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Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray'rs,
But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, soon 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 slender chain a day; As flow'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 shone 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 flames still warm.
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.
The brightest eyes of France inspir'd his Muse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Ver. 69. Thus Voiture's early care] Mademoiselle Paulet. P.
MRS. TERESA BLOUNT,
ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION.
As some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
To muse, and spill her solitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon :
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Coronation] Of King George the first, 1715.
Ver. 7. Zephalinda] The assumed name of Teresa Blount, under which she corresponded for many years with a Mr. More, under the feigned name of Alexis.
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 game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,-No Words! Or with his hound comes hallooing 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 sights Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
VERSES TO MR. C.
ST. JAMES'S PLACE.
London, Oct. 22.
FEW words are best; I wish you well; BETHEL, I'm told, will soon be here; Some morning walks along the Mall, And evening friends, will end the
If, in this interval, between
The falling leaf and coming frost, You please to see, on Twit'nam green
Your friend, your poet, and your host;
For three whole days you here may rest From Office business, news and strife; And (what most folks would think a jest)
Want nothing else, except your wife.