I fee her lift her hands and eyes:

"What! eat it, Niece; eat Spanish flies!
"Lamprey's a most immodeft diet:
"You'll neither wake nor fleep in quict.
"Should I to-night eat Sago-cream,
""Twould make me blush to tell my dream;
"If I eat Lobster, 'tis fo warming,
"That every man I fee looks charming;
"Wherefore had not the filthy fellow
"Laid Rochester upon your pillow?
"I vow and fwear, I think the prefent
"Had been as modeft and as decent.
"Who has her virtue in her power?
"Each day has its unguarded hour;
"Always in danger of undoing,

"A prawn, a fhrimp, may prove our ruin!
"The fhepherdefs, who lives on fallad,
"To cool her youth, controls her palate.
"Should Dian's maids turn liquorish livers,
"And of huge lampreys rob the rivers,
"Then, all befide each glade and visto,
"You'd fee Nymphs lying like Califto.
"The man, who meant to heat your blood,
"Needs not himself fuch vicious food-"

In this, I own, your aunt is clear,
I fent you what I well might fpare:
For, when I fee you, (without joking)
Your eyes, lips, breasts, are so provoking,
They fet my heart more cock-a-hoop,
Than could whole feas of craw-fish foup.

WHA

How her eyes languish with defire !

How bleft, how happy, should I be,
Were that fond glance beftow'd on me!
New doubts and fears within me war:
What rival's near? a china-jar.
China's the paffion of her foul :-
A cup, a plate, a dish, a bowl,
Can kindle wishes in her breast,
Inflame with joy, or break her rest.

Some gems collect; fome medals prize,
And view the ruft with lovers' eyes;
Some court the stars at midnight-hours;
Some doat on Nature's charms in flowers;
But every beauty I can trace

In Laura's mind, in Laura's face;
My ftars are in this brighter fphere,
My lily and my rose is here.

Philofophers, more grave than wise,
Hunt fcience down in butterflies;

Or,

Or, fondly poring on a spider,
Stretch human contemplation wider.
Foffils give joy to Galen's foul;

He digs for knowledge, like a molė;
In fhells fo learn'd, that all agree

No fifh that fwims knows more than he !
In fuch pursuits if wisdom lies,
Who, Laura, fhall thy tafte defpife?
When I fome antique jar behold,
Or white, or blue, or fpeck'd with gold;
Veffels fo pure, and fo refin❜d,
Appear the types of woman-kind :
Are they not valued for their beauty,
Too fair, too fine, for houfhold duty?
With flowers and gold and azure dy'd,
Of every house the grace and pride?

How white, how polish'd is their skin,,
And valued most when only feen!
She, who before was highest priz❜d,
Is for a crack or flaw despis'd.

I grant they're frail; yet they 're so rare,·
The treasure cannot coft too dear!

But man is made of coarser stuff,
And ferves convenience well-enough;
He's a ftrong earthen veffel, made
For drudging, labour, toil, and trade ;
And, when wives lofe their other self,
With ease they bear the lofs of delf.
Husbands, more covetous than fage,,
Condemn this china-buying rage;

P 4

They

They count that woman's prudence little,
Who fets her heart on things fo brittle.
But are those wife-men's inclinations
Fixt on more ftrong, more fure foundations ?
If all that's frail we muft defpife,

No human view or fcheme is wife.
Are not Ambition's hopes as weak?
They fwell like bubbles, shine, and break.
A Courtier's promife is fo flight,

'Tis made at noon, and broke at night.
What pleasure 's fure? The Mifs you keep
Breaks both your fortune and your sleep.
The man who loves a country-life
Breaks all the comforts of his wife;
And, if he quit his farm and plough,
His wife in town may break her vow.
Love, Laura, love, while youth is warm,
For each new winter breaks a charm ;
And woman 's not like china fold,
But cheaper grows in growing old;
Then quickly chufe the prudent part,
Or else you break a faithful heart.

EPISTLE

EPISTLE XIII.

ON A MISCELLANY OF POEMS.

TO BERNARD LINTOTT.

·66 Ipfa varietate tentamus efficere ut alia aliis, quædam "fortaffe omnibus placeant,"

As

PLIN. Epift.

S when fome skilful cook, to please each guest,
Would in one mixture comprehend a feast,

With due proportion and judicious care

He fills his dish with different forts of fare,
Fishes and fowls delicioufly unite,

To feaft at once the taste, the smell, and fight.
So, Bernard, muft a Mifcellany be
Compounded of all kinds of poetry;

The Mufes' olio, which all taftes may fit,
And treat each reader with his darling wit.
Would'ft thou for Mifcellanies raise thy fame,
And bravely rival Jacob's mighty name,
Let all the Muses in the piece conspire;
The lyric bard must strike th' harmonious lyre;
Heroic ftrains muft here and there be found,
And nervous fenfe be fung in lofty found;
Let elegy in moving numbers flow,
And fill fome pages with melodious woe;

Let