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By Wealth of Followers! without one distress
Sick of herself thro' very felfishness!
Atoffa, curs'd with every granted prayer,
Childlefs with all her children, wants an Heir.
To heirs unknown defcends th' unguarded ftore,
Or wanders, Heaven directed to the Poor.

Pictures like thefe, dear Madam, to defign,
Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;
Some wandring touches, fome reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit them right:
For how fhould equal colours do the knack;
Chameleons who can paint in white and black?

"Yet Chloe fure was form'd without a spot."Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. "With every pleasing, every prudent part, "Say, what can Chloe want?---the wants a Heart. She fpeaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought, But never, never, reach'd one generous thought. Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, Content to dwell in Decencies for ever. So very reasonable, so unmov'd,

As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.
She, while her Lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian Chest;
And when the fees her Friend in deep despair,
Obferves how much a Chintz exceeds Mohair.
Forbid it heaven, a favour or a debt
She e'er fhould cancel--but fhe may forget.
Safe is your fecret ftill in Chloe's ear;
But none of Chloe's fhall you ever hear

Of all her Dears she never flander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her Footman put it in her head.
Chloe is prudent Would you too be wife?
1 Then never break your heart when Chloe dies.

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One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,
Which heaven has varnish'd out, and made a Queen:
The SAME FOR EVER! and defcrib'd by all
With Truth and Goodness, as with crown and Bail.
Poets heap Virtues, Painters Gems at will,

And fhew their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
"Tis well-but, Artifts! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight.
That robe of Quality fo ftruts and fwells,
None fees what parts of nature it conceals:
Th' exactest traits of Body or of Mind,
We owe to models of an humble kind.
If QUEENSBERRY to ftrip there's no compelling,
'Tis from a Handmaid we must take a Helen.
From Peer or Bishop 'tis no eafy thing

To draw the man, who loves his God, or King:
Alas! I copy. (or my draught would fail)
From honeft Mah'met, or plain Parfon Hale.

But grant, in public men fometimes are shown,
A Woman's feen in private life alone:
Our bolder talents in full light display'd;
Your virtues open fairest in the fhade.
Bred to difguife, in Public 'tis you hide;
There, none diftinguish 'twixt your Shame or Pride,

Weakness or Delicacy; all so nice,
That each may feem a Virtue, or a Vice.

In men we various Ruling Paffions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind;
Those only fix'd, they first to last obey,
The love of Pleasure, and the love of sway.

That, Nature gives; and where the leffon taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience this; by Man's oppreffion curft, They seek the fecond not to lose the first.

Men, fome to Bus'nefs, "fome to Pleasure take; But every Woman is at heart a Rake: Men fome to Quiet, fome to public strife; But every Lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of Queens!
Pow'r all their end, but beauty all the means;
In youth they conquer with fo wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a fubject in their age;
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But Wisdom's triumph is well-tim❜d Retreat,
As hard a science to the Fair as Great!
Beauties, like Tyrants, old and friendless grown,
Yet hate repofe, and dread to be alone,
Worn out in public, weary every eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die.
Pleafures the fex, as children Birds purfue,
yet never out of view;

Still out of reach,
Sure, if they catch to fpoil the Toy at moft,
To covet flying, and regret when loft:

At laft, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend;
Afham'd to own they gave delight before,
Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more:
As Hags hold Sabbaths, lefs for joy than fpight,
So these their merry, miferable night;

Still round and round the Ghofts of Beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their honour dy'd.
See how the world its Veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards;
Fair to no purpose, artful to no end,
Young without Lovers, old without a Friend;
A Fop their paffion, but their prize a Sot,
Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot!

Ah! friend! to dazzle let the Vain defign;
To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine!
That charm fhall grow, while what fatigues the Ring,
Flaunts, and goes down an unregarded thing:
So when the fun's broad beam has tir'd the fight,
All mild afcends the moon's more fober light,
Serene in virgin modefty fhe fhines,
And unobferv'd the glaring orb declines.

Oh! bleft with Temper, whofe unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow chearful as to-day :
She, who can love a fifter's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;
She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools,
Or, if the rules him, never fhews fhe rules;
Charms by accepting, by fubmitting sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys;


Let fops or fortune fly which way they will;
Difdains all lofs of tickets, or Codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, tho' China fall.

And, yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman's at beft a contradiction still. Heaven, when it ftrives to polish all it can Its last best work, but forms a fofter Man; Picks from each fex, to make the Fav'rite bleft, Your love of pleasure, our defire of rest: Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules, Your taste of follics, with our fcorn of Fools: Referve with Franknefs, Art with Truth ally'd, Courage with softness, Modefty with Pride; Fix'd Principles, with Fancy ever new; Shakes all together, and produces-You. Be this a woman's fame: with this unbleft, Toafts live a fcorn, and Queens may die a jest. This Phoebus promis'd (I forget the year) When thofe blue eyes firft open'd on the sphere; Afcendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care, Averted half your parents' fimple prayer; And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf That buys your fex a tyrant o'er itself. The generous God, who wit and gold refines, And ripens fpirits as he ripens mines,

Kept Drofs for Dutcheffes, the world fhall know it, To you gave Senfe, Good-humour, and a Poet.

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