EPISTLE TO MISS BLOUNT, WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE. I N these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces shine, His eafy Art may happy Nature seem, Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great ; And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before ; Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be A long, exact, and ferious Comedy; Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear, And more diverting ftill than regular, Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace, Few write to those, and none can live to these. 25 30 Too much your Sex are 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; By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; 35 Made Slaves by honour, and made fools by Shame. 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. 40 Still in constraint your fuffering 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, 45 For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife; Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please: Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Eafe. The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers, 59 Pride, Pomp, and State, but reach her outward part; 55 But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you 60 Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day; 65 As flowery bands in wantonness are worn, Thus Voiture's early care ftill fhone the fame, By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm. Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft, 70 Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost: The brightest eyes in France infpir'd his Muse; The brightest eyes in Britain now peruse; And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride Still to charm those who charm the world befide. 80 VOL. II. *Mademoiselle Paulet. N EPISTLE EPISTL TO THE SAME, On her leaving the Town after the Coronation, 1715. A S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air, Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh; From the dear man unwilling she must 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 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 Opera, Park, Affembly, Play, To morning-walks, and prayers 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, 5 15 Count the flow Clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, There starve and pray, for that's the way to heaven. 20 Who Who vifits with a gun, prefents you birds, In fome fair evening, on your elbow laid, Before you pafs th' imaginary fights 25 30 35 4.0 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights, Gay pats my fhoulder, and you vanish quite, 45 Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 59 |