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Still in constraint your fuff’ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains :
Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life, 45
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let false Shews, nor empty Titles pleafe :
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Ease.
The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray’rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, 51
And, to compleat her bliss, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing!
Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part;
She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart. 56
But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are destin'd Hymen's willing Vi&tim too ; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late disarms: 60 Good humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past; Love, rais’d on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its sender chain a day;
As fiow'ry bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn ;
This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.
• Thus * Voiture's early care still Tone the same,
And Monthausier was only chang'd in name: 70
By this, ev’n now they live, ev'n now they charm,
Their Wit still sparkling, and their fames still
Now crown’d with Myrtle, on th’Elysian coast,
Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:
Pleas'd, while with smiles his happy lines you view,
And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you. 76
The brightest eyes of France inspir'd his Muse;
The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
EPIS T L E
To the fame, On her leaving the Town after the
A s some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care n Drags from the Town to wholesome Coun
try air, Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh; From the dear man unwilling the must sever, 5 Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever : Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew, Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew; Not that their pleasures caus’d her discontent, 9 She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went.
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks: She went from Op'ra, Park, Assembly, Play, To morning-walks, and pray’rs three hours a day; Coronation ] Of King Georg: the first, 1715. P.
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, 15
To muse, and spill. her solitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire; 20
Up to her godly garret after sev’n,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whose gaine is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, 25 Thengives a sınacking buss, and cries --No words! Or with his hound comes hallowing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you best of all things---but his horse. 30
In some fair ev’ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rise on ev'ry green;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights
35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls ! 40
So when your Slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rulh upon my sight;
Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50