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For breath and fingers did their works
(We 'ad fingers long before we 'ad forks);
Which made his hands both hard and brawny,
When wash'd, of colour orange-tawny.
His whole complexion was a sallow,
Where black had not destroy'd the yellow.
One foot was clump'd, which was the stronger,
The other spiny, though much longer;
So both to the proportion come
Of the fore-finger and the thumb.

In short, the whole of him was nasty,
Ill-natur'd, vain, imperious, hasty:
Deformity alike took place

Both in his manners and his face.
Venus had perfect shape and size :
But then she was not over-wise:
For sometimes she her knee is crimping,
'To imitate th' old man in limping.
Sometimes his dirty paws she scorns,
Whilst her fair fingers show his horns.
But Mars, the bully of the place, is
The chiefest spark in her good graces.
At first they're shy, at last grow bolder,
And conjugal affection colder.

They car'd not what was said or done,
Till impudence defy'd the Sun.

Vulcan was told of this; quoth he,
"Is there such roguery? I'll see!”
He then an iron net prepar'd,
Which he to the bed's tester rear'd ;
Which, when a pulley gave a snap,
Would fall, and make a cuckold's trap.
All those he plac'd in the best room,
Then feign'd that he must go from home;
For he at Lemnos forges had,

And none but he to mind the trade.

Love was too eager to beware

Of falling into any snare.

They went to bed, and so were caught;
And then they of repentance thought.
The show being ready to begin,
Vulcan would call his neighbours in.
Jove should be there, that does make bold
With Juno, that notorious scold;
Neptune, first bargeman on the water;
Thetis, the oyster-woman's daughter;
Pluto, that chimney-sweeping sloven;
With Proserpine hot from her oven;
And Mercury, that's sharp and cunning
In stealing customs and in running;
And Dy the midwife, though a virgin;
And Esculapius, the surgeon;
Apollo, who might be physician,
Or serve them else for a musician.
The piper Pan, to play her up;
And Bacchus, with his chirping cup;
And Hercules should bring his club in,
To give the rogue a lusty drubbing;
And all the Cupids should be by,
To see their mother's infamy.

One Momus cried, "You're hugely pleas'd;
I hope your mind will soon be eas'd:
For, when so publicly you find it,
People, you know, will little mind it.
They love to tell what no one knows,
And they themselves only suppose..
Not every husband can afford
To be a cuckold on record;
Nor should he be a cuckold styl'd,
That once or so has been beguil'd,

Unless he makes it demonstration, Then puts it in some proclamation, With general voice of all the nation." The company were come, when Vulcan hopping, And for his key in left-side pocket groping, Cries, ""Tis but opening of that door, "To prove myself a cuckold, her a whore."

They all desir'd his leave that they might go; They were not curious of so vile a show: Persons concerned might one another see, And they'd believe since witnesses were three. And they, thus prov'd to be such foolish elves, Might hear, try, judge, and e'en condemn themselves.

Discretion covers that which it would blame, Until some secret blush and hidden shame Have cur'd the fault without the noise of fame,

The work is done: and now let Ovid have Some gratitude attending on his grave; Th' aspiring palm, the verdant laurel strow, And sweets of myrtle wreaths around it throw. In physic's art as Podalirius skill'd, Nestor in court, Achilles in the field; As Ajax had in single combat force, And as Automedon best rul'd the horse; As Chalcas versed in prophecies from Jove; So Ovid has the mastership of love. The poet's honour will be much the less Than that which by his means you may possess In choice of beauty's lasting happiness. But when the Amazonian quits the field, Let this be wrote on the triumphant shield, That she by Ovid's art was brought to yield.

When Ovid's thoughts in British style you see, Which mayn't so sounding as the Roman be; Yet then admittance grant: 'tis fame to me.

PART XI.

I, WHO the art of war to Danaans gave,
Will make Penthesilea's force as brave:
That both, becoming glorious to the sight,
With equal arms may hold a dubious fight.
What though 'twas Vulcan fram'd Achilles' shield,
My Amazonian darts shall make him yield.
A myrtle-crown with victory attends
Those who are Cupid's and Dione's friends.
When Beauty has so many arms in store,

(Some men will say) why should you give it more?
Tell me who, when Penelope appears
With constancy maintain'd for twenty years.
Who can the fair Laodamia see

In her lord's arms expire as well as he;
Can view Alcestis, who with joy removes
From Earth, instead of him she so much loves;
Can hear of bright Evadne, who, in fires
For her lov'd Capaneus prepar'd, expires;
When Virtue has itself a female name,
So Truth, so Goodness, Piety, and Fame,
Would headstrong fight and would not conquer'd
Or stoop to so much generosity?

[be,

'Tis not with sword, or fire, or strength of bow, That female warriors to their battle go: They have no stratagem, or subtile wile; Their native innocence can ne'er beguile: The fox's various maze, bear's cruel den, They leave to fierceness and the craft of men.

'Twas Jason that transferr'd his broken vows
From kind Medea to another spouse:
Theseus left Gnossis on the sands, to be
Prey to the birds, or monsters of the sea:
Demophoon, nine times recall'd, forbore
Return, and let his Phyllis name the shore.
Aneas wreckt, and hospitably us'd,
Fam'd for his piety, yet still refus'd

To stay where lov'd, but left the dangerous sword
By which she died to whom he broke his word.
Piteous examples! worthy better fate,
If my instructions had not come too late:
For then their art and prudence had retain'd
What first victorious rays of beauty gain'd.
Whilst thus I thought, not without grief to find
Defenceless Virture meet with fate unkind,
Bright Cytherea's sacred voice did reach
My tingling ears, and thus she bade me teach :
"What had the harmless maid deserv'd from
thee?

Thou hast given weapons to her enemy?
Whilst in the field she must defenceless stand,'
With want of skill, and more unable hand.
Stesichorus, who would no subject find
But harm to maids, was by the gods struck blind:
But, when his song did with their glories rise,
He had his own restor'd to praise their eyes.
Be rul'd by me, and arms defensive give;
'Tis by the ladies' favours you must live."

She then one mystic leaf with berries four
(Pluckt from her myrtle-crown) bade. me with
speed devour.

I find the power inspir'd; through purer sky
My breath dissolves in verse, to make young
lovers die.

Here Modesty and Innocence shall learn
How they may truth from flattering speech discern.
But come with speed; lose not the flying day.
See how the crowding waves roll down away,
And neither, though at Love's command, will stay.
These waves and time we never can recall;
But, as the minutes pass, must lose them all.
Nor like what's past are days succeeding good,
But slide with warmth decay'd and thicker blood.
Flora, although a goddess, yet does fear
The change that grows with the declining year;
Whilst glistering snakes, by casting off their skin,
Fresh courage gain, and life renew'd begin.
The eagles cast their bills, the stag its horn;
But Beauty to that blessing is not born.

Thus Nature prompts its use to forward love,
Grac'd by examples of the powers above.
Endymion pierc'd the chaste Diana's heart,
And cool Aurora felt Love's fiery dart.

PART XII.

A PERSON of some quality
Happen'd, they say, in love to be
With one who held him by delay,
Would neither say him no or ay;
Nor would she haye him go his way.
This lady thought it best to send
For some experienc'd trusty friend,
To whom she might her mind impart,
Tunchain her own, and bind his heart;
A tire-woman by occupation,

A useful and a choice vocation.

She saw all, heard all, never idle;
Her fingers or her tongue would fiddle;
Diverting with a kind of wit,

Aiming at all, would sometimes hit;
Though in her sort of rambling way
She many a serious truth would say.,
Thus in much talk among the rest
The oracle itself exprest:

"I've heard some cry, Well, I profess
There's nothing to be gain'd by dress!
They might as well say that a field,
Uncultivated, yet would yield

As good a crop, as that which skill
With utmost diligence should till;
Our vintage would be very fine,
If nobody should prune their vine!
Good shape and air, it is confest,
Is given to such as Heaven has blest;
But all folks have not the same graces:
There is distinction in our faces.
There was a time I'd not repine
For any thing amiss in mine,
Which, though I say it, still seems fair;
Thanks to my art as well as care!
Our grandmothers, they tell us, wore
Their fardingale and their bandore,
Their pinners, forehead-cloth, and ruff,
Content with their own cloth and stuff;
With hats upon their pates like hives;
Things might become such soldiers' wives;
Thought their own faces still would last them
In the same mould which Nature cast them.
Dark paper buildings then stood thick;
No palaces of stone or brick:
And then, alas! were no exchanges:
But see how time and fashion changes!
I hate old things and age. I see,
Thank Heaven, times good enough for me.
Your goldsmiths now are mighty neat:
I love the air of Lombard-street.
Whate'er a ship from India brings,
Pearls, diamonds, silks, are pretty things.
The cabinet, the screen, the fan,
Please me extremely, if Japan:
And, what affects me still the more,
They had none of them heretofore.
When you 're unmarried, never load ye
With jewels; they may incommode ye.
Lovers mayn't dare approach; but mostly
They'll fear when married you'll be costly.
Fine rings and lockets best are tried,
When given to you as a bride.
In the mean time you show your sense
By going fine at small expense.
Sometimes your hair you upwards furl,
Sometimes lay down in favourite curl:
All must through twenty fiddlings pass,
Which none can teach you but your glass:
Sometimes they must dishevell❜d lie
On neck of polish'd ivory:

Sometimes with strings of pearl they're fix'd,
And the united beauty mix'd;

Or, when you won't their grace unfold,
Secure them with a bar of gold.
Humour and fashions change each day;
Not birds in forests, flowers in May,
Would sooner number'd be than they.
There is a sort of negligence,
Which some esteem as excellence,

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Your art with so much art to hide,
That nothing of it be descried;
To make your careless tresses flow

With so much air, that none should know
Whether they had been comb'd or no.
But, in this so neglected hair,
Many a heart has found its snare.
Nature indeed has kindly sent
Us many things; more we invent:
Little enough, as I may say,
To keep our beauty from decay.

As leaves that with fierce winds engage,
Our curling tresses fall with age.
But then by German herbs we find
Colour, for locks to grey inclin'd.
Sometimes we purchase hair; and why?
Is not all that our own we buy?
You buy it publicly, say they:
Why tell us that, when we don't pay.
Of French pomades the town is full:
Praise Heaven, no want of Spanish wool!
Let them look flusht, let them look dead,
That can't afford the white and red.
In Covent Garden you buy posies,
There we our lifies and our roses.
Who would a charming eye-brow lack,
Who can get any thing that's black?,
Let not these boxes open lie:
Some folks are too much given to pry.
Art not dissembled would disgrace
The purchas'd beauties of our face:
This if such persons should discover,
"Twould rather lose than gain a lover.
Who is there now but understands
Searcloths to flea the face or hands?
Though the idea's not so taking,
And the skin seems but odd in making,'
Yet, when 'twill with fresh lustre shine,
Her spark will tell you 'tis divine.
That picture there your eye does strike;
It is the work of great Van Dyck,
Which by a Roman would be sainted:
What was 't but canvas till 'twas painted?
There's several things should not be known:
O'er these there is a curtain drawn,
Till 'tis their season to be shown.
Your door on fit occasions keep
Fast shut: who knows but you're asleep?
When our teeth, colour, hair, and eyes,
And what else at the toilet lies,
Are all put on, we 're said to rise.

"There was a lady whom I knew,
That must be nameless, 'cause 'tis true,
Who had the dismalest mischance
I've heard of since I was in France:
I do protest, the thoughts of it
Have almost put me in a fit.

Old lady Meanwell's chamber-door,
Just on the stairs of the first floor,
Stood open and pray who should come,
But Knowall, flouncing in the room?
No single hair upon her head:

I thought she would have fell down dead.
At last she found a cap of hair,
Which she put on with such an air,
That every lock was out of place,
And all hung dangling down her face,
I would not mortify one so,
Except some twenty that I know.

Her carelessness and her defect
Were laid to mistress Prue's neglect;
And much ill-nature was betray'd,

By noise and scolding with the maid.
"The young look on such things as stuff,
Thinking their bloom has art enough.
When, smooth, we matter it not at all;
'Tis when the Thames is rough, we squall.
But, whate'er 'tis may be pretended,
No face or shape but may be mended.
All have our fauits, and must abide them,
We therefore should take care to hide them.
Y're short, sit still, you'll taller scem:
You're only shorter from the stem.

By looser garb your leanness is conceal'd;
By want of stays the grosser shape's reveal'd.
The more the blemishes upon the feet,
The greater care the lace and shoes be neat.
Some backs and sides are wav'd like billows:
These holes are best made up with pillows.
Thick fingers always should command
Without the stretching out the hand.
Who has bad teeth should never see.
A play, unless a tragedy:

For we can teach you how to simper,
And when 'tis proper you should whimper.
Think that your grace and wit is now
Not in your langhing at a thing, but how.
Let room for something more than breath,
Just show the ends of milk-white teeth.
There is a je n' scai quoi is found

1

In a soft smooth affected sound:
But there's a shricking crying tone,
Which I ne'er lik'd, when all is done:
And there are some, who laugh like men,
As ne'er to shut their mouths again;
So very loud and mal-propos,
They seem like hautboys to a show.
But now for the reverse: 'tis skill
To let your tears flow when you will.
It is of use when people die;
Or else to have the spleen, and cry,
Because you have no reason why.

"Now for your talk-come, let me see:
Here lose your H, here drop your T;
Despise that R: your speech is better
Much for destroying of one letter.
Now lisp, and have a sort of pride
To seem as if your tongue were tied:
This is such a becoming fault,
Rather than want, it should be taught.
"And now that you have learnt to talk,
Pray let me see if you can walk.
There's many dancing-masters treat
Of management of ladies feet.

There's some their mincing gait have chose,
Treading without their heel or toes.
She that reads Tasso, or Malherbe 9,
Chooses a step that is superbe.

Some giddy creatures, as if shunning
Something dislik'd, are always running.
Some prance like French women, who ride,
As our life-guard men, all astride.

9 By the manner in which Tasso and Malherbe are mentioned by Dr. King, they seem not to have been the most fashionable authors of that age. Our author has translated what he calls An Incomparable Ode of Malherbe. N.

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But each of these have decoration
According to their affectation.
That lance is graceful, and will please,
Where all the motions glide with ease.
We to the skiiful theatr>

This seeming want of art prefer.

"Tis no small art to give direction How to suit knots to each complexion, How to adorn the breast and head, With blue, white, cherry, pink, or red. As the morn rises, so that day Wear purple, sky-colour, or grey: Your black at Lent, your green in May; Your filamot when leaves decay. All colours in the summer shine: The nymphs should be like gardens fine. "It is the fashion now-a-days, That almost every lady plays. Basset and piquet grow to be The subject of our comedy: But whether we diversion seek In these, in comet, or in gleek, Or ombre, where true judgment can Disclose the sentiments of man; Let's have a care how we discover, Especially before a lover,

Some passions which we should conceal,
But heat of play too oft' reveal;
For, be the matter small or great,
There's like abhorrence for a cheat.
There's nothing spoils a woman's graces
Like peevishness and making faces :
Then angry words and rude discourse,
You may be sure, become them worse.
With hopes of gain when we're beset,
We do too commonly forget

Such guards, as screen us from those eyes
Which may observe us, and despise.
I'd burn the cards, rather than know
Of any of my friends did so:
I've heard of some such things; but I,
Thanks to my stars, was never by.

"Thus we may pass our time: the men
A thousand ways divert their spleen,
Whilst we sit peevishly within;
Hunting, cocking, racing, joking,
Fuddling, swimming, fencing, smoking;
And little thinking how poor we
Must vent our scandal o'er our tea.
I see no reason but we may
Be brisk, and equally as gay.
Whene'er our gentlemen would range,
We'll take our chariot for the 'Change:
If they 're disposing for the play,
We 'il hasten to the Opera:
Or when they'll lustily carouse,
We'll surely to the Indian house:
And at such cost whilst thus we roam,
For cheapness sake they'll stay at home.
F. w wise men's thoughts e'er yet pursued
That which their eyes had never view'd:
And so our never being seen

Is the same thing as not t' have been.
Grandeur itself and poverty
Were equal if no witness by:
And they who always sing alone

Can ne'er be prais'd by more than one.
Had Danaë been shut up still,
She'd been a maid against her will,

And might have grown prodigious old,
And never had her story told.
'Tis fit fair maids should run a-gadding,
To set the amorous beaux a-madding.
To many a sheep the wolf has gone
Ere it can neatly size on one;
And many a partridge scapes away
Before the hawk can pounce its prey:"
And so, if pretty damsels rove,
They'll find out one perhaps may love;
If they no diligence will spare,
And in their dressing still take care.
The fisher baits his hook all night,
In hopes by chance some eel may bite.
Each with their different grace appears,
Virgins with blush, widows with tears,
Which gain new husbands tender-hearted,
To think how such a couple parted.
But then there are some foppish beaux
Like us in all things but their clothes;
That we may seem the more robust,
And fittest to accost them first:
With powder, paint, false locks, and hair,
They give themselves a female air;
Who, having all their tale by rote,
And harping still on the same note,
Will tell us that, and nothing more
Than what a thousand heard before.
Though they all marks of love pretend,
There's nothing which they less intend:
And, 'midst a thousand hideous oaths,
With jewels false and borrow'd clothes,
Our easiness may give belief

To one that is an errant thief."

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The spark was coming; she, undrest,
Scuttles away as if possest.
The governess cries, "Where d'ye run?"
Why, madam, I've but just begun."
She bawls; the other nothing hears,
But leaves her prattling to the chairs.
Virtue, without these little arts,
At first subdues, then keeps, our hearts:
And though more gracefully it shows
When it from lovely persons flows;
Yet often goodness most prevails
When beauty in perfection fails.
Though every feature mayn't be well,
Yet all together may excel.

There's nothing but will easy prove,
When all the rest 's made up by love.

PART XIII.

VIRGINS should not unskill'd in music be;
For what's more like themselves than harmony?
Let not Vice use it only to betray,

As Syrens by their songs entice their prey.
Let it with sense, with voice, and beauty join,
Grateful to eyes and ear, and to the mind divine:
For there's a double grace when pleasing strings
Are touch'd by her that more delightful sings.
Thus Orpheus did the rage of deserts quel',
And charm'd the monstrous instruments of Hell.
New walls to Thebes Amphion thus began,
Whilst to the work officious marble ran.
Thus with his harp and voice Arion rode
On the mute fish safe through the rolling flood.
Nor are the essays of the female wit
Less charming in the verses they have writ.

From ancient ages, love has found the way
Its bashful thoughts by letters to convey;
Which sometimes run in such engaging strain,
That pity makes the fair write back again.
What's thus intended, some small time delay:
His passion strengthens rather by our stay.
Then with a cautious wit your pen withhold,
Lest a too free expression make him bold.
Create a mixture 'twixt his hope and fear,
And in reproof let tenderness appear.
As he deserves it give him hopes of life:
A cruel mistress makes a froward wife.
Affect not foreign words: love will impart
A gentle style more excellent than art.
Astrea's' lines flow on with so much ease,
That she who writes like them must surely please.
Orinda's works, with courtly graces stor'd,
True sense in nice expressions will afford:
Whilst Chudleigh's3 words seraphic thoughts ex-
In lofty grandeur, but without excess.
Oh, had not Beauty parts enough to wound,
But it must pierce us with poetic sound;
Whilst Phoebus suffers female powers to tear
Wreaths from his Daphne, which they justly wear!
If greater things to lesser we compare,
The skill of love is like the art of war.
The general says,
"Let him the horse command:
You by that ensign, you that cannon stand:
Where danger calls, let t'other bring supplies."
With pleasure all obey, in hopes to rise.
So, if you have a servant skill'd in laws,
Send him with moving speech to plead your cause.
He that has native unaffected voice,
In singing what you bid him, will rejoice.
And wealth, as Beauty orders it, bestow'd,
Would make ev'n misers in expenses proud.

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A name assumed by Mrs. Aphra Behn, a lady well known in the gay and poetical world in the licentious reign of king Charles II She was authoress of seventeen plays, two volumes of novels, several translations, and many poems. N. 2 The poetical name of Mrs. Catharine Philips. She was the daughter of John Fowler, merchant, and born in London 1631; was married to James Philips, of the Priory of Cardigan, esq. about the year 1647; and died in Fleet-street, in the month of June 1664. Her poems have been several times printed. She was also the writer of a volume of letters, published many years after her death, to sir Charles Cotterel, entitled, Letters from Orinda to Poliarchus; which have been admired. Mrs. Philips was as much famed for her friendship, as for her poetry; and had the good fortune to be equally esteemed by the best poet and the best divine of hr age. Dr. Jeremy Taylor addressed his discourse on the Nature and Effects of Friendship to this lady; and Mr. Cowley has celebrated her memory, in an elegant ode preserved amongst his works. N.

This lady was daughter to Richard Lee, of Winslade, in the county of Devon, esq She was born in the year 1656; became the wife of sir George Chudleigh, of Ashton, in the same county, bart.; and died Dec. 15, 1710. Her poems were twice printed in her lifetime in one volume 8vo. the second edition in 1709. She also published a volume of essays upon several subjects in prose and verse, 1710. N.

But they, o'er whom Apollo rules, have hearts
The most susceptible of lovers' smarts,
And, like their god, so they feel Cupid's darts:
The gods and kings are by their labours prais'd;
And they again by them to honour rais'd:
For none to Heaven or majesty exprest
Their duty well, but in return were blest.
Nor did the mighty Scipio think it scorn,
That Ennius, in Calabrian mountains born,
His wars, retirements, councils, should attend,
In all distinguish'd by the name of friend.
He that, for want of worlds to conquer, wept,
Without consulting Homer never slept.
The poet's cares all terminate in fame;
As they obtain, they give, a lasting name.
Thus from the dead Lucrece and Cynthia rise,
And Berenice's hair adorns the skies,"
The sacred bard no treacherous craft displays,
But virtuous actions crowns with his own bays.
Far from ambition and wealth's sordid care,
In him good-nature and content appear:
And far from courts, from studious parties free,
He sighs forth Laura's charms beneath some tree;
Despairing of the valued prize he loves,
Commits his thoughts to winds and echoing groves.

Poets have quick desire and passion strong;
Where once it lights, there it continues long.
They know that truth is the perpetual band,
By which the world and Heaven of love must stand.
The poet's art softens their tempers so,
That manners easy as their verses flow.
Oh, could they but just retribution find,
And as themselves what they adore be kind!
In vain they boast of their celestial fire, [aspire!
Whilst there remains a Heaven to which they can't
Apelles first brought Venus to our view,
With blooming charms and graces ever new,
Who else unknown to mortals might remain,
Hid in the caverns of her native main :
And with the painter now the poets join
To make the mother and her boy divine.
Therefore attend, and from their music learn
That which their minds inspir'd could best discern.

First see how Sidney, then how Cowley mov'd, And with what art it was that Waller lov'd. Forget not Dorset, in whose generous mind Love, sense, wit, honour, every grace combin'd; And if for me you one kind wish would spare, Answer a poet to his friendly prayer. Take Stepney's verse, with candour ever blest; For love will there still with his ashes rest. There let warm spice and fragrant odours burn, And everlasting sweets perfume his urn.

Not that the living Muse is to be scorn'd: Britain with equal worth is still adorn'd. See Halifax, where sense and honour mixt Upon the merits just reward have fixt: And read their works, who, writing in his praise, To their own verse immortal laurels raise. Learn Prior's lines; for they can teach you more Than sacred Ben, or Spenser, did before: And mark him well that uncouth physic's art Can in the softest tune of wit impart. See Pastorella o'er Florello's grave, See Tamerlane make Bajazet his slave; And Phædra with her ancient vigour rave. Through Rapin's nurseries and gardens walk, And find how nymphs transform'd by amorous colours talk.

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