Bid her be all that chears or foftens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore;
Then view this marble, and be vain no more!
Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage ;
Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future
age.
Beauty, frail flower that every feason fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race shall other hearts furprize,
And other Beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleasing Blount shall endlefs fmiles bestow,
And foft Belinda's blush for ever glow.'

Oh, lafting as thofe Colours may they shine,
Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line;
New graces yearly like thy works difplay,
Soft without weakness, without glaring gay ;'
Led by fome 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 fhould the Graces all thy figures place,
And breathe an air divine on every face;

Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll

Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie,

75

And these be fung till Granville's Myra die:
Alas! how little from the grave we claim !
Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name.

EPISTLE

EPISTLE

TO MISS BLOUNT,

WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE.

IN

N these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces fhine,
And all the Writer lives in every line;

His eafy Art may happy Nature seem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with esteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred:
His heart, his mistress and his friend did fhare,
His time, the Mufe, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely carelefs, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
Till fate fcarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft,
As fmiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The truest hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes:

The Smiles and Loves had died in Voiture's death,

But that for ever in his lines they breathe.

Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be

A long, exact, and ferious Comedy;

In every fcene fome Moral let it teach,

And, if it can, at once both pleafe and preach.

S

ΤΟ

15

20

Let

Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,

And more diverting still than regular,

Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Though not too ftrictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,

Few write to those, and none can live to these.

25

30

Too much your Sex are by their forms confin'd, Severe to all, but most to Womankind; Cuftom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide; Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;

By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame ;*

35

Made Slaves by honour, and made fools by Shame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chace,

But fets up one, a greater in their place :

Well might you wish for change by those accurst,

But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.

40

Still in constraint your fuffering Sex remains,

Or bound in formal, or in real chains :

Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd,

The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.

Ah, quit not the free innocence of life,

45

For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;

Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please:

Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Ease.

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state,
And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched Thing!

Pride,

Pride, Pomp, and State, but reach her outward part; 55
She fighs, and is no Dutchefs at her heart.

But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you
Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;
Trust not too much your now resistless charms,
Thofe, Age or Sickness, soon or late disarms :
Good-humour only teaches charms to laft,
Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past ;
Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day;
As flowery bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn ;
This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.

60

65

Thus * Voiture's early care still shone the fame, And Monthaufier was only chang`d in name; By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.

Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft,

70

Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:
Pleas'd, while with smiles his happy lines you view, 75
And finds a fairer Ramboüillet in you.

The brightest eyes in France inspir'd his Muse;

The brightest eyes in Britain now peruse;

And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride

Still to charm those who charm the world befide.

80

VOL. II.

*Mademoiselle Paulet.

א

EPISTLE

EPISTLE

TO THE SAME,

On her leaving the Town after the Coronation, 1715.

S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care

As
Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air,
Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye,

And hear a fpark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kifs before fhe parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd, not that they stay'd, but that she went.

She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from Opera, Park, Affembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a-day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and Bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea,

Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow Clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'Squire ;
Up to her godly garret after feven,

There starve and pray, for that's the way to heaven.
Some 'Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whofe game is Whift, whofe treat a toaft in fack:

S

10

20

Who