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Their Captives Minds by courteous Arts,
And fix'd their Empires in their Hearts.
'Tis o'er the noble gen'rous Mind
The Ladies Conquests are design’d,
Then what have they to do with Frowns ?
Miss Scornful! know those give no Wounds.
We yield with Pleasure when we know
'Tis to a kind and courteous Foe;
But fight till Death to Freedom save,
And scorn to be a Tyrant's Slave.
Thus oft become, thro' Fear-- to yield,
Vi&orious Masters o' the Field.
Ten Thousand pretty am'rous Flys
Dance in the Sun-fhine of your Eyes,
But when Clouds gather, in a Swarm
Discreetly fly th' approaching Storm.
Strait from your Lips fome Honey fetch 'em,
An acid Bait will never catch 'em.
Those deep dark Frowns will ever prove
The very Graves of Infant Love.
Faith, Celia, those will never win us,
We have not so much Spaniel in us,
To lick, and fawn, and whine, and creep,
And court the Hand that usd the Whip.
Besides, Not all your Whalebone-Armour
(Shou'd Venus bid her little Charmer
Let Ay against your squeamish Heart)
Cou'd stop th' all-piercing venom'd Dart;
when you begin to burn
May chance to meet the same Return.
?Tis the with mightiest Power arms,
Who nought forgets, except her Charms.
When Pride we see, tho' in a Grace,
We're apt to say ;! What tho' her Face
? Be White as Cerase to the full,
! And Cheeks be very Spanish Wool ;
She's Fair 'tis true, but then she knows it,
Her haughty Mien and Carriage shows it,
Grant as you think, (else why so far
More Proud and Arrogant, thap Fair)
Grant in your Face all Venus' Charms,
All CUPID's. Magazine of Arms,
Each Brow a Bow, Darts in each Eye,
While those stand bent, these cannot fly,
To Two Gentlemen, reputed Authors of
Timely Advice, &c
NOW, busy Fools, that dare advise
A Lady, how to use her Eyes,
Ye merit for the grand Offence,
To die by th? Fire, that comes from thence.
D'ye know what Woman is? And dare
Thus haughtily to treat the Fair ?
Ye surely know, thp' last the End
We execute, we first intend.
Woman then by Heaven intended
First, its Operations ended.
Then is it Reason to suppose
Heav'n wou'd its prior Labours close
In ought inferior to those ?
No!tir'd with Labour, foil'd its Art,
Exa&ly wrought in ev'ry Part,
Heav'n saw its Works, thought Woman best,
And wisely judg'd it Time to rest,
Man with the Brutes was form'd of Earth,
From Man himself came Woman's Birth,
Her therefore we may justly deem
The very Quintessence of him.
The shining Summer-Clouds disclose
Fair Woman's Image, which ingross
The Splendors of immortal Light,
And then reflect 'em on our Sight.
Shall Woman, who cou'd make Jove come
Down from his Celestial Dome,
Woman, who had the Pow'r to make
That Jove his godlike Shape forsake
To be a Bull, a Show'r, a Swan,
Wheedle that Home-Spun Creature Man,
Which Heav'n but try'd its Skill upon ?
Must Heay'n disclose its matchless Charms,
To court a Mortal to its Arms?
And Woman is, you must agree,
All of Heav'n, on Earth we see.
Liberal Nature in her Face
Did all those matchless Glories place,
.; ...; And magick Power in her Eyes As much superior supplies, Of that rude Strength of Mens rough Nature's, Which ill adorns their softer Features:
And shan't She use her Native Arms,
On Purpose giv’n to guard her Charms ?
The deadly Lightening which fies,
In blushing Flalhes from her Eyes,