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Some nymphs affect a more heroic breed, With colics, breakfasts of green fruit agree;
And volt from hunters to the managed steed; With indigestions, supper just at three."
Command his prancings with a martial air, A strange alternative, replies sir Hans,
And Fobert has the forming of the fair.

Must women have a doctor, or a dance ?
More than one steed must Delia's empire feel, Though sick to death, abroad they safely roam,
Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel; But droop and die, in perfect health, al home:
And as she guides it through th' admiring throng, For want-but not of health, are ladies ill;
With what an air she smacks the silken thong ! And tickels cure beyond the doctor's bill.
Graceful as John, she moderates the reins,

Alas, my heart! how languishingly fair And whistles sweet her diuretic strains :

Yon lady lolls! With what a tender air !
Sesostris like, such charioteers as these

Pale as a young dramatic author, when,
May drive six harness'd monarchs, if they please : O'er darling lines, fell Cibber waves bis pen.
They drive, row, run, with love of glory smit, Is her lord angry, or has Veny' chid ?
Leap, swim, shoot flying, and pronounce on wit. Dead is her father, or the mask forbid ?

O'er the belles-lettres lovely Daphne reigns ; “ Late sitting-up has turn'd her roses white." Again the god Apollo wears her chains :

Why went she not to bed ? “Because 't was night." With legs toss'd high, on ber sophee she sits, Did she then dance or play? “Nor this, nor that.” Vouchsafing audience to contending wits :

Well, night soon steals away in pleasing chat, Of each performance she's the final test;

“ No, all alone, her prayers she rather chose, One act read o'er, she prophesies the rest ;

Than be that wretch to sleep till morning rose.” And then, pronouncing with decisive air,

Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, Fully convinces all the town-she's fair.

Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed: Had lovely Daphne Hecatessa's face,

This her pride covets, this her health denies; How would her elegance of taste decrease!

Her soul is silly, but her body's wise. Some ladies' judgment in their features lies,

Others, with curious arts, dim charms revive, And all their genius sparkles from their eyes. And triumph in the bloom of fifty-fwe.

“But hold,” she cries, “lampooner! have a care; You, in the morning, a fair nymph invite;. Must I want common sense, because I'm fair?” To keep her word, a brown one comes at night: O no: see Stella ; her eyes shine as bright, Next day she shines in glossy black; and then As if her tongue was never in the right;

Revolves into her native red again : And yet what real learning, judgment, fire ! Like a dove's neck, she shifts her transient eharms, She seems inspir’d, and can herself inspire: And is her own dear rival in your arms. How then (if malice ruld not all the fair)

But one admirer has the painted lass; Could Daphne publish, and could she forbear?, Nor finds that one, but in her looking-glass : We grant that beauty is no bar to sense,

Yet Laura's beautiful to such excess, Nor is 't a sanction for impertinence.

That all her art scarce makes her please us less. Sempronia lik'd her man; and well she might; To deck the female cheek, HE only knows, The youth in person, and in parts, was bright; Who paints less fair the lily and the rose. Possess'd of every virtue, grace, and art,

How gay they smile! Such blessings Nature pours, That claims just empire o'er the female heart : O’erstock'd mankind enjoy but balf her stores : He met her passion, all her sighs return'd, In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen, And, in full rage of youthful ardour, burn'd: She rears her flowers, and spreads her velvet green: Large his possessions, and beyond her own; Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace, Their bliss the theme and envy of the town: And waste their music on the savage race. The day was fix'd, when, with one acre more, Is Nature then a niggard of her bliss ? In stepp'd deform’d, debanch'd, diseas'd, threescore. Repine we guiltless in a world like this? The fatal sequel I, through shame, forbear : But our lewd tastes her lawful cbarms refuse, Of pride and avarice who can cure the fair? And painted art's deprav'd allurements choose.

Man's rich with little, were his judgment true; Such Fulvia's passion for the town; fresh air Nature is frugal, and her wants are few;

(An odd effect !) gives vapours to the fair; Those few wants answer'd, bring sincere delights; Green fields, and shady groves, and crystal springs, But fools create themselves new appetites : And larks, and nightingales, are odious things; Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, But smuke,and dust, and noise, and crowds, delight; Which relish not to reason, nor to sense.

And to be press'd to death, transports her quite : When surfeit, or unthankfulness, destroys, Where silver rivulets play through flowery meads, In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys,

And woodbines give their sweets, and limes their In fancy's airy land of noise and show,

Black kennels' absent odours she regrets, [sbades, Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow; And stops her nose at beds of violets. Like cats in air-pumps, to subsist we strive

Is stormy life preferr'd to the serene? On joys too thin to keep the soul alive.

Or is the public to the private scene? Lemira's sick; make haste; the doctor call : Retir'd, we tread a smooth and open way: He comes ; but where's his patievt ? At the ball. Through briars and brambles in the world we stray; The doctor stares; her woman curt'sies low, Stiff opposition, and perplex'd debate, And cries, “ My lady, sir, is always so :

And thorny care, and rank and stinging hate, Diversions put her maladies to flight;

Which choke our passage, our career control,
True, she can't stand, but she can dance all night : And wound the firmest temper of our soul.
P've known my lady (for she loves a tune) O sacred solitude ! divine retreat!
For fevers take an opera in June:

Choice of the prudent ! envy of the great!
And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold,
A midnight park is sovereign for a cold:

· Lap-dog.

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By thy pure stream, or in thy waving shade, Embracing Phyllis with soft-smiling eyes,
We court fair Wisdom, that celestial maid : Eternal love I vow, the swain replies :
The genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace

But say, my all, my mistress, and my friend ! (Strangers on Earth!) are innocence and peace : What day next week, th' eternity shall end There, from the ways of men laid safe ashore,

Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love;
We smile to hear the distant tempest roar; Elope from mortal man, and range above.
There, bless'd with health, with business unperplex'd The fair philosopher to Rowley fies,
This life we relish, and ensure the next ;

Where, in a bor, the whole creation lies :
There too the Muses sport; these numbers free, She sees the planets in their tums advance,
Pierian Eastbury! I owe to thee.

And scorns, Poitier, thy sublunary dance: There sport the Muses; but not there alone : Of Desaguliers she bespeaks fresh air; Their sacred force Amelia feels in town.

And Whiston has engagements with the fair. Nought but a genius can a genius fit ;

What vain experiments Sophronia tries ! A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit:

'Tis not in air-pumps the gay colonel dies. Both wits ! though miracles are said to cease, But though to day this rage of science reigns, Three days, three wondrous days ! they liv'd in (o fickle sex !) soon end her learned pains. peace ;

Lo! Pug from Jupiter her heart has got,
With the fourth sun a warm dispute arose, Turns out the stars, and Newton is a sot.
On Durfey's poesy, and Bunyan's prose:

Το - turn; she never took the height
The learned war both wage with equal force, Of Saturn, yet is ever in the right.
And the fifth morn concluded the divorce.

She strikes each point with native force of mind,
Phæbe, though she possesses nothing less, While puzzled Learning blunders far behind.
Is proud of being rich in happiness ;

Graceful to sight, and elegant to thought, Laboriously pursues delusive toys,

The great are vanquish'd, and the wise are taught. Content with pains, since they're reputed joys. Her breeding finish'd, and her temper sweet, With what well-acted transport will she say, When serious, easy; and when gay, discreet; Well, sure, we were so happy yesterday ! In glittering scenes, o'er her own heart, severe; And then that charming party for to morrow." In crowds, collected ; and in courts, sincere ; Though, well she knows, 't will languish into sorrow : Sincere, and warm, with zeal well-understood, But she dares never boast the present hour; She takes a noble pride in doing good; So gross that cheat, it is beyond her powers: Yet, not superior to her sex's cares, For such is or our weakness, or onr curse,

The mode she fixes by the gown she wears; Or rather such our crime, which still is worse, Of silks and china she's the last appeal ; The present moment, like a wife, we shun, In these great points she leads the commonweal; And De'er enjoy, because it is our own.

And if disputes of empire rise between Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy ; Mechlin the queen of lace, and Colberteen, Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright, and coy; 'Tis doubt! 't is darkness ! till suspended fate We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill, Assumes her nod, to close the grand debate. Still it eludes us, and it glitters still :

When such her mind, why will the fair express If seiz'd at last, compute your mighty gains ; Their emulation only in their dress? What is it, but rank poison in your veins

But oh! the nymph that mounts above the skies, As Flavia in her glass an angel spies,

And, gratis, clears religious mysteries, Pride whispers in her ear pernicious lies;

Resolv'd the church's welfare to ensure, Tells her, while she surveys a face so fine,

And make her family a sine-cure : There's no satiety of charms divine :

The theme divine at cards she'll not forget, Hence, if her lover yawns, all chang'd appears But takes in texts of Scripture at picquet ; Her temper, and she melts (sweet soul!) in tears : In those licentious meetings acts the prude, She, fond and young, last week, her wish enjoy'd, And thanks her Maker that her cards are good. In soft amusement all the night employ'd; What angels would those be, who thus excell The morning came, when Strephon, waking, found in theologics, could they sew as well! (Surprising sight !) his bride in sorrow drown'd. Yet why should not the fair her text pursue ? 1 What miracle,” says Strephon, “ makes thee Can she more decently the doctor woo? weep?"

'Tis hard, too, she who makes no use but chat “Ah, barbarous man,” she cries,“ how could you— Of her religion, should be barr'd in that.

Men lovea mistress, as they love a feast ; (sleep" Isaac, a brother of the canting strain,
How grateful one to touch, and one to taste ! When he has knock'd at his own skull in vain,
Yet sure there is a certain time of day,

To beauteous Marcia often will repair
We wish our mistress, and our meat, away: With a dark text, to light it at the fair.
But soon the sated appetites return,

O how his pious soul exults to find Again our stomachs crave, our bosoms burn: Such love for holy men in womankind! Eternal love let man, then, never swear;

Charm'd with her learning, with what rapture he Let women never triumph, nor despair;

Hangs on her bloom, like an industrious bee; Nor praise, nor blame, too much, the warm, or chill; Hums round about her, and with all his power Hunger and love are foreign to the will.

Extracts sweet wisdom from so fair a flower ! There is indeed a passion more refin'd,

The young and gay declining, Appia flies For those few nymphs whose charms are of the mind : At nobler game, the mighty and the wise : But not of that unfashionable set

By nature more an eagle than a dove, Is Phyllis ; Phyllis and her Damon met.

She impiously prefers the world to love. Eternal love exactly hits her taste;

Can wealth give happiness? look round and see Phyllis demands eternal love at leust

What gay distress! what splendid misery!

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Whatever fortune lavishly can pour,

If thunder's awful, how much more our dread, The mind annihilates, and calls for more.

When Jove deputes a lady in his stead?
Wealth is a cheat; believe not what it says; A lady? pardon my mistaken pen,
Like any lord, it promises--and pays.

A shameless woman is the worst of men.
How will the miser startle, to be told

Few to good-breeding make a just pretence; Of such a wonder, as insolvent gold !

Good-breeding is the blossom of good-sense ; What nature wants has an trinsic weight; The last result of an accomplish'd mind, All more is but the fashion of the plate,

With outward grace, the body's virtue, join'd. Which, for one moment, charms the fickle view; A violated decency now reigns ; It charms us now ; anon we cast anew;

And nymphs for failings take peculiar pains. To some fresh birth of fancy more inclin'd: With Chinese painters modern toasts agree, Then wed not acres, but a noble mind.

The point they aim at is deformity : Mistaken lovers, who make worth their care, They throw their persons with a hoyden air And think accomplishments will win the fair; Across the room, and toss into the chair. The fair, 't is true, by genius should be won, So far their commerce with mankind is gone, As flowers unfold their beauties to the Sun; They, for our manners, have exchang'd their own. And yet in female scales a fop out-weighs,

The modest look, the castigated grace, And wit must wear the willow and the bays. The gentle movement, and slow-measur'd pace, Nought shines so bright in vain Liberia's eye For which her lovers died, her parents paid, As riot, impudence, and perfidy ;

Are indecorums with the modern maid.
The youth of fire, that has drunk deep, and play'd, Stiff forms are bad; but let not worse intrude,
And kill'd his man, and triumph'd o'er his maid; Nor conquer art and nature, to be rude.
For him, as yet unhang'd, she spreads her charms, Modern good-breeding carry to its height,
Snatches the dear destroyer to her arms;

And lady Do's self will be polite.
And amply gives (though treated long amiss) Ye rising fair! ye bloom of Britain's isle !
The man of merit his revenge in this.

When high-born Anna, with a soften’d smile, If you resent, and wish a woman ill,

Leads on your train, and sparkles at your head, But turn her o'er one moment to her will.

What seems most hard, is, not to be well-bred. The languid lady next appears in state,

Her bright example with success pursue, Who was not born to carry her own weight; And all, but adoration, is your due. She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid “ But adoration! give me something more," To her own stature lifts the feeble maid.

Cries Lycé, on the borders of threescore : Then, if ordain'd to so severe a doom,

Nought treads so silent as the foot of Time; She, by just stages, journeys round the room : Hence we mistake our autumn for our prime; But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs "Tis greatly wise to know, before we're told, To scale the Alps-that is, ascend the stairs. The melancholy news, that we grow olda My fan ! let others say, who laugh at toil; Autumnal Lycé carries in her face Fan! hood ! glove! scarf! is her laconic style; Memento mori to each public place. And that is spoke with such a dying fall,

O how your beating breast a mistress warms, That Betty rather sees, than hears the call : Who looks through spectacles to see your charms ! The motion of her lips, and meaning eye,

While rival undertakers hover round, Piece out th' idea her faint words deny.

And with his spade the serion marks the ground, O listen with attention most profound!

Intent not on her own, but others' doom, Her voice is but the shadow of a sound.

She plays new conquests, and defrauds the tomb. And help! oh help! her spirits are so dead, In vain the cock has summon'd sprites away, One hand scarce lifts the other to her head. She walks at noon, and blasts the bloom of day. If, there, a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er,

Gay rainbow silks her mellow charms infold,
She pants! she sinks away! and is no more. And nought of Lycé but herself is old.
Let the robust and the gigantic carve,

Her grizzled locks assume a smirking grace,
Life is not worth so much, she'd rather starve : And art has levelld her deep furrow'd face.
But chew she must herself; ah cruel fate ! Her strange demand no mortal can approve,
That Rosalinda can't by prory eat.

We'll ask her blessing, but can't ask her love, An antidote in female caprice lies

She grants, indeed, a lady may decline (Kind Heaven!) against the poison of their eyes. (All ladies but herself) at ninety- nine. Thalestris triumphs in a manly mien;

O how ulike her was the sacred age Loud is her accent, and her phrase obscene. Of prudent Portia! Her gray hairs engage, In fair and open dealing where's the shame? Whose thoughts are suited to her life's decline : What Nature dares to give, she dares to name. Virtue's the paint that can with wrinkles shine. This honest fellow is siucere and plain,

That, and that only, can old age sustain ; And justly gives the jealous husband pain.

Which yet all wish, nor know they wish for pain. (Vain is the task to petticoats assign'd,

Not numerous are our joys, when life is new; If wanton language shows a naked mind.)

And yearly some are falling of the few;
And now and then, to grace her eloquence, But when we conquer life's meridian stage,
An oath supplies the vacancies of sense.

And downward tend into the vale of age,
Hark! the shrill notes transpierce the yielding air, They drop apace; by nature some decay,
And teach the neighbouring Echoes how to swear. And some the blasts of fortune sweep away;
By Jove, is faint, and for the simple swain; Till, naked quite of happiness, aloud
She, on the Christian system, is profane.

We call for death, and shelter in a shroud.
But though the volley rattles in your ear,

Where's Portia now :-But Portia left behind Believe her dress, she's not a grenadier.

Two lovely copies of her form and mind,

What heart untouch'd their early grief can view, My portraits grace your mind, as his your side ; Like blushing rose-buds dipp'd in morning dew? Hi portraits will inflame, mine quench, your pride: Who into shelter takes their tender bloum,

He's dear, yon frugal; choose my cheaper lay; And forms their minds to flee from ills to come? And be your reformation all my pay. The mind, when turn'd adrift, no rules to guide, Lavinia is polite, but not profane; Drives at the mercy of the wind and tide;

To church as constant as to Drury-lane. Fancy and sion toss it 'o and fro;

She decently, in form, pays Heaven its due; A while torment, and then quite sink in woe.

And makes a civil visit to her pew. Ye beauteous orphans, since in silent dust

Her lifted fan, to give a solemn ais, Your best example lies, my precepts trnst.

Conceals her face, which passes for a prayer : Life swarins with ills; the loldest are afraid ; Curt'sies to curt’sies, then, with grace, succeed; Where then is safety for a tender maid

Not one the fair omits, but at the Creed. Unfit for conflict, round beset with woes,

Or, if she joins the service, 't is to speak; And mar, whom least she fears, her worst of foes! Through dreadful silence the pent heart mightbreak: When kind, most cruel; when oblig'd the most, Untaught to bear ia, women talk away The least obliging; and by favours lost.

To God him elf, and fondly think they pray. Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate;

But sweet their accent, and their air refind; And scorn you for those ills themselves create. For they're before their Maker-and mankind : If on your fame our sex a blot has thrown,

Whep ladies once are proud of praying well, 'T will ever stick, through malice of your oun. Satan himself wɔll toll the parish bell. Most hard! in pleasing your chief glory lies ; Acquainted with the world, and quite well-bred, And yet from pleasing your chief dangers rise : Drusa receives her visitants in bed ; Then please the best; and know, for men of sense, But, chaste as ice, this Vesta, to defy Your strongest charms are native innocence. The very blackest tongue of caluinny, Arts on tbe mind, like paint upon the face,

When from the sheets her lovely form she lifts, Fright him, that's worth your luve, from your em- She begs you just would turn you, while she shifts. beace.

Thosecharms are greates which decline the sight, In simple manners all the secret lies;

That makes the banquet poignant and polite. Be kind and virtuous, you'll be blest and wise. There is no woman, where there's no reserve ; Vain show and noise intoxicate the brain,

And 'tis on plenty your poor lovers starve. Begin with giddiness, and end in pain.

But with a modern fair, meridian merit Affect not empty fame, and idle praise,

Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of spirit. Which, all those wretches I describe, betrays.

Mark well the rollings of her flaining eve; Your sex's glory 'tis, to shine unknown ;

And tread on tiptoe, if you dare draw nigh. Of all applause, be fondest of your own.

“ Or if you take a lion by the beard', Beware the fever of the mind that thirst

Or dare defy the fell Hyrcanian pard, With which the age is eminently curst :

Or arm'd rbinoceros, or rough Russian bear," To drink of pleasure, but ipflames desire ;

First make you uill, and then converse with her. And abstinence alone can quench the fire;

This lady glories in profuse expense ; Take pain from life, and terrour from the tomb;

And thinks distraction is magnificence.
Give peace in hand; and promise bliss to come.

To beggar her gallant, is some delight;
To be more fatal still, is exquisite ;
Had ever nymph such reason to be glad ?

In duel fell two turers; one run mad;
SATIRE VI.

'er foes their bonest execrations pour ;
ON WOMEN.

Her lovers only should detest her more.

Flavia is constant to her old gallant,
INSCRIBBD TO THE RIGHT HON. THE LADY ELIZABETH

And generously supports bin in his want.
GERMAIN.

B t inarriage is a fetter, is a snare,

A bell, no lady su polite can bear. Interdum tamen & tollit comædia vocem. She's faithful, she's observant, and with pains

Hor.

Her angel-brood of lastards she maintains.
Nor least advantage has the fair to plead,

But that of guilt, above the marriage-lied.
I sorgit a patroness, but sought in vain.

Amasia bates a prude, and sci rus re-traint; Apollo whisper'd in my ear" Germain.”

Whate'er she is, she'll not appear a saint: I know her not." Your reason's somewhat odd; Her soul su erior flies formality; Who knows his patron, now ?” replied the god. So gay 'her air, her conduct is so free, Men write, to me, and to the world, unknown; Some might suspect the nymph not over-good. Then steal great names, to shield them from the Nor would they be mistaken, if they should. Detected worth, like beauty disarray'd, (town: Unmarried Abra puts on forinal airs ; To covert flies, of praise itself afraid ;

Her cushion's thread-base with her constant

t prayers. Should she refuse to patronise your lays,

Her only grief is, that she cannot be In dengeance write a volune in her pruise. At once engag'd in prayer and charity. Nor think it hard so great a length to run;

And this, to do her justice, must be said, When such the theme, 't will easily be done." " Who would not think that Abra was a maid ?”

Ye fa'r! to draw your excellence at length, Some ladies are too beauteous to be wed ; Exceeds the narrow bounds of human strength; For where's the man that's worthy of their bed ? You, here, in miniature your picture see ; Nor hope from Zinck more justice than from me.

Shakespeare.

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If no disease reduce her pride beforė,

Hence, men are often captives of a face, Lavinia will be ravish'd at threescore.

They know not why, of no peculiar grace : Then she submits to venture in the dark;

Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can bear; And nothing now is wanting-but her spark. Some, none resist though not exceeding fair. Lucia thinks happiness consists in state;

Arpasia's highly born, and nicely bred, She weds an idiot, but she eats in plate.

Of taste refin'd, in life and manners read; The goods of fortune, which her soul possess, Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense, Are but the ground of unmade happiness;

But to be teas'd by her own excellence. The rude material : wisdom add to this,

“ Folks are so awkward ! Things so unpolite!”. Wisdom, the sole artificer of bliss;

She's eleguntly pain’d from morn till night. She from herself, if so compell’d by need,

Her delicacy's shock'd where-e'er she goes; Of thin content can draw the subtle thread; Each creature's imperfections are her woes. But (no detraction to her sacred skill)

Heaven by its favour has the fair distrest, If she can work in gold, 't is better still.

And pour'd such blessings—that she can't be blest. If Tullia had been blest with half her sense, Al! why so vain, though blooming in thy spring? None could too much admire her excellence : Thou shining, frail, ador'd, and wretched thing! But since she can make errour shine so bright, Old-age will come; disease may come before ; She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.

Fifteen is full as mortal as threescore. With understanding she is quite o'er-run; Thy fortune, and thy charms, may soon decay : And by- too great accomplishments undone : But grant these fugitives prolong their stay, With skill she vibrates her eternal tongue,

Their basis totters, their foundation shakes; For ever most divinely in the wrong.

Life, that supports them, in a moment breaks ; Naked in nothing should a woman be;

Then wrought into the soul let virtues shine ; But veil her very wit with modesty :

The ground eternal, as the work divine. Let men discover, let not her display,

Julia's a manager; she's born for rule; But yield her charms of mind with sweet delay. And knows her wiser husband is a fool;

For pleasure form’d, perversely some believe, Assemblies holds, and spins the siwile thread To make themselves important, men must grieve. That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed : Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,

For difficult amours can smooth the way, Pretends, the fop she laughs at, is adord.

And tender letters dictate, or convey. In vain she's proud of secret innocence;

But, if depriv'd of such important cares, The fact she feigns were scarce a worse offence. Her wisdom condescends to less affairs.

Mira, endow'd with every charın to bless, For her own break ast she'll project a scheme, Has no design, but on her husband's peace :

Nur take her tea without a stratagem; He lov'd her much ; and greatly was he mov'd Presides o'er trifles with a serious face; At small inquietudes in her he lov'd.

Important, by the virtue of grimace. “How charming this!”—The pleasure lasted long; Ladies supreme among amusements reign ; Now every day the fits come thick and strong : By nature born to sooth, and entertain. At last he found the charmer only feign'd; Their prudence in a share of folly lies : And was diverted when he should be pain'd. Why will they be so weak, as to be wise ? What greater vengeapce have the gods in store ? Syrena is for ever in extremes, How tedious life, now she can plague no more! And with a vengeance she coinmends, or blamcs. She tries a thousand arts; but none succeed : Conscious of her discernment, which is good, She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed :

She strains too much to make it understood. Thus strictly prov'd this virtuous, loving wife, Her judgment just, her sentence is too strong ; Her husband's pain was dearer than her life, Because she's right, she's ever in the wrong. Anxious Melania rises to my view,

Brunetta's wise in actions, great, and rare : Who never thinks her lover pays his due : But scorps on trifles to bestow her care. Visit, present, treat, fatter, and adore ;

Thus every hour Brunetta is to blame, Her majesty, to morrow, calls for more.

Because th' occasion is beneath her aim. His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,

Think nought a trifle, though it small appear ; As unoil'd hinges, querulously shrill.

Small sands the mountain, moments make the years “ You went last night with Celia to the ball.” And trifles life. Your care to trifles give, You prove it false. “ Not go! that's worst of all.” Or

you may die, before you truly live. Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame; Go) breakfast with Alicia, there you'll see, And arrant contradictions are the same.

Simplex munditiis, to the last degree : .
Her lover must be sud, to please her spleen; Unlac'd her stays, her night-gown is untjed,
His mirth is an inexpiable sin :

And what she has of head-dress, is aside.
For of all rivals that can pain her breast,

She draws her words, and waddles in her pace; There's one, that wounds far deeper than the rest; Unwash'd her hands, and much besnuff d her face, To wreck her quiet, the most dreadful shelf A nail uncut, and head uncomb'd, she loves; Is if her lover dares enjoy himself.

And would draw on jack-boots, as soon as gloves. And this, because she's exquisitely fair : Gloves by queen Bess's maidens might be mist; Should I dispute her beauty, how she'd stare ! Her blessed eyes ne'er saw a female fist. How would Melania be surpris'd to hear

Lovers, beware! to wound how can she fail She's quite deforın'd! And yet the case is clear; With scarlet finger, aud long jetty nail? What's female beauty, but an air divine,

For Harvey, the first uit she cannot be, Through which the mind's all-gentle graces shine? Nor, cruel Richmond, the first toast, for thee. They, like the Sun, irradiate all between ;

Since full each other station of renown, The body charms because the soul is seen.

Who would not be the greatest trapes in town?

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