Nor Winds, when firft your florid Orchard blows, Shake the light Bloffoms from their blafted Boughs! This when the various God had urg'd in vain, The Nymph furvey'd him, and beheld the Grace T IN And all the Writer lives in ev'ry Line; His eafie Art may happy Nature feem, [Thine, Sure to charm all was his peculiar Fate, His Heart, his Mistress and his Friend did share; Chearful, he play'd the Trifle, Life, away, Let the ftri&t Life of graver Mortals be A long, exact, and ferious Comedy, And, if it can, at once both Please and Preach: Let Let mine, like Voiture's, a gay Farce appear, And more Diverting ftill than Regular, Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace; No matter for the Rules of Time and Place. Criticks in Wit, or Life, are hard to please, Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe. Too much your Sex is by their Forms confin❜d, Severe to all, but most to Womankind; [Guide; Cuftom, grown blind with Age, must be your Your Pleafure is a Vice, but not your Pride,...) By nature yielding, ftubborn but for Fame, Made Slaves by Honour,and made Fools by Shame, Marriage may all thofe petty Tyrants chace, But fets up One, a greater, in their Place; Well might you with for Change, by thofe accurst, But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst. Still in Constraint your fuff ring Sex remains, Whole Years neglected for fome Months ador'd 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 Dutchess at her Heart. But |