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"No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels' lace "Wrap my cold limbs, and fhade my lifeless face : "One would not, fure, be frightful when one's dead— "And-Betty-give this Cheek a little red."

The courtier fmooth, who forty years had fhin'd An humble fervant to all human kind,

Jut brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir, "If-where I'm going-I could serve you Sir?

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I give and I devise (old Euclio faid,

And figh'd) 66 my lands and tenements to Ned." Your money, Sir?" My money, Sir, what all? "Why, - if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." The Manor, Sir?- The Manor! hold, he cry'd, "Not that,-—I cannot part with that”—and dy’d.

And you! brave COBHAM, to the latest breath, Shall feel your ruling paffion ftrong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past,

"Oh, fave-my Country, Heaven!" fhall be your last.

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Of the characters of Women (confider'd only as contra-diftinguished from the other Sex.) That these are yet more inconfiftent and incomprehenfible than thofe of Men, of which inftances are given even from fuch characters as are plainest, and most ftrongly mark'd; as in the Affected, v. 7. &c. The Soft-natur'd ver. 29. The Cunning, v. 45. The Whimsical, v. 53. The Wits and Refiners, v. 87. The Stupid and Silly, v, 101.

run thro' them all.

How contrarieties

But tho' the particular characters of this Sex are more various than thofe of Men, the general characteriftic, as to the Ruling paffion, is more uniform and confin'd. In what that lies, and whence it proceeds, ver. 205, &c. Men are best known in public life, Woman in private, ver. 207. What are the

aims and the fate of the fex, both as to power and pleasure? ver. 219, 231, &c. Advice for their true interest, 249 The picture of an esteemable wo

man, made up of the best kind of contraricties, v.

269. &c.

NOTHING fo true as what you once let fall,

"Moft Women have no Characters at all."

Matter too foft a lafting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair..
How many pictures of one Nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countefs, here, in ermin'd pride,
Is there, Paftora by a fountain fide.
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a Swan.
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loofe hair and lifted eye,
Or dreft in fmiles of fweet Cecilia shine,
With fimp'ring Angels, Palms, and Harps divine;
Whether the Charmer finner it, or faint it,

If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air; Chufe a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere the change, the Cynthia of this minute. Rufa, whofe eye quick-glancing o'er the Park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa ftudying Locke, As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty fmock;

Or Sappho at her toilet's greafy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an evening Mafk;
So morning infects that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the fetting-fun.
How foft is Silia! fearful to offend;

The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend.
To her, Califta prov'd her conduct nice;
And good Simplicius afks of her advice.
Sudden, she storms! fhe raves! You tip the wink,
But fpare your cenfure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may fee from what the change arofe,
All eyes may fee-a Pimple on her nose.
Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,

Sighs for the fhades

A park is purchas'd,

All bath'd in tears

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"How charming is a Park !" but the fair he fees

"Oh odious, odious Trees!"

Ladies, like variegated tulips, fhow;

"Tis to their changes half their charms we owe;
Fine by defect, and delicately weak,

Their happy fpots the nice admirer take.
'Twas thus Calypfo once each heart alarm'd,
Aw'd without Virtue, without Beauty charm'd;
Her Tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her Eyes,
Lefs Wit than Mimic, more a Wit than wife;
Strange graces ftill, and stranger flights fhe had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er fo fure our paffion to create,

As when the touch'd the brink of all we hate.
Narciffa's nature, tolerably mild,

To make a wash, would hardly stew a child;

Has even been prov'd to grant a lover's prayer,
And paid a tradefman once to make him ftare;
Gave alms at Eafter, in a Christian trim,
And made a widow happy, for a whim.
Why then declare Good nature is her fcorn,
When 'tis by that alone fhe can be born?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to Pleasure, yet a flave to Fame:
Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking Citron with his Grace and Chartres:
Now confcience chills her, and now Paffion burns;
And Atheism and Religion take their turns;
A very Heathen in the carnal part,

Yet ftill a fad, good Christian at her heart.
See Sin in state, majestically drunk;
Proud as a peerefs, prouder as a punk;
Chafte to her husband, frank to all befide,
A teeming mistress, but a barren Bride.
What then? let Blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble feat of thought:
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit

She fins with Poets thro' pure love of Wit.
What has not fir'd her bofom, or her brain?
Caefar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlema'ne.
As Helluo, late Dictator of the Feast,

The Nofe of Haut-gout, and the the Tip of Taste,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat ;
So Philomedé lecturing all mankind

On the foft paffion, and the Tafte refin'd,

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