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Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land ? Sees, that no being any bliss can know,
All fear, none aid you, and few understand. But touches some above, and some below;
Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view

Learns from this union of the rising whole
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. The first, last purpose of the human soul;

Bring then these blessings to a strict account; And knows where faith, law, morals, all began, Make fair deductions; see to what they mount: All end in love of God, and love of man. How much of other each is sure to cost;

For him alone, Hope leads from goal to goal, How much for other oft is wholly lost ;

And opens still, and opens on his soul : How inconsistent greater goods with these; Till lengthen'd on to Faith, and unconfin'd, How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease : It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. Think, and if still the things thy envy call, He sees, why Nature plants in man alone Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall ? Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown : To sigh for ribbands, if thou art so silly,

(Nature, whose dictates to no other kind Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy. Are given in vain, but what they seek they find :) Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?

Wise is her present; she connects in this
Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.

His greatest virtue with his greatest bliss;
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd, At once his own bright prospect to be blest;
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind:

And strongest motive to assist the rest.
Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,

Self-love thus push'd to social, to divine, See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame! Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine. If all, united, thy ambition call,

Is this too little for the boundless heart?
From ancient story, learn to scorn them all. Extend it, let thy enemies have part.
There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and great, Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense,
See the false scale of happiness complete !

In one close system of benevolence :
In hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay, Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree,
How happy! those to ruin, these betray.

And height of bliss but height of charity.
Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, God loves from whole to parts: but human soul
From dirt and sea-weed, as proud Venice rose ;

Must rise from individual to the whole. In each, how guilt and greatness equal ran, Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, And all that rais'd the hero, sunk the man: As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold, The centre mov'd, a circle straight succeeds, But stain'd with blood, or ill exchang’d for gold: Another still, and still another spreads; Then see them broke with toils, or sunk in ease, Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; Or infamous for plunder'd provinces.

His country next; and next all human race; 0! wealth ill-fated ; which no act of fame

Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind E’er taught to shine, or sanctify'd from shame ! Take every creature in, of every kind; What greater bliss attends their close of life? Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, Some greedy minion, or imperious wife,

And Heaven beholds its image in his breast. The trophy'd arches, story'd halls invade,

Come then, my friend ! my genius! come along! And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. Oh master of the poet, and the song ! Alas! not dazzled with their noon-tide ray, And while the Muse now stoops, or now ascends, Compute the morn and evening to the day ; To man's low passions, or their glorious ends, The whole amount of that enormous fame,

Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise, A tale, that blends their glory with their shame! To fall with dignity, with temper rise;

Know then this truth (enough for man to know), Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer,
" Virtue alone is happiness below."

From grave to gay, from lively to severe;
The only point where human bliss stands still, Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
And tastes the good without the fall to ill; Intent to reason, or polite to please.
Where only merit constant pay receives,

Oh ! while along the stream of time thy name
Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives ; - Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame;
The joy unequallid, if its end it gain,

Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, And if it lose, attended with no pain :

Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? Without satiety, though e'er so blest,

When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose, And but more relish'd as the inore distress'd:

Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes, The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears,

Shall then this verse to future age pretend Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears : Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend? Good, from each object, from each place acquir'd, That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art, For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd;

From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart ; Never elated, while one man's oppress'd;

For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light; Never dejected, while another's blest;

Show'd erring Pride, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT ; And where no wants, no wishes can remain,

That reason, passion, answer one great aim; Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain.

That true self-love and social are the same; See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow ! That virtue only makes our bliss below; Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know: And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know, Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, The bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find; Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature, up to Nature's God; Pursues that chain which links th' immense design, Joins Heaven and Earth, and mortal and divine;




And yet the fate of all extreines is such,

Men may be read, as well as books, too much.

To observations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for th' observer's sake;
To written wisdom, as another's, less :

Maxims are drawn from notions, these from guess Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se There's some peculiar in each leaf and grain, Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures :

Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, sæpe jocoso, Shall only man be taken in the gross ? Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poëta, Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss. Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque

That each from other differs, first confess; Extenuantis eas consulto.

Hor. Next, that he varies from himself no less;

Add nature's, custom's, reason's, passion's strife,

And all opinion's colours cast on life. To SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, L. COBHAM. Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds,

Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?

On human actions reason though you can,
It may be reason, but it is not man:
His principle of action once explore,
That instant 'tis his principle no more.

Like following life through creatures you dissect,

You lose it in the moment you detect. 1. That it is not sufficient for this knowledge to The optics seeing, as the objects seen.

Yet more ; the difference is as great between consider man in the abstract: books will not

All manners take a tincture from our own; serve the purpose, nor yet our own experience Or come discolour'd through our passions shown. singly. General maxims, unless they be formed Or Fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, upon both, will be but notional.

Some pecu. Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes. Jiarity in every man, characteristic to himself,

Nor will life's stream for observation stay, yet varying from himself. Difficulties arising It hurries all too fast to mark their way: from our own passions, fancies, faculties. The In vain sedate reflections we would make, shortness of life to observe in, and the uncertainty When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take of the principles of action in men to observe by. Oft, in the passion's wild rotation tost, Our own principle of action often hid from our

Our spring of action to ourselves is lost : selves. Some few characters plain, but in general Tir’d, not determin’d, to the last we yield, confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent. The And what comes then is master of the field. same man utterly different in different places and As the last image of that troubled heap, seasons. Unimaginable weaknesses in the greatest. When sense subsides and fancy sports in sleep, Nothing constant and certain but God and na-(Though past the recollection of the thought,)

No judging of the motives from the ac Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrougtt: Lions ; the same actions proceeding from contrary Something as dim to our internal view, motives, and the same motives influencing con Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do. trary actions.

II. Yet, to form characters, we True, some are open, and to all men known; can only take the strongest actions of a man's Others, so very close, they're hid from none; life, and try to make them agree: the utter un- (So darkness strikes the sense no less than light,) certainty of this, from nature itself, and from Thus gracious Chandos is belov'd at sight; policy. Characters given according to the rank And every child hates Shylock, though his soul of inen of the world : and some reason for it. Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole. Education alters the nature, or at least character At half mankind when generous Manly raves, of many. Actions, passions, opinions, manners, All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves : humours, or principles, all subject to change. When universal homage Umbra pays, No judging by nature. III. It only remains to All see 'tis vice, an itch of vulgar praise. find (if we can) his ruling passion : that will When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, certainly influence all the rest, and can reconcile While one there is who charms us with his spleen. the seeming or real inconsistency of all his ac But these plain characters we rarely find : tions. Instanced in the extraordinary character Though strong the bent, yet quick the turns of min: of Clodio. A caution against mistaking second Or puzzling contraries confound the whole ; qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility or affectations quite reverse the soul. of the knowledge of mankind. Examples of the The dull, flat falsehood serves for policy ; strength of the ruling passion, and its continu- And, in the cunning, truth itself's a lie : ation to the last breath.

Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise;

The fool lies hid in inconsistencies. Yes, you despise the man to books confin'd,

See the same man, in vigour, in the gout; Who from his study rails at human-kind;

Alone, in company; in place, or out; Though what he learns he speaks, and may advance Early at business, and at hazard late; Some general maxims, or be right by chance. Mad at a fox-chace, wise at a debate; The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave,

Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball; That from his cage cries cuckold, whore, and knave, Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall. Though many a passenger he rightly call,

Catius is ever moral, ever grave, You hold him no philosopher at all.

Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,


Save just at dinner — then prefers, no doubt, 'Tis education forms the common mind;
A rogue with venison to a saint without.

Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd. Who would not praise Patricio's high desert, Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'squire ; His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,

The next a tradesman meek, and much a liar : His comprehensive head! all interests weigh'd, Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray'd. Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave : He thanks you not, his pride is in piquette,

Is he a churchman ? then he's fond of power : Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet. [ron!) A quaker ? sly: a presbyterian ? sour :

What made (say, Montagne, or more sage Char- A smart free-thinker? all things in an hour. Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?

Ask men's opinions : Scoto now shall tell A perjured prince a leaden saint revere,

How trade increases, and the world goes well; A godless regent tremble at a star ?

Strike off his pension, by the setting sun, The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,

And Britain, if not Europe, is undone. Faithless through piety, and dup'd through wit ? That gay free-thinker, a fine talker once, Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule,

What turns him now a stupid, silent dunce ?
And just her wisest monarch made a fool ?

Some god, or spirit, he has lately found;
Know, God and Nature only are the same : Or chanc'd to meet a minister that frown'd.
In man, the judgment shoots a flying game ; Judge we by nature ? habit can efface,
A bird of passage! gone as soon as found, Interest o'ercome, or policy take place :
Now in the Moon perhaps, now under ground. By actions ? those uncertainty divides :
In vain the sage, with retrospective eye,

By passions ? these dissimulation hides :
Would from th' apparent what conclude the why, Opinions ? they still take a wider range :
Infer the motive from the deed, and show,

Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. That what we chancd, was what we meant to do. Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Behold if Fortune or a mistress frowns,

Tenets with books, and principles with times. Some plunge in business, others shave their crowns; Search then the ruling passion : there, alone, To ease the soul of one oppressive weight,

The wild are constant, and the cunning known; This quits an empire, that embroils a state : The fool consistent, and the false sincere ; The same adust complexion has impellid

Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. Charles to the convent, Philip to the field.

This clue once found, unravels all the rest, Not always actions show the man : we find The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest. Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind : Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast,

Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise ; Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east : Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat,

Women and fools must like him, or he dies : Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great : Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, The club must hail him master of the joke. He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave : Shall parts so various aim at nothing new ? Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,

He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too. His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies.

Then turns repentant, and his God adores But grant that actions best discover man; With the same spirit that he drinks and whores ; Take the most strong, and sort them as you can. Enough if all around him but admire, The few that glare, each character must mark, And now the punk applaud, and now the friar. You balance not the many in the dark.

Thus with each gift of Nature and of Art, What will you do with such as disagree?

And wanting nothing but an honest heart ; Suppress them, or miscall them policy?

Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt ; Must then at once (the character to save)

And most contemptible, to shun contempt;
The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave? His passion still, to covet general praise ;
Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind, His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd. A constant bounty, which no friend has made ;
Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat? An angel tongue, which no man can persuade ;
Cæsar himself might whisper, he was beat.

A fool, with more of wit than half mankind,
Why risk the world's great empire for a punk? Too rash for thought, for action too refin'd:
Cæsar perhaps might answer, he was drunk. A tyrant to the wife his heart approves;
But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove A rebel to the very king he loves ;
One action, conduct; one, heroic love.

He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, 'Tis from high life high characters are drawn : And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great. A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn ;

Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule ? A judge is just, a chancellor juster still ;

'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool. A

gownman learn’d; a bishop, what you will ; Nature well known, no prodigies remain, Wise, if a minister ; but, if a king, {thing. Comets are regular, and Wharton plain. More wise, more learn'd, more just, more every

Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake, Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, If second qualities for first they take. Born where Heaven's influence scarce can penetrate: When Catiline by rapine swell’d his store ; In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like,

When Cæsar made a noble dame a whore; They please as beauties, here as wonders strike. In this the lust, in that the avarice, Though the same Sun with all diffusive rays Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice. Blush in the rose, and in the diamond blaze, That very Cæsar, born in Scipio's days, We prize the stronger effort of lis power, Had aim'd, like him, by chastity, at praise.

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Lucullus, when frugality could charm,

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm.

If folly grow romantic, I must paint it. In vain the observer eyes the builder's toil,

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare ! But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air ;

In this one passion man can strength enjoy, Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it As fits give vigour, just when they destroy. Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, Rufa, whose eye, quick glancing o'er the Park, Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, Consistent in our follies and our sins,

Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, Here honest Nature ends as she begins.

As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock; Old politicians chew on wisdom past,

Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, And totter on in business to the last;

With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask : As weak, as earnest; and as gravely out,

So morning insects, that in muck begun, As sober Lanesborow dancing in the gout. Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting-sun.

Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; Has made the father of a nameless race,

The frail-one's advocate, the weak-one's friend. Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely press'd To her Calista prov'd her conduct nice, By his own son, that passes by unbless'd :

And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, And envies every sparrow that he sees.

But spare your censure ; Silia does not drink. A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate;

All eyes may see from what the change arose, The doctor call’d, declares all help too late : All eyes may seema pimple on her nose. “ Mercy !" cries Helluo, “ mercy on my soul ! Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Is there no hope ?- Alas —then bring the jowl." Sighs for the shades—“How charming is a park!"

The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, A park is purchas'd, but the fair he sees Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, All bath'd in tears—" Oh odious, odious trees!" Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,

Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe;

“Odious! in woollen ! 'would a saint provoke,” Fine by defect, and delicately weak, (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke,) Their happy spots the nice admirer take. “ No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace, 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarmid, Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm’d; One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, And - Betty-give this cheek a little red.” Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise ;

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, An humble servant to all human-kind, (stir, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, “ If-where I'm going—I could serve you, sir !" As when she touch'd the brink of all we hatc. “I give and I devise” (old Euclio said,

Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild, And sigh'd) “my lands and tenements to Ned." To make a wash, would hardly stew a child ; Your money, sir ?—“My money, sir, what all ? Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's prayer, Why, if I must”-(then wept) “ I give it Paul.” And paid a tradesman once to make him stare ; The manor, sir ?" The manor ! hold,” he cry'd. Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, “ Not that I cannot part with that,” – and dy'd. And made a widow happy, for a whim.

And you ! brave Cobham, to the latest breath, Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death : When 'tis by that alone she can be borne ? Such in those moments as in all the past,

Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? “Oh, save my country, Heaven !" shall be your last. A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame :

Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,

| Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres; To A Lady.

Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns

And atheism and religion take their turns;

A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad good Christian at her heart.

See Sin in state, majestically drunk,

Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; Nothing so true as what you once let fall,

Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, “ Most women have no characters at all."

A teeming mistress, but a barren bride, Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,

What then ? let blood and body bear the fault, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought;

How many pictures of one nymph we view, Such this day's doctrine - in another fit All how unlike each other, all how true!

She sins with poets through pure love of wit. Arcadia's countess, here, in ermin'd pride, What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain ? Is there, Pastora by a fountain side.

Cæsar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, ! As Helluo, late dictator of the feast, And there, a naked Leda with a swan.

The nose of Haut-gout, and the tip of Taste, Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,

Critiqu'd your wine, and analys'd your meat, In Magdalene's loose hair, and lifted eye,

Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat : Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,

So Philomede, lecturing all mankind With simperine angels nalms and horur diuino


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Th' address, the delicacy - stoops at once, Some wandering touches, some reflected light, And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce. Some flying stroke alone can hit them right : Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray;

For how should equal colours do the knack ? To toast our wants and wishes, is her way; Cameleons who can paint in white and black ? Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give

“ Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot." The mighty blessing," while we live, to live." Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. Then all for death, that opiate of the soul ! “ With every pleasing, every prudent part, Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.

Say, what can Chloe want?” — She wants a heart. Say, what can cause such impotence of mind ? She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind ?

But never, never reach'd one generous thought.
Wise wretch! with pleasures too refin'd to please; Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
With too much spirit to be e'er at ease;

Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
With too much quickness ever to be taught ; So very reasonable, so unmov'd,
With too much thinking to have common thought : As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.
You purchase pain with all that joy can give, She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, And when she sees her friend in deep despair, No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate.

Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair. Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, Forbid it, Heaven, a favour or a debt Because she's honest, and the best of friends. She e'er should cancel -- but she may forget. Or her, whose life the church and scandal share, Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear; For ever in a passion, or a prayer.

But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her grace) Of all her dears she never slander'd one, Cries, “Ah! how charming, if there's no such But cares not if a thousand are undone. place !"

Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead ? Or who in sweet vicissitude appears

She bids her footman put it in her head. Of mirth and opium, ratefie and tears,

Chloe is prudent — Would you too be wise ? The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,

Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. To kill those foes to fair-ones, time and thought.

One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen, Woman and fool are two hard things to hit;

Which Heaven has varnish'd out, and made a queen: For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. The same for ever! and describ'd by all

But what are these to great Atossa's mind? With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball. Scarce once herself, by turns all woman-kind! Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will, Who, with herself, or others, from her birth And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. Finds all her life one warfare upon Earth : 'Tis well — but, artists! who can paint or write, Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools, To draw the naked is your true delight. Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.

That robe of quality so struts and swells, No thought advances, but her eddy brain

None see what parts of Nature it conceals : Whisks it about, and down it goes again.

Th' exactest traits of body or of mind, Full sixty years the world has been her trade, We owe to models of an humble kind. The wisest fool much time has ever made.

If Queensberry to strip there's no compelling, From loveless youth to unrespected age

'Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen. No passion gratify'd, except her rage,

From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing So much the fury still outran the wit,

To draw the man who loves his God, or king : The pleasure mist her, and the scandal hit. Alas ! I copy (or my draught would fail) Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from From honest Mah'met, or plain parson Hale. Hell,

But grant, in public, men sometimes are shown, But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

A woman's seen in private life alone : Her every turn with violence pursued,

Our bolder talents in full life display'd ; Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude : Your virtues open fairest in the shade. To that each passion turns, or soon or late ; Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide ; Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate : There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride. Superiors ? death! and equals? what a curse ! Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, But an inferior not dependant ? worse.

That each may seem a virtue, or a vice. Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;

In men, we various ruling passions find; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live : In women, two almost divide the kind : But die, and she'll adore you — Then the bust Those, only fix’d, they first or last obey, And temple rise — then fall again to dust. The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. Last night, her lord was all that's good and great ; That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught Aknave this morning, and his will a cheat. Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault ? Strange! by the means defeated of the ends, Experience, this ; by man's oppression curst, By spirit robb’d of power, by warmth of friends, They seek the second not to lose the first. By wealth of followers! without one distress Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; Sick of herself, through very selfishness !

But every woman is at heart a rake: Atossa, curs'd with every granted prayer,

Men, some to quiet, some to public strife; Childless with all her children, wants an heir. But every lady would be queen for lifc. To heirs unknown descends th' unguarded store, Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens ! Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor. Power all their end, but beauty all the means :

Pictures, like these, dear madam, to design, In youth they conquer with so wild a rage, Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line ;

As leaves them scarce a subject in their age :

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