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Nor let the preffing youth with case obtain,
Nor yet refufe him with too rude difdain.
Now, let his hopes, now, let his fears increase,
But by degrees let fear to hope give place.
Be fure avoid fet phrafes, when you write,
The ufual way of fpeech is more polite.
How have I feen the puzzled lover-vex'd,
To read a letter with hard words perplex'd!
A ftile too coarfe takes from a handsome face,
And makes us with an uglier in its place.

But fince (though Chastity be not your care)
You from your husband still would hide th' affair,
Write to no ftranger, till his truth be try'd ;
Nor in a foolish meffenger confide.

What agonies that woman undergoes,
Whofe hand the traitor threatens to expofe;
Who, rafhly trufting, dreads to be deceiv'd,
And lives for ever to that dread enflav'd!
Such treachery can never be furpafs'd,

For thofe difcoveries, fure as lightning, blast.
Might I advife, fraud fhould with fraud be paid;
Let arms repel all who with arms invade.

But fince your letters may be brought to light,
What if in several hands you learn'd to write ?
My curfe on him who first the sex betray'd,
And this advice fo neceffary made. „i
Nor let your pocket-book two hands contain,
First, rub your lover's out, then write again.
Still one contrivance more remains behind,
Which you may ufe as a convenient blind;

As

As if to women writ, your letters frame,

And let your friend to you subscribe a femalę name.

No, greater things to tell, my Muse prepare,
And clap on all the fail the bark can bear.
Let no rude paffions in your looks find places
For fury will deform the finest face:
It fwells the lips, and blackens all the veins;
While in the eye a Gorgon horror reigns.

When on her flute divine Minerva play'd, And in a fountain faw the change it made, Swelling her check; fhe flang it quick afide; "Nor is thy mufick fo much worth," the cry'd Look in your glafs, when you with anger glow, And you'll confefs, you fcarce yourselves can know.. Nor with exceffive pride infult the fight,. For gentle looks, alone, to love invite. Believe it as a truth that's daily try'd, There's nothing more deteftable than pride. How have I feen fome airs difgust create, Like things which by antipathy we hate! Let looks with looks, and finiles with fmiles be paid, And when your lover bows, incline your head. So, Love preluding, plays at first with hearts, And after wounds with deeper-piercing darts. Nor me a melancholy miftrefs charms; Let fad Tecmeffa weep in Ajax' arms. Let mourning beauties, fullen heroes move We, chearful mén, like gaiety in love. Let Hector in Andromache delight,

Who, in bewailing Troy, waftes all the night.

K 2

Had

Had they not both borne children (to be plain)

I ne'er could think they 'd with their husbands lain.
I no idea in my mind can frame,

That either one or t' other doleful dame,

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Could toy, could fondle, or could call their lords
My life, my foul;" or speak endearing words.
Why, from comparifons fhould I refrain,
Or, fear small things by greater to explain?
Obferve what conduct prudent generals ufe,
And how their feveral officers they chufe;
To one, a charge of infantry commit,
Another, for the horse, is thought more fit.
So you your feveral lovers fhould select,
And, as you find them qualify'd, direct.
The wealthy lover store of gold should send;
The lawyer fhould, in courts, your caufe defend.
We, who write verfe, with verfe alone should bribe;
Moft apt to love is all the tuneful tribe.

By us, your fame fhall through the world be blaz'd;
So Nemefis, fo Cynthia's name was rais'd.
From east to west, Lycoris' praises ring;
Nor are Corinna's filent, whom we fing.
No fraud the poet's sacred breast can bear;
Mild are his manners, and his heart fincere :
Nor wealth he feeks, nor feels ambition's fires,
But fhuns the bar; and books and fhades requires.
Too faithfully, alas! we know to love,
With ease we fix, but we with pain remove;
Our fofter ftudies with our fouls combine,

And, both, to tenderness our hearts incline.

Be

Be gentle, virgins, to the Poet's prayer,

The God that fills him, and the Muse revere;
Something divine is in us, and from heaven
Th' infpiring fpirit can alone be given.
'Tis fin, a price from Poets to exa&t;
But 'tis a fin no woman fears to act.
Yet hide, howe’er, your avarice from sight,
Left you too foon your new admirer fright.

As skilful riders, rein, with different force,
A new-back'd courfer, and a well-train’d horse;
Do you, by different management, engage
The man in years, and youth of greener age.
This, while the wiles of Love are yet unknown,

Will gladly cleave to you, and alone:

you

With kind caresses oft indulge the boy,
And all the harvest of his heat enjoy.
Alone, thus bless'd, of rivals most beware;
Nor Love nor Empire can a rival bear.
Men more discreetly love, when more mature,
And many things, which youth disdains, endure;
No windows break, nor houses set on fire,
Nor tear their own, or miftrefs's attire.
In youth, the boiling blood gives fury vent,
But, men in years, more calmly wrongs refent.
As wood when green, or as a torch when wet,
They flowly burn, but long retain their heat.
More bright is youthful flame, but sooner dies;
Then, swiftly feize the joy that swiftly flies.
Thus all betraying to the beauteous foe,
How, furely to enslave ourselves, we show.

K 3

Το

To truft a traitor, you ll no fcruple make,
Who is a traitor only for your fake.

Who yields too foon, will foon her lover lofe;
Would you retain him long, then, long refufe.
Oft, at your door, make him for entrance wait,
There let him lie, and threaten and intreat.
When clov'd with fweets, bitters the tafte reftore;
Ships, by fair winds, are fometimes run afhore
Hence fprings the coldness of a marry'd life,
The husband, when he pleases, has his wife.
Bar but your gate, and let your Porter cry
"Here's no admittance, Sir; I must deny:"
The very husband, fo repuls'd, will find
A growing inclination to be kind.

Thus far, with foils you 've fought; thofe laid afide,
I now, fharp weapons for the fex provide ;
Nor doubt, against myself, to fee them try'd.
When firft a lover you defign to charm,
Beware, left jealoufies his foul alarm;
Make him believe, with all the skill you can,
That he, and only he's the happy man.
Anon, by due degrees, fmall doubts create,
And let him fear fome rival's better fate.
Such little arts make love its vigour hold,

Which elfe would languifh,, and too foon grow old.
Then, ftrains the courfer to outftrip the wind,
When one before him runs, and one he hears behind.
Love, when extinct, fufpicions may revive;

I own, when mine's fecure, 'tis fcarce alive.

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Yet,

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