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AN EPISTLE TO A LADY.

CLARINDA, dearly loved, attend
The counsels of a faithful friend;
Who, with the warmest wishes fraught,
Feels all, at least, that friendship ought!
But since, by ruling Heaven's design,
Another's fate shall influence thine;
O! may these lines for him prepare
A bliss which I would die to share.

Man may for wealth or glory roam,
But woman must be bless'd at home;
To this should all her studies tend,
This her great object and her end.
Distaste unmingled pleasures bring,
And use can blunt affliction's sting;
Hence perfect bliss no mortals know,
And few are plunged in utter woe;
While nature, arm'd against despair,
Gives power to mend, or strength to bear;
And half the thought content may gain,
Which spleen employs to purchase pain.
Trace not the fair domestic plan

From what you would, but what you can!
Nor, peevish, spurn the scanty store,
Because you think you merit more!
Bliss ever differs in degree,

Thy share alone is meant for thee;

And thou shouldst think, however small,
That share enough, for 'tis thy all:
Vain scorn will aggravate distress,
And only make that little less.

Admit whatever trifles come,
Units compose the largest sum;

O! tell them o'er, and say how vain
Are those which form ambition's train:
Which swell the monarch's gorgeous state,
And bribe to ill the guilty great!

But thou more bless'd, more wise than these,
Shalt build up happiness on ease.

Hail sweet content! where joy serene Gilds the mild soul's unruffled scene; And, with blithe fancy's pencil wrought, Spreads the white web of flowing thought; Shines lovely in the cheerful face, And clothes each charm with native grace; Effusion pure of bliss sincere, A vestment for a god to wear.

Far other ornaments compose

The garb that shrouds dissembled woes,
Pieced out with motley dyes and sorts,
Freaks, whimsies, festivals, and sports;
The troubled mind's fantastic dress,
Which madness titles happiness.
While the gay wretch to revels bears
The pale remains of sighs and tears;
And seeks in crowds, like her undone,
What only can be found in one.

But, chief, my gentle friend! remove
Far from thy couch seducing love!
O! shun the false magician's art,
Nor trust thy yet unguarded heart!
Charm'd by his spells fair honour flies,
And thousand treacherous phantoms rise:
Where guilt in beauty's ray beguiles,
And ruin lurks in friendship's smiles.

Lo! where the enchanted captive dreams
Of warbling groves and purling streams;
Of painted meads, of flowers that shed
Their odours round her fragrant bed.
Quick shifts the scene, the charm is lost,
She wakes upon a desert coast!
No friendly hand to lend its aid,

No guardian bower to spread its shade;
Exposed to every chilling blast,
She treads the' inhospitable waste;
And down the drear decline of life
Sinks a forlorn, dishonour'd wife.

Neglect not thou the voice of Fame,
But clear from crime, be free from blame!
Though all were innocence within,
'Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin.
Virtue rejects the foul disguise:
None merit praise who praise despise.
Slight not, in supercilious strain,
Long practised modes, as low or vain!
The world will vindicate their cause,
And claim blind faith in custom's laws.
Safer with multitudes to stray
Than tread alone a fairer way;
To mingle with the erring throng
Than boldly speak ten millions wrong.
Beware of the relentless train

Who forms adore, whom forms maintain!
Lest prudes demure or coxcombs proud
Accuse thee to the partial crowd;
Foes who the laws of honour slight,
A judge who measures guilt by spite.
Behold the sage Aurelia stand,
Disgrace and fame at her command!.

As if Heaven's delegate design'd,
Sole arbiter of all her kind.
Whether she try some favour'd piece,
By rules devised in ancient Greece;
Or whether, modern in her flight,
She tells what Paris thinks polite.
For much, her talents to advance,
She studied Greece and travel'd France.
There learn'd the happy art to please,
With all the charms of labour'd ease;
Through looks and nods with meaning fraught,
To teach what she was never taught.
By her each latent spring is seen,

The workings foul of secret spleen;
The guilt that sculks in fair pretence,
Or folly veil'd in specious sense.
And much her righteous spirit grieves,
When worthlessness the world deceives;
Whether the erring crowd commends
Some patriot sway'd by private ends;
Or husband trust a faithless wife,
Secure in ignorance from strife.
Averse she brings their deeds to view,
But justice claims the rigorous due;
Humanely anxious to produce
At least some possible excuse.
O, ne'er may virtue's dire disgrace
Prepare a triumph for the base!

Mere forms the fool implicit sway,
Which witlings with contempt survey.
Blind folly no defect can see,

Half wisdom views but one degree;
The wise remoter uses reach,

Which judgment and experience teach.

VOL. I.

3 с

Whoever would be pleased and please
Must do what others do with ease.
Great precept undefined by rule,
And only learn'd in Custom's school;
To no particular form confined,
It spreads through all the human kind;
Beauty and wit and worth supplies,
Yet graceful in the good and wise.
Rich with this gift and none beside,
In fashion's stream how many glide!
Secure from every mental woe,
From treacherous friend or open foe;
From social sympathy that shares
The public loss or private cares:
Whether the barbarous foe invade,
Or merit pines in fortune's shade.
Hence gentle Anna ever gay,
The same to-morrow as to-day,
Save where perchance, when others weep,
Her cheek the decent sorrow steep.
Save when, perhaps, a melting tale
O'er every tender breast prevail.
The good, the bad, the great, the small,
She likes, she loves, she honours all;
And yet if slanderous malice blame,
Patient she yields a sister's fame.
Alike if satire or if praise,

She says whate'er the circle says;
Implicit does whate'er we do,

Without one point or wish in view;
Sure test of others, faithful glass
Through which the various phantoms pass.
Wide blank, unfeeling when alone,
No care, no joy, no thought her own.

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