"One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead"And-Betty-give this cheek a little red."

251

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd An humble servant to all human kind,

Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir, "If—where I'm going-I could serve you, Sir ?” "I give and I devise" (old Euclio said,

And sigh'd)" my lands and tenements to Ned."

256

"Your money, Sir ?"—" My money, Sir, what, all? "Why-if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." 259 "The manor Sir?" The manor! hold," he cry'd ; "Not that I cannot part with that"-and dy'd. And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath, Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death; Such in those moments as in all the past, "Oh! save my country, Heav'n!" shall be your last.

264

TO A LADY.

Of the Characters of Women.

THE ARGUMENT.

THAT the particular characters of Women are not so strongly marked as those of Men, seldom so fixed, and still more inconsistent with themselves, v. 1, &c. Instances of contrarieties, given even from such characters as are more strongly marked, and seemingly, therefore, most consistent: as I. in the affected, v. 21, &c. II. In the soft natured, v. 29, and 37. III. In the cunning and artful, v. 45. IV. In the whimisical, v. 35. V. In the lewd and vicious, v. 63. VI. In the witty and refined, v. 87. VII. In the stupid and simple, v. 101. The former part having shewn that the particular characters of Women are more various than those of Men, it is nevertheless observed that the general characteristic of the sex, as to the ruling passion, is more uniform, v. 207. This is occasioned partly by their nature, partly by their education, and in some degree by necessity, v. 211. What are the aims and fate of this sex-I. As to power, v. 219. II. As to pleasure, v. 231. Advice for their true interest, v. 249. The picture of an estimable Woman, with the best kind of contrarieties, v. 269.

NOTHING so true as what you once let fall,
"Most women have no characters at all:"
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
How many pictures of one nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countess here, in ermin'd pride,
Is there Pastora by a fountain side :
Here Fannia leaning on her own good man,
And there a naked Leda with a swan.
Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loose hair and lifted eye,
Or dress'd in smile of sweet Cecilia shine,

5

10

With simp'ring angels, palms, and harps divine,

Whether the charmer sinner it or saint it,

15

If folly grow romatic, I must paint it.

Come then, the colours and ground prepare!

Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;

Chuse a firm cloud before it fall, and in it

19

Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the Park
Attacks each light gay meteor of a spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke
As Sappho's di'monds with her dirty smock,
Or Sappho at her toilette's greasy task
With Sappho fragrant at an evʼning mask :

25

So morning insects, that in muck begun,

Shine, buzz and fly-blow in the setting sun.

How soft is Silia! fearful to offend;

The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend: 30
To her Calista prov'd her conduct nice,
And good Simplicius asks of her advice.
Sudden she storms! she raves! you tip the wink;
But spare your censure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may see from what the change arose ;
All eyes may see-a pimple on her nose.

Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,

35

Sighs for the shades-" How charming is a park !” A park is purchas'd; but the fair he sees

All bath'd in tears-" Oh odious, odious trees!" 40 Ladies like variegated tulips show;

"Tis to their changes half their charms we owe : Fine by defect, and delicately weak,

Their happy spots the nice admirer take.

'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd,
Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes;
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise:
Strange graces still, and stranger flights, she had:
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;

Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create

As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.

45

50

Narcissa's nature, tolerable mild,

To make a wash would hardly stew a child,
Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's pray'r,
And paid a tradesman once to make him stare;
Gave alms at Easter in a Christian trim,
And made a widow happy for a whim.
Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,

When 'tis by that alone she can be borne ?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name,

60

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:
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; Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside; A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.

66

70

What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought.
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit

75

She sins with poets thro' pure love of wit.
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain?

Cæsar and Tallboy, Charles and Charlemagne.