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And then that charming party for to-morrow!"
Though, well she knows, 't will languish into sorrow:
But she dares never boast the present hour;
So gross that cheat, it is beyond her power:
For such is or our weakness, or our curse,
Or rather such our crime, which still is worse,
The present moment, like a wife, we shun,
And ne'er enjoy, because it is our own.

Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy ;
Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright, and coy;
We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill,
Still it eludes us, and it glitters still:

If seiz'd at last, compute your mighty gains;
What is it, but rank poison in your veins ?

As Flavia in her glass an angel spies,
Pride whispers in her ear pernicious lies;
Tells her, while she surveys a face so fine,
There's no satiety of charms divine :

Hence, if her lover yawns, all chang'd appears
Her temper, and she melts (sweet soul!) in tears:
She, fond and young, last week, her wish enjoy'd,
In soft amusement all the night employ'd;
The morning came, when Strephon, waking, found
Surprising sight!) his bride in sorrow drown'd.
What miracle," says Strephon, "makes thee
weep?"

Ah, barbarous man," she cries, "how could you -
sleep?"

Men love a mistress as they love a feast;
How grateful one to touch, and one to taste!
Yet sure there is a certain time of day,
We wish our mistress, and our meat, away:
But soon the sated appetites return,

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Again our stomachs crave, our bosoms burn:
Eternal love let man, then, never swear;
Let women never triumph, nor despair;

In glittering scenes, o'er her own heart, severe;
In crowds, collected; and in courts, sincere ;
Sincere, and warm, with zeal well-understood,
She takes a noble pride in doing good;
Yet, not superior to her sex's cares,
The mode she fixes by the gown she wears;
Of silks and china she 's the last appeal;
In these great points she leads the commonweal;
And if disputes of empire rise between
Mechlin the queen of lace, and Colberteen,
'T is doubt! 't is darkness! till suspended fate
Assumes her nod, to close the grand debate.
When such her mind, why will the fair express
Their emulation only in their dress?

But oh! the nymph that mounts above the skies,
And, gratis, clears religious mysteries,
Resolv'd the church's welfare to ensure,
And make her family a sine-cure :

The theme divine at cards she 'll not forget,
But takes in texts of Scripture at picquet;
In those licentious meetings acts the prude,
And thanks her Maker that her cards are good.
What angels would those be, who thus excel
In theologics, could they sew as well!
Yet why should not the fair her text pursue?
Can she more decently the doctor woo?
'Tis hard, too, she who makes no use but chat
Of her religion, should be barr'd in that.

Isaac, a brother of the canting strain,
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.
O how his pious soul exults to find

Such love for holy men in woman-kind!

Charm'd with her learning, with what rapture he 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. There is indeed a passion more refin'd,

Extracts sweet wisdom from so fair a flower! 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

Is Phyllis; Phyllis and her Damon met.
Eternal love exactly hits her taste;
Phyllis demands eternal love at least.
Embracing Phyllis with soft-smiling eyes,
Eternal love I vow, the swain replies:
But say, my all, my mistress, and my friend!
What day next week, th' eternity shall end?
Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love;
Elope from mortal man, and range above.
The fair philosopher to Rowley flies,
Where, in a box, the whole creation lies:
She sees the planets in their turns advance,
And scorns, Poitier, thy sublunary dance:
Of Desaguliers she bespeaks fresh air;
And Whiston has engagements with the fair.
What vain experiments Sophronia tries!
'T is not in air-pumps the gay colonel dies.
But though to-day this rage of science reigns,
(O fickle sex!) soon end her learned pains.
Lo! Pug from Jupiter her heart has got,
Turns out the stars, and Newton is a sot.
Το
turn; she never took the height
Of Saturn, yet is ever in the right.
She strikes each point with native force of mind,
While puzzled Learning blunders far behind.
Graceful to sight, and elegant to thought,
The great are vanquish'd, and the wise are taught.
Her breeding finish'd, and her temper sweet,
When serious, easy; and when gay, discreet;

By nature more an eagle than a dove,
She impiously prefers the world to love.

Can wealth give happiness? look round and see
What gay distress! what splendid misery!
Whatever fortune lavishly can pour,
The mind annihilates, and calls for more.
Wealth is a cheat; believe not what it says:
Like any lord, it promises—and pays.
How will the miser startle, to be told
Of such a wonder, as insolvent gold!
What nature wants has an intrinsic weight;
All more is but the fashion of the plate,
Which, for one moment, charms the fickle view;
It charms us now; anon we cast anew;
To some fresh birth of fancy more inclin'd:
Then wed not acres, but a noble mind.

Mistaken lovers, who make worth their care,
And think accomplishments will win the fair;
The fair, 't is true, by genius should be won,
As flowers unfold their beauties to the Sun;
And yet in female scales a fop outweighs,
And wit must wear the willow and the bays.
Nought shines so 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 nian, and triumph'd o'er his maid;
For him, as yet unhang'd, she spreads her charms,
Snatches the dear destroyer to her arms;
And amply gives (though treated long amiss)
The man of merit his revenge in this.

If you resent, and wish a woman ill,
But turn her o'er one moment to her will
The languid lady next appears in state,
Who was not born to carry her own weight;
She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid
To her own stature lifts the feeble maid.
Then, if ordain'd to so severe a doom,
She, by just stages, journeys round the room:
But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs
To scale the Alps- that is, ascend the stairs.
My fan! let others say, who laugh at toil;
Fan! hood! glove! scarf! is her laconic style;
And that is spoke with such a dying fall,
That Betty rather sees than hears the call:
The motion of her lips, and meaning eye,
Piece out th' idea her faint words deny.
O listen with attention most profound!
Her voice is but the shadow of a sound.
And help! oh help! her spirits are so dead,
One hand scarce lifts the other to her head.
If, there, a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er,
She pants! she sinks away! and is no more.
Let the robust and the gigantic carve,
Life is not worth so much, she 'd rather starve :
But chew she must herself; ah cruel fate!
That Rosalinda can't by proxy eat.

An antidote in female caprice lies
(Kind Heaven!) against the poison of their eyes.
Thalestris triumphs in a manly mien ;
Loud is her accent, and her phrase obscene.
In fair and open dealing where's the shame?
What Nature dares to give, she dares to name.
This honest fellow is sincere and plain,
And justly gives the jealous husband pain.
(Vain is the task to petticoats assign'd,
If wanton language shows a naked mind.)
And, now and then, to grace her eloquence,
An oath supplies the vacancies of sense.
Hark! the shrill notes transpierce the yielding air,
And teach the neighbouring Echoes how to swear.
By Jove, is faint, and for the simple swain;
She, on the Christian system, is profane.
But though the volley rattles in your ear,
Believe her dress, she's not a grenadier.

If thunder's aweful, how much more our dread,
When Jove deputes a lady in his stead?
A lady? pardon my mistaken pen,
A shameless woman is the worst of men.

Few to good-breeding make a just pretence;
Good-breeding is the blossom of good-sense;
The last result 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.
With Chinese painters modern toasts agree,
The point they aim at is deformity:
They throw their persons with a hoyden air
Across the room, and toss into the chair.
So far their commerce with mankind is gone,
They, for our manners, have exchang'd their own.
The modest look, the castigated grace,
The gentle movement, and slow-measur'd pace,
For which her lovers died, her parents paid,
Are indecorums with the modern maid.
Stiff forms are bad; but let not worse intrude,
Nor conquer art and nature, to be rude.
Modern good-breeding carry to its height,
And Lady D's self will be polite.

Ye rising fair! ye bloom of Britain's isle!
When high-born Anna, with a soften'd smile,

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Leads on your train, and sparkles at your head,
What seems most hard, is, not to be well-bred.
Her bright example with success pursue,
And all, but adoration, is your due.

"But adoration! give me something more,"
Cries Lycé, on the borders of threescore :
Nought treads so silent as the foot of Time;
Hence we mistake our autumn for our prime;
'T is greatly wise to know, before we 're told,
The melancholy news, that we grow old.
Autumnal Lycé carries in her face
Memento mori to each public place.

O how your beating breast a mistress warms,
Who looks through spectacles to see your charms!
While rival undertakers hover round,

And with his spade the sexton marks the ground.
Intent not on her own, but others' doom,
She plans new conquests, and defrauds the tomb.
In vain the cock has summon'd sprites away,
She walks at noon, and blasts the bloom of day.
Gay rainbow silks her mellow charms infold,
And nought of Lycé but herself is old.
Her grizzled locks assume a smirking grace,
And art has levell'd her deep furrow'd face.
Her strange demand no mortal can approve,
We'll ask her blessing, but can't ask her love.
She grants, indeed, a lady may decline
(All ladies but herself) at ninety-nine.

O how unlike her was the sacred age
Of prudent Portia! Her gray hairs engage,
Whose thoughts are suited to her life's decline:
Virtue's the paint that can with wrinkles shine;
That, and that only, can old age sustain ;
Which yet all wish, nor know they wish for pain.
Not numerous are our joys, when life is new;
And yearly some are falling of the few;
But when we conquer life's meridian stage,
And downward tend into the vale of age,
They drop apace; by nature some decay,
And some the blasts of fortune sweep away;
Till, naked quite of happiness, aloud
We call for death, and shelter in a shroud.
Where's Portia now? But Portia left behind
Two lovely copies of her form and mind.
What heart untouch'd their early grief can view,
Like blushing rose-buds dipp'd in morning dew?
Who into shelter takes their tender bloom,
And forms their minds to flee from ills to come?
The mind, when turn'd adrift, no rules to guide,
Drives at the mercy of the wind and tide;
Fancy and passion toss it to and fro;
Awhile torment, and then quite sink in woe.
Ye beauteous orphans, since in silent dust
Your best example lies, my precepts trust.
Life swarms with ills; the boldest are afraid:
Where then is safety for a tender maid?
Unfit for conflict, round beset with woes,
And man, whom least she fears, her worst of foes!
When kind, most cruel; when oblig'd the most,
The least obliging; and by favours lost.
Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate;
And scorn you for those ills themselves create.
If on your fame our sex a blot has thrown,
'T will ever stick, through malice of your own.
Most hard! in pleasing your chief glory lies;
And yet from pleasing your chief dangers rise:
Then please the best; and know, for men of sense,
Your strongest charms are native innocence.
Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face, [brace.
Fright him, that's worth your love, from your en

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simple manners all the secret lies;

e kind and virtuous, you'll be blest and wise. ain show and noise intoxicate the brain, egin with giddiness, and end in pain. ffect not empty fame, and idle praise, hich, all those wretches I describe, betrays. our sex's glory 't is, to shine unknown; f all applause, be fondest of your own. eware the fever of the mind! that thirst ith which the age is eminently curst: > drink of pleasure, but inflames desire; nd abstinence alone can quench the fire; ake pain from life, and terrour from the tomb; ive peace in hand; and promise bliss to come.

SATIRE VI.

ON WOMEN.

SCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. THE LADY ELIZABETH

GERMAIN.

Interdum tamen et tollit comœdia vocem.

HOR.

SOUGHT a patroness, but sought in vain. pollo whisper'd in my ear" Germain." know her not." Your reason's somewhat odd; 'ho knows his patron, now ?" replied the god. Men write, to me, and to the world, unknown; Then steal great names, to shield them from the

town:

etected worth, like beauty disarray'd, o covert flies, of praise itself afraid; hould she refuse to patronise your lays, i vengeance write a volume in her praise. or think it hard so great a length to run; Then such the theme, 't will easily be done." Ye fair! to draw your excellence at length, xceeds the narrow bounds of human strength; ou, here, in miniature your picture see; or hope from Zinck more justice than from me. ly portraits grace your mind, as his your side; is portraits will inflame, mine quench, your pride: e's dear, you frugal; choose my cheaper lay; nd be your reformation all my pay. Lavinia is polite, but not profane; o church as constant as to Drury-lane. he decently, in form, pays Heaven its due ; nd makes a civil visit to her pew. fer lifted fan, to give a solemn air, Conceals her face, which passes for a prayer: urt'sies to curt'sies, then, with grace, succeed; lot one the fair omits, but at the Creed. Or, if she joins the service, 't is to speak; Through dreadful silence the pent heart might break: Intaught to bear it, women talk away To God himself, and fondly think they pray. But sweet their accent, and their air refin'd; For they're before their Maker- and mankind: When ladies once are proud of praying well, iatan himself will toll the parish bell.

Acquainted with the world, and quite well-bred, Orusa receives her visitants in bed; But, chaste as ice, this Vesta, to defy The very blackest tongue of calumny, When from the sheets her lovely form she lifts, She begs you just would turn you, while she shifts. Those charms are greatest which decline the sight, That makes the banquet poignant and polite.

There is no woman, where there's no reserve ;
And 't is on plenty your poor lovers starve.
But with a modern fair, meridian merit
Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of spirit.
Mark well the rollings of her flaming 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 Russian bear,"
First make your will, and then converse with her.
This lady glories in profuse expense;
And thinks distraction is magnificence.
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 lovers; one run mad;
Her foes their honest execrations pour;
Her lovers only should detest her more.

Flavia is constant to her old gallant,
And generously supports him in his want.
But marriage is a fetter, is a snare,
A hell, no lady so polite can bear.

She's faithful, she 's observant, and with pains
Her angel-brood of bastards she maintains,
Nor least advantage has the fair to plead,
But that of guilt above the marriage-bed.

Amasia hates a prude, and scorns restraint;
Whate'er she is, she'll not appear a saint:
Her soul superior flies formality;

So gay her air, her conduct is so free,
Some might suspect the nymph not over-good.
Nor would they be mistaken, if they should.

Unmarried Abra puts on formal airs;

Her cushion's thread-bare with her constant prayers.
Her only grief is, that she cannot be
At once engag'd in prayer and charity.
And this, to do her justice, must be said,
"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 their bed?
If no disease reduce her pride before,
Lavinia will be ravish'd at threescore.
Then she submits to venture in the dark;
And nothing now is wanting — but her spark.
Lucia thinks happiness consists in state;
She weds an idiot, but she eats in plate.

The goods of fortune, which her soul possess,
Are but the ground of unmade happiness;
The rude material: wisdom add to this,
Wisdom, the sole artificer of bliss;
She from herself, if so compell'd by need,
Of thin content can draw the subtle thread;
But (no detraction to her sacred skill)
If she can work in gold, 't is better still.

If Tullia had been blest with half her sense,
None could too much admire her excellence :
But since she can make errour shine so bright,
She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.
With understanding she is quite o'er-run;
And by too great accomplishments undone :
With skill she vibrates her eternal tongue,
For ever most divinely in the wrong.

Naked in nothing should a woman be;
But veil her very wit with modesty :
Let men discover, let not her display,
But yield her charms of mind with sweet delay.
For pleasure form'd, perversely some believe,
To make themselves important, men must grieve.

• Shakspeare.

Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,
Pretends, the fop she laughs at, is ador'd.
In vain she's proud of secret innocence;
The fact she feigns were scarce a worse offence.
Mira, endow'd with every charm to bless,
Has no design, but on her husband's peace :
He lov'd her much; and greatly was he mov'd
At small inquietudes in her he lov'd.

"How charming this!"- The pleasure lasted long;
Now every day the fits come thick and strong:
At last he found the charmer only feign'd;
And was diverted when he should be pain'd.
What greater vengeance have the gods in store?
How tedious life, now she can plague no more!
She tries a thousand arts; but none succeed:
She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed;
Thus strictly prov'd this virtuous, loving wife,
Her husband's pain was dearer than her life.
Anxious Melania rises to my view,
Who never thinks her lover pays his due :
Visit, present, treat, flatter, and adore;
Her majesty, to-morrow, calls for more.
His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,
As unoil'd hinges, querulously shrill.
"You went last night with Celia to the ball."

You prove it false. "Not go! that 's worst of all."
Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame;
And arrant contradictions are the same.
Her lover must be sad, to please her spleen;
His mirth is an inexpiable sin :

For of all rivals that can pain her breast,
There's one, that wounds far deeper than the rest;
To wreck her quiet, the most dreadful shelf
Is if her lover dares enjoy himself.

And this, because she 's exquisitely fair:
Should I dispute her beauty, how she'd stare!
How would Melania be surpris'd to hear
She's quite deform'd! And yet the case is clear;
What's female beauty, but an air divine,
Through which the mind's all-gentle graces shine?
They, like the Sun, irradiate all between;
The body charms because the soul is seen.
Hence, men are often captives of a face,
They know not why, of no peculiar grace:
Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can bear;
Some, none resist, though not exceeding fair.

Aspasia 's highly born, and nicely bred, Of taste refin'd, in life and manners read; Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense, But to be teas'd by her own excellence. "Folks are so awkward! Things so unpolite!" She's elegantly pain'd from morn till night. Her delicacy 's shock'd where'er she goes; Each creature's imperfections are her woes. Heaven by its favour has the fair distrest, And pour'd such blessings that she can't be blest. Ah! why so vain, though blooming in thy spring? Thou shining, frail, ador'd, and wretched thing! Old-age will come; disease may come before; Fifteen is full as mortal as threescore.

Thy fortune, and thy charms, may soon decay: But grant these fugitives prolong their stay, Their basis totters, their foundation shakes; Life, that supports them, in a moment breaks; Then wrought into the soul let virtues shine; The ground eternal, as the work divine.

Julia's a manager; she 's born for rule; And knows her wiser husband is a fool; Assemblies holds, and spins the subtle thread That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed:

S

For difficult amours can smooth the way,
And tender letters dictate, or convey.
But, if depriv'd of such important cares,
Her wisdom condescends to less affairs.
For her own breakfast she 'll project a schenue,
Nor take her tea without a stratagem ;
Presides o'er trifles with a serious face;
Important, by the virtue of grimace.
Ladies supreme among amusements reign;
By nature born to soothe, and entertain.
Their prudence in a share of folly lies:
Why will they be so weak, as to be wise?
Syrena is for ever in extremes,

And with a vengeance she commends, or blaines
Conscious of her discernment, which is good,
She strains too much to make it understood.
Her judgment just, her sentence is too strong;
Because she's right, she 's ever in the wrong.

Brunetta's wise in actions, great, and rare:
But scorns on trifles to bestow her care.
Thus every hour Brunetta is to blame,
Because th' occasion is beneath her aim.
Think nought a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make the ya L
And trifles life. Your care to trifles give,
Or you may die, before you truly live.

Go breakfast with Alicia, there you 'll see,
Simplex munditüs, to the last degree:
Unlac'd her stays, her night-gown is untied,
And what she has of head-dress, is aside.
She draws her words, and waddles in her pace;
Unwash'd her hands, and much besnuff'd her fat. Fr
A nail uncut, and head uncomb'd, she loves;
And would draw on jack-boots, as soon as gloves y
Gloves by queen Bess's maidens might be mist;
Her blessed eyes ne'er saw a female fist.
Lovers, beware! to wound how can she fail
With scarlet finger, and long jetty nail?
For Harvey, the first wit she cannot be,
Nor, cruel Richmond, the first toast, for thee.
Since full each other station of renown,
Who would not be the greatest trapes in town?
Women were made to give our eyes delight;
A female sloven is an odious sight.

Fair Isabella is so fond of fame,
That her dear self is her eternal theme;
Through hopes of contradiction, oft she 'll say,
"Methinks I look so wretchedly to-day!"
When most the world applauds you, most beware;
'T is often less a blessing than a snare.
Distrust mankind; with your own heart confer;
And dread even there to find a flatterer.
The breath of others raises our renown;
Our own as surely blows the pageant down.
Take up no more than you by worth can claim,
Lest soon you prove a bankrupt in your fame.

[wise?

But own I must, in this perverted age,
Who most deserve, can't always most engage.
So far is worth from making glory sure,
It often hinders what it should procure.
Whom praise we most? The virtuous, brave, and
No; wretches, whom, in secret, we despise.
And who so blind, as not to see the cause?
No rivals rais'd by such discreet applause;
And yet, of credit it lays in a store,

By which our spleen may wound true worth the more.
Ladies there are who think one crime is all :
Can women, then, no way but backward fall?
So sweet is that one crime they don't pursue,
To pay its loss, they think all others few..

ho hold that crime so dear, must never claim
' injur'd modesty the sacred name.
But Clio thus: "What! railing without end?
ean task! how much more generous to com-
mend!"

s, to commend as you are wont to do,
kind instructor, and example too.
Daphnis," says Clio, "has a charming eye :
hat pity 't is her shoulder is awry !
pasia's shape indeed — But then her air-
e man has parts who finds destruction there.
meria's wit has something that 's divine;
d wit's enough how few in all things shine!
ina serves her friends, relieves the poor
10 was it said Selina 's near threescore?
Lucia's match I from my soul rejoice;
e world congratulates so wise a choice;
s lordship's rent-roll is exceeding great-
t mortgages will sap the best estate.
Shirley's form might cherubims appear;
It then she has a freckle on her ear."
thout a but, Hortensia she commends,
e first of women, and the best of friends;
ns her in person, wit, fame, virtue bright;
t how comes this to pass ?— Shé died last night.
Thus nymphs commend, who yet at satire rail :
eed that 's needless, if such praise prevail.
whence such praise? Our virulence is thrown
others' fame, through fondness for our own.
Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns;
are not coronets a-kin to crowns?
r greedy eye, and her sublime address,
height of avarice and pride confess.
1 seek perfections worthy of her rank;
seek for her perfections at the Bank.
wealth unquench'd, by reason uncontroll'd,
ever burns her sacred thirst of gold.
fond of five-pence, as the veriest cit
d quite as much detested as a wit.
Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine?
we dig peace, or wisdom, from the mine?
dom to gold prefer; for 't is much less
make our fortune, than our happiness.
at happiness which great ones often see,
th rage and wonder, in a low degree;
emselves unblest. The poor are only poor!
t what are they who droop amid their store!
thing is meaner than a wretch of state;
happy only are the truly great.
sants enjoy like appetites with kings;
d those best satisfied with cheapest things.
ild both our Indies buy but one new sense,
r envy would be due to large expense.

ce not, those pomps which to the great belong,
but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
how they beg an alms of flattery!
ey languish! oh support them with a lie!
lecent competence we fully taste;
trikes our sense, and gives a constant feast:
re, we perceive by dint of thought alone;
e rich must labour to possess their own,
feel their great abundance; and request
eir humble friends to help them to be blest;
see their treasures, hear their glory told,
d aid the wretched impotence of gold.
But some, great souls! and touch'd with warmth
divine,

ve gold a price, and teach its beams to shine.
I hoarded treasures they repute a load;

r think their wealth their own, till well bestow'd.

Grand reservoirs of public happiness,
Through secret streams diffusively they bless;
And, while their bounties glide, conceal'd from view,
Relieve our wants, and spare our blushes too.
But Satire is my task; and these destroy
Her gloomy province, and malignant joy.
Help me, ye misers! help me to complain,
And blast our common enemy, Germain:
But our invectives must despair success;
For, next to praise, she values nothing less.
What picture's yonder, loosen'd from its frame?
Or is 't Asturia, that affected dame?
The brightest forms, through affectation, fade
To strange new things, which Nature never made.
Frown not, ye fair! so much your sex we prize,
We hate those arts that take you from our eyes.
In Albucinda's native grace is seen

What you, who labour at perfection, mean.
Short is the rule, and to be learnt with ease,
Retain your gentle selves, and you must please.
Here might I sing of Memmia's mincing mien,
And all the movements of the soft machine :
How two red lips affected Zephyrs blow,
To cool the bohea, and inflame the beau :
While one white finger and a thumb conspire
To lift the cup, and make the world admire.

Tea! how I tremble at thy fatal stream!
As Lethe, dreadful to the Love of Fame.
What devastations on thy banks are seen!
What shades of mighty names which once have been!
A hecatomb of characters supplies
Thy painted altars' daily sacrifice.

H- PB, aspers'd by thee, decay,
As grains of finest sugars melt away,
And recommend thee more to mortal taste;
Scandal's the sweetener of a female feast.

But this inhuman triumph shall decline,
And thy revolting Naiads call for wine;
Spirits no longer shall serve under thee;
But reign in thy own cup, exploded tea!
Citronia's nose declares thy ruin nigh,
And who dares give Citronia's nose the lie?

The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd,
And what impair'd both health and virtue, blam'd;
At length, to rescue man, the generous lass
Stole from her consort the pernicious glass;
As glorious as the British queen renown'd,
Who suck'd the poison from her husband's wound.
Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclin'd,
But every bolder vice of bold mankind.
O Juvenal! for thy severer rage!
To lash the ranker follies of our age.

Are there, among the females of our isle,
Such faults, at which it is a fault to smile?
There are. Vice, once by modest nature chain'd
And legal ties, expatiates unrestrain'd;
Without thin decency held up to view,
Naked she stalks o'er Law and Gospel too.
Our matrons lead such exemplary lives,
Men sigh in vain for none but for their wives;
Who marry to be free, to range the more,
And wed one man, to wanton with a score.
Abroad too kind, at home 't is stedfast hate,
And one eternal tempest of debate.
What foul eruptions, from a look most meek!
What thunders bursting, from a dimpled cheek!
Their passions bear it with a lofty hand!
But then, their reason is at due command.
Is there whom you detest, and seek his life?
Trust no soul with the secret-but his wife.

Ss

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