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Thence beauty, waking all her forms, supplies
Muse! at that name thy sacred sorrows shed
Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage, Her modest cheek shall warm a future age. Beauty, frail flower, that every season fears, Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years. Thus Churchill's race shall other hearts surprise, And other beauties envy Worsley's eyes; Each pleasing Blount shall endless smiles bestow, And soft Belinda's blush for ever glow.
O! lasting as those colours may they shine! Free as thy stroke, yet faultless as thy line: New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay: Led by some rule that guides, but not constrains, And finish'd more through happiness than pains. The kindred arts shall in their praise conspire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. Yet should the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on every face; Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their soul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, And these be sung till Granville's Myra die; Alas! how little from the grave we claim ! Thou but preservest a face, and I a name.
TO MISS BLOUNT,
WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE.
IN these gay thoughts the loves and graces shine,
His easy art may happy nature seem;
Let the strict life of graver mortals be
Critics in wit or life are hard to please;
Too much your sex is by their forms confined, Severe to all, but most to womankind; Custom, grown blind with age, must be your guide; Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride; By nature yielding, stubborn but for fame, Made slaves by honour, and made fools by shame. Marriage may all those petty tyrants chase, But sets up one, a greater, in their place : Well might you wish for change by those accursed; But the last tyrant ever proves the worst. Still in constraint your suffering sex remains, Or bound in formal or in real chains: Whole years neglected for some months adored, The fawning servant turns a haughty lord. Ah! quit not the free innocence of life For the dull glory of a virtuous wife; Nor let false shows nor empty titles please: Aim not at joy, but rest content with ease.
The gods, to curse Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders' mares, The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to complete her bliss, a fool for mate. She glares in balls, front-boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and state, but reach her outward part; She sighs, and is no duchess at her heart.
But, madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are destined Hymen's willing victim too, Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those age or sickness, soon or late, disarms; Good humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past.
Love raised on beauty will like that decay,
Thus Voiture's early care' still shone the same, And Monthausier was only changed in name: By this e'en now they live, e'en now they charm, Their wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crown'd with myrtle on the' Elysian coast, Amid those lovers joys his gentle ghost; Pleased while with smiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you.
The brightest eyes of France inspired his Muse;
TO THE SAME.
HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION.
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care
1 Mademoiselle Paulet.
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
She went to plain work, and to purling brooks,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to Heaven.
Some squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack, Whose game is whist, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a gun, presents you birds, Then gives a smacking buss, and cries-no words! Or with his hounds comes hallooing from the stable; Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are
And loves you best of all things--but his horse.