair, meridian merit
Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of fpirit.
Mark well the rollings of her thing eye,
And tread on tiptoe, if you dare draw nigh.
"Or if you take a lion by the beard",
" Or dare defy the fell Hyrcanian pard,
"Or arm'd rhinoceros, or rough Ruffin bear,"
First make your will, and then converfe with her.
This lady glories in profufe e spence,
And thinks diffraction is magnificence.
To beggar her gallant, is fome delight;
To be more fatal still, is exquifite.
Had ever nymph fuch reafen to be glad
In duel fell two lovers; one run mad.
Her foes their honeft execrations pour;
Her lovers only thould ders & her more.
Thrice happy they who think I boldly feien,
And ftartle at a mittrets of my brain.

Flavia is consant to her old gallant,
And generely fupports him in his want.
Bot marringe is a fetter, is a fare,
A hell no lady fo polite can be r.

She's faithful, fec ́s obfèrvænt, an 1 with pains
Her angel bod of batards the maintains.
Nor leat advantage Las the für to ple: d,
But that of guilt, above the image-bed.
Amafia hates a pride, and Korns retraint;
Whate'er the is, fhe'll not appear a famt;
Her foul fuperior flies formality:
So gay her air, her conduct is to free,
Some mi, ht fufpect the nymph not over gard—
Nor woul they be mistake if they th. und.
Unmarried Abro pe en formalars;
Her cution's thread and with her conitçat pray'rs.

1

Her only grief is, that fhe cannot be
At once engag'd in pray'r and charity.
And this, to do her juftice, must be faid:
"Who would not think that Abra was a maid ?”
Some ladies are too beauteous to be wed;
For where's the man that's worthy of the bed!
If no difeafe re luce her pride before,
Lavinia will be ravifh'd at three.core.
Then the fubmits to venture in the dark;
And nothing row is wanting-but her spark.
Lucia thinks happinefs confifts in frate;
Sh weds an idiot, but the eats in plate.

The goods of fortune, which her foul poffefs,
Are but the ground of unmade happiness,
The rude material; wifdom add to this,
Widom the fole artificer of blifs.

She from herfcif, if fo compeil'd by need,
Of thin content can draw the fubtle thread;
But (no detraction to her facred skill)
If she can work in gold, 'tis better still.

If Tullia had been bleft with half her fenfe,
None could too much admire. her excellence.
But fince the can make error fhine fo bright,
She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.
With understanding the is quite o'er-run;
And by too great accomplishments undone.
With kill the vibrates her eternal tongue,
For ever most divinely in the wrong.

Naked in nothing fhould a woman be,
But veil her very wit with modefty;
Let man difcover, let not her difplay,
But yield her charms of mind with fweet delay,

For pleature form'd, perverfely fome believe,
To make themselves importa t, inen muft grieve,
Lefbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,
Pretends the fop fhe laughs at is ador'd.
In vain the's proud of fecret innocence;
The fact the feigns were ferce a worfe cffence,
Mira, endow'd with ev'ry charm to blefs,
Has no defign but on her husband's peace;
He lov'd her much, and greatly was he mov'd
At fall inquietudes in het he lov'd.

How charming this "The pleature lafted
long;

Now ev'ry day the fit comes thick and frong;
At laû he found the charmer only feign'd,
And was diverted when he fhould be, ain'd,
What greater vengeance have the Gods in ftore?
How tedious life, now the can plaque no more!
She tries her thoufand arts, but rope fucced;
She's forced a fever to procure ind.ed:
Thus thielly prov'd this virtuous loving wife,
Her Lufband's pain was dearer than her life.

Anxious Melania rites to my view,
Who never thinks her lover pays his due
Vifit, prefent, treat, fiatter, and adore;
Her majefty to-morrow calls for more.
His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,
As uncil'd hinges, queruloutly thrill.

You went laft night with Celia to the ball."
You prove it falfe. Not go that's worst of all."
Nothing can leafe her, nothing not infame;
'And airant contradictions are the faine.
* Shakespeare.

Hep