"No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels' lace "Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : "One would not, fure, be frightful when one's dead"And-Betty-give this Cheek a little red."
The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd An humble fervant 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 faid, And sigh'd) “ my lands and tenements to Ned." Your money, Sir? -" My money, Sir, what all? Why, if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." 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, fave-my Country, Heaven!" shall be your last.
OF the characters of Women (consider'd only as contra-diftinguished from the other Sex.) That these are yet more inconsistent and incomprehensible than those of Men, of which instances are given even from such characters as are plainest, and most strongly mark'd; as in the Affected, v. 7. &c. The Soft-natur'd ver. 29. The Cunning, v. 45. The Whimsical, v. 53. The Wits and Refiners, v. 87. The Stupid and silly, v, 101. How contrarieties
But tho' the particular characters of this Sex are more various than those of Men, the general characteriftic, as to the Ruling paffion, is more uniform and confin'd. In what that lies, and whence it proceeds, ver. 205, &c. Men are best known in public life, Woman in private, ver. 207. What are the
aims and the fate of the sex, both as to power and pleasure? ver. 219, 231, &c. Advice for their true interest, 249 The picture of an esteemable woman, made up of the best kind of contraricties, v. 269. &c.
NOTHING so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all.""
Matter too foft a lafting mark to bear,
And best diftinguish'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, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a Swan.
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loofe hair and lifted eye,,
Or dreft in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,
With simp'ring Angels, Palms, and Harps divine;
Whether the Charmer finner it, or faint it,
If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
Come then, the colours and the ground prepare!
Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air;
Chuse a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.
Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the Park,
Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an evening Mask;
So morning infects that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the fetting-fun.
How foft is Silia! fearful to offend;
The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend.
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 cenfure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may fee from what the change arose,
All eyes may fee-a Pimple on her nofe.
Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,
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!"
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 wife;
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.
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,
To make a wash, would hardly stew a child;
Has even been prov'd to grant a lover's prayer,
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 born?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to Pleasure, yet a flave to Fame:
Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking Citron with his Grace and Chartres:
Now confcience chills her, and now Paffion burns;
And Atheism and Religion take their turns;
A very Heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a fad, good Christian at her heart.
See Sin in state, majestically drunk;
Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk;
Chafte to her husband, frank to all befide,
A teeming mistress, but a barren Bride.
What then? let Blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble feat of thought:
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit
She fins with Poets thro' pure love of Wit.
What has not fir'd her bosom, or her brain?
Caefar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlema'ne.
As Helluo, late Dictator of the Feast,
The Nofe of Haut-gout, and the the Tip of Taste,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat ;
So Philomedé lecturing all mankind
On the foft paffion, and the Taste refin'd,
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