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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 Conquefts are defign'd,

Then what have they to do with Frowns?
Mifs Scornful! know thofe give no Wounds.
We yield with Pleafure when we know
'Tis to a kind and courteous Foe;

But fight till Death to Freedom fave,

And scorn to be a Tyrant's Slave.

Thus oft become, thro' Fear-— to yield,

Victorious Mafters o' the Field.

Ten Thousand pretty am'rous Flys

'

Dance in the Sun-fhine of your Eyes,

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But when Clouds gather, in a Swarm

Difcreetly 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.

M &

'Faith

'Faith, Celia, thofe will never win us,
We have not fo much Spaniel in us,
To lick, and fawn, and whine, and creep,

And court the Hand that us'd the Whip.

Befides Not all your Whalebone-Armour

(Shou'd Venus bid her little Charmer

Let fly against your squeamish Heart)
Cou'd ftop th' all-piercing venom'd Dart;
And you when you begin to burn

May chance to meet the fame Return.
'Tis fhe with mightieft Power arms,
Who nought forgets, except her Charms.
When Pride we fee, tho' in a Grace,

We're apt to fay; What tho' her Face
Be White as Cerufe to the full,

And Cheeks be very Spanish Wool;

She's Fair 'tis true, but then she knows it,
Her haughty Mien and Carriage fhows it,
Grant as you think, (else why so far
More Proud and Arrogant, than Fair)

Grant

Grant in your Face all VENUS' Charms,
All CUPID's Magazine of Arms,

Each Brow a Bow, Darts in each Eye,

While thofe ftand bent, thefe cannot fly.

To Two Gentlemen, reputed Authors of Timely Advice, &c.

K

NOW, bufy Fools, that dare advife

A Lady, how to use her Eyes,

Ye merit for the grand Offence,

To die by th' Fire, that comes from thence.

7

D'ye know what Woman is? And dare

Thus haughtily to treat the Fair?
Ye furely know, tho' laft the End

We execute, we first intend.

Woman

Woman then by Heaven intended

First, its Operations ended.

Then is it Reason to fuppofe

Heav'n wou'd its prior Labours clofe

In ought inferior to those ?

No! tir'd with Labour, foil'd its Art,

Exactly wrought in ev'ry Part,

Heav'n faw its Works, thought Woman beft,

And wifely judg'd it Time to reft,

Man with the Brutes was form'd of Earth,

From Man himself came Woman's Birth,

Her therefore we may juftly deem
The very Quinteffence of him.

The fhining Summer-Clouds difclofe
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,

Wo

Woman, who had the Pow'r to make
That Jove his godlike Shape forfake
To be a Bull, a Show'r, a Swan,
Wheedle that Home-fpun Creature Man,
Which Heav'n but try'd its Skill upon?
Muft Heay'n difclofe its matchlefs 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 thofe matchlefs Glories place,

And magick Power in her Eyes

As much fuperior fupplies,

Of that rude Strength of Mens rough Natures,

Which ill adorns their fofter Features:

And fhan't the ufe her Native Arms,

On Purpose giv'n to guard her Charms?
The deadly Lightening which flies,

In blushing Flashes from her Eyes,

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