Pride, Pomp, and State, but reach her outward part; 55
She fighs, and is no Dutchefs at her heart.
But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you
Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;
Truft not too much your now refiftless charms,
Thofe, Age or Sickness, foon or late difarms:
Good-humour only teaches charms to last,
Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past;
Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day;
As flowery bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn;
This binds in ties more eafy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.
Thus Voiture's early care still shore the fame,
And Monthaufier was only chang`d in name;
By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm,
Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft,
Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:
Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, 75 And finds a fairer Ramboüillet in you.
The brightest eyes in France inspir'd his Muse;
The brightest eyes in Britain now perufe ;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world befide.
On her leaving the Town after the Coronation, 1715.
S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air,
Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must fever,
Yet takes one kifs before the parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd, not that they stay'd, but that she went.
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from Opera, Park, Affembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a-day;
her time 'twixt reading and Bohea,
To part
To mufe, and spill her folitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow Clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'Squire ;
Up to her godly garret after feven,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heaven.
Some 'Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whofe game is Whist, whose treat a toast in sack :
Who vifits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a finacking bufs, and cries,-No words!
Or with his hounds comes hallooing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whofe laughs are hearty, though his jefts are coarse,
And loves you beft of all things-but his horse.
In some fair evening, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In penfive thought recall the fancy'd fcene,
See Coronations rife on every green;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights,
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanish fceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your flave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plague'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he seems to ftudy, thinks of you.
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes,
Or fees the blush of foft Parthenia rife,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs, rush upon my fight;
Vex'd to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now.
HE Baffet-Table spread, the Tallier come; Why ftays Smilinda in the Dreffing-room? Rife, pensive Nymph; the Tallier waits for you.
Ah, Madam, fince my Sharper is untrue,
I joyless make my once ador'd Alpheu.
I faw him ftand behind Ombrelia's Chair,
And whisper with that soft, deluding air,
And thofe feign'd fighs which cheat the listening
Fair.
Is this the cause of your romantic strains?
A mightier grief my heavy heart fuftains.
As You by Love, fo I by Fortune cross'd;
One, one bad Deal, Three Septlevas have loft.
Is that the grief, which you compare with mine?
With ease, the smiles of Fortune I resign:
Would all my gold in one bad Deal were gone;
Were lovely Sharper mine, and mine alone.
A lover loft, is but a common care;
And prudent Nymphs against that change prepare:
The Knave of Clubs thrice loft: Oh! who could guess
This fatal ftroke, this unforeseen Distress?
See Betty Lovet! very à propos,
She all the cares of Love and Play does know :
Dear Betty shall th' important point decide ;
Betty, who oft the pain of each has try'd;
Impartial, fhe fhall fay who fuffers moft,
By Cards, Ill-Ufage, or by Lovers lost.
Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Though time is precious, and I want fome Tea.
Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought,
With Fifty Guineas (a great Pen'worth) bought.
See, on the Tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive;
And both the struggling figures feem alive.
Upon the bottom shines the Queen's bright Face;
A Myrtle Foliage round the Thimble-cafe;
Jove, Jove himself does on the Sciffars shine;
The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!
This Snuff-box,-once the pledge of Sharper's love, When rival beauties for the Prefent ftrove;
At Corticelli's he the Raffle won;
Then firft his Paffion was in public shown:
Hazardia blufh'd, and turn'd her head afide,
A Rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.
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