Learn every game, you'll find it prove of use;
Parties begun at play, may love produce.
But easier 'tis to learn how bets to lay,
Than how to keep your temper while you play.
Unguarded then each breaft is open laid,
And while the head's intent, the heart's betray'd..
Then base defire of gain, then rage appears,
Quarrels and brawls arife, and anxious fears;
Then clamours and revilings reach the sky,
While lofing gamesters all the gods defy.
Then horrid oaths are utter'd every
They grieve, and curfe, and ftorm, nay, weep at laft.
Good Jove, avert such shameful faults as these
From every nymph whose heart 's inclin'd to pleafe.
Soft recreations fit the female kind;
Nature, for men, has rougher sports defign'd:
To wield the fword, and hurl the pointed fpear;
To ftop, or turn the steed in full career.
Though martial fields ill fuit your tender frames,
Nor
may you fwim in Tiber's rapid streams;
Yet when Sol's burning wheels from Leo drive,
And at the glowing Virgin's fign arrive,
'Tis both allow'd and fit you should repair
To pleasant walks, and breathe refreshing air.
To Pompey's gardens, or the fhady groves
Which Cæfar honours, and which Phœbus loves:
Phoebus, who funk the proud Egyptian fleet,
And made Auguftus' victory complete.
Or feek thofe fhades, where monuments of fame
Are rais'd, to Livia's and Octavia's name;
Or where Agrippa firft adorn'd the ground,
When he with naval victory was crown'd.
To Ifis' fane, to theatres refort;
And in the Circus fee the noble sport.
In every public place, by turns, be fhown;
In vain you're fair, while you remain unknown.
Should you, in finging, Thamyras tranfcend;
Your voice unheard, who could your skill commend?
Had not Apelles drawn the fea-born queen,
Her beauties ftill beneath the waves had been.
Poets, infpir'd, write only for a name,
And think their labours well repay'd with fame.
In former days, I own, the Poets were
Of gods and kings the moft peculiar care ;
Majeftic awe was in the name allow'd,
And they with rich poffeffions were endow'd.
Ennius with honours was by Scipio grac'd,
And, next his own, the Poet's ftatue plac'd.
But now their ivy crowns bear no esteem,
And all their learning's thought an idle dream.
Still, there's a pleafure, that proceeds from praife:
What could the high renown of Homer raise,
But that he fung his Iliad's deathlefs lays?
Who could have been of Danae's charms affur'd,
Had the grown old, within her tower immur'd?
This, as a rule, let every nymph purfue;
That 'tis her intereft oft to come in view.
A hungry wolf at all the herd will run,
In hopes, through many, to make fure of one.
So, let the fair the gazing crowd affail,
That over one, at least, she may prevail.
In every place to please, be all her thought;
Where, fometimes, least we think, the fifh is caught.
Sometimes, all day, we hunt the tedious foil;
Anon, the ftag himself shall seek the toil.
How could Andromeda once doubt relief,
Whose charms are heighten'd and adorn'd by grief?
The widow'd fair, who fees her lord expire,
While yet she weeps, may kindle new defire,
And Hymen's torch re-light with funeral fire.
Beware of men who are too fprucely drefs'd:
And look, you fly with fpeed a fop profefs'd.
Such tools, to you, and to a thousand more,
Will tell the fame dull flory o'er and o'er.
This way and that, unfteadily they rove,
And, never fix'd, are fugitives in love.
Such fluttering things all women fure fhould hate,
Light as the mfelves, and more effeminate.
Believe me, all I fay is for your good;
Had Priam been believ'd, Troy ftill had flood.
Many, with bafe defigns, will paffion feign,
Who know no love, but fordid love of gain.
But let no powder'd heads, nor effenc'd hair,
Your well-believing, eafy hearts enfnare.
Rich clothes are oft by common fharpers worn,
And diamond rings felonious hands adorn.
may your lover burn with fierce defire Your jewels to enjoy, and beft attire.
Poor Chloe, robb'd, runs crying through the streets;
And as fhe runs, "Give me my own," repeats.
How often, Venus, haft thou heard fuch cries,
And laugh'd amidft thy Appian votaries!
Some fo notorious are, their very name
Muft every nymph whom they frequent, defame.
Be warn'd by ills, which others have destroy'd,
And faithlefs men with conftant care avoid.
Trust not a Thefeus, fair Athenian maid,
Who has fo oft th' attefting gods betray'd.
And thou, Demophoon, heir to Thefeus' crimes,
Haft loft thy credit to all future times.
Promise for promise equally afford,
But once a contract made, keep well your word.
For fhe for any act of hell is fit,
And, undismay'd, may facrilege commit,
With impious hands could quench the veftal fire,
Poifon her husband in her arms for hire ;
Who first to take a lover's gift complies,
And then defrauds him, and his claim denies.
But hold, my Mufe, check thy unruly horse,
And more in fight pursue th' intended course.
If love-epiftles tender lines impart,
And billet-doux are fent, to found your heart;
Let all fuch letters, by a faithful maid,
Or confident, be fecretly convey'd:
Soon from the words you'll judge, if read with care,
When feign'd a paffion is, and when fincere.
Ere in return you write, fome time require;
Delays, if not too long, increase defire:
Nor let the preffing youth with ease obtain,
Nor yet refuse him with too rude disdain :
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 speech is more polite.
How have I feen the puzzled lover vex❜d,
To read a letter with hard words perplex'd!
A ftyle too coarse 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 stranger till his truth be try'd,
Nor in a foolish messenger 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 enslav'd!
Such treachery can never be surpass'd,
For those discoveries fure as lightning blaft.
Might I advise, fraud should with fraud be paid ;
Let arms repel all who with arms invade.
But fince your letters may be brought to light,
What if in feveral hands you learn'd to write!
My curfe on him who first the sex betray'd,
And this advice fo neceffary made.
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 use as a convenient blind;
VOL. XXXIV..
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