Let the strict life of graver mortals be A long, exact, and serious comedy; In ev'ry scene some moral let it teach, 25 And, if it can, at once both please and preach: 30 35 By nature yielding, stubborn but for fame, Made slaves by honour, and made fools by shame. Well might you wish for change by those accurst; But the last tyrant ever proves the worst. 40 Still in constraint your suff'ring 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 false shews, nor empty titles please: Aim not at joy, but rest content with ease. The gods, to curse Pamela with her pray'rs, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares, 50 Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest! 5 8 VI. On Mrs. Corbet, who died of a cancer in her breast. HERE rests a woman, good without pretence, Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, VII. On the Monument of the Hon. Robert Digby, and of his sister Mary, erected by their father the Lord Digby, in the church of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, 1727. Go! fair example of untainted youth, 5 Of softest manners, unaffected mind, Lover of peace, and friend of human-kind! And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom, Yet take these tears, mortality's relief, 10 15 VIII. On Sir Godfrey Kneller, in Westminster Abbey, 1723. KNELLER by Heav'n, and not a master, taught, Or with his hounds comes hallooing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you best of all things---but his horse. In some fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid, You dream of triumphs in the rural shade; In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene, See corronations rise on ev'ry green: Before you pass th' imaginary sights Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter'd knights, Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, EPISTLE VI. 30 35 40 45 To Mr. John Moore, author of the celebrated worm powder. How much, egregious Moore! are we Deceiv'd by shews and forms! 50 Whate'er we think, whate'er we see, Man is a very worm by birth, Vile reptile, weak, and vain! 5 That woman is a worm we find, E'er since our grandame's evil; 10 She first convers'd with her own kind, That ancient worm the devil. The learn'd themselves we bookworms name, Thus worms suit all conditions; Misers are muck-worms, silk-worms beaus, And death-watches physicians. That statesmen have the worm, is seen 25 By all their winding play: Their conscience is a worm within That gnaws them night and day. |