Imagens da página
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

EPISTLE

To Mifs BLOUNT.

With the WORKS of VOITURE.

N these gay thoughts the Loves and Grace

IN

5

10

And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line;
His eafy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with efterm no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred:
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did share,
His time, the Muse, the witty, and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away ;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft,
As fmiling Infants fport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft Eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe.

Let the ftri&t life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious Comedy;
In ev'ry fcene fome Moral let it teach,

And, if it can, at once both please and preach.

[ocr errors]

15

20

Lot

Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,

And more diverting ftill than regular,

25

Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to thofe and none can live to these. 30
Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd,
Severe to all, but most to Womankind;
Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide;
Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;

35

By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame;
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by fhame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;

Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe Shews, or empty Titles please:
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Ease.

40

45

51

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray'rs, Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to compleat her blifs, 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 Duchefs at her heart.

56

But,

أو

60

But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Thofe, Age or Sicknefs, foon or late difarms: Good humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the past ; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day; As flow'ry bands in wantonnefs 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.

65

Thus Voiture's early care ftill shone the same, And Monthaufier 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 flames ftill warm.

Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft, Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost : Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Ramboüillet in you.

The brightest eyes of France infpir'd his Mufe;

The brighteft eyes of Britain now peruse;

76

And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm thofe who charm the world befide.

Mademoiselle Paulet. P.

EPISTLE

To the fame,

On her leaving the Town after the CORO

NATION.

S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the Town to wholefome Country air,

A Drags

5

Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling the muft fever,
Yet takes one kifs before fhe parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they ftay'd, but that fhe went. 10
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from Op'ra, Park, Affembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and pray'rs three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary 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 ftories to the fquire;
Coronation.] Of King George the first, 1715.

15

20

P.

Up

Up to her godly garret after fev❜n,

25

There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack ;
Whofe game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack;
Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking bufs, 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 jefts are coarfe,
And loves you beft of all things-but his horfe. 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 rife on ev'ry green;

Before you pass th' imaginary fights

35

Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd

Knights,

While the spread fan o'erfhades your clofing eyes;
Then give one flirt and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanish fceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! 40
So when your Slave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he seems to ftudy, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45
Or fees the blush of foft Parthenia rife,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rufh upon my fight;
Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,

Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50
THE

« AnteriorContinuar »