Paint, patches, jewels laid afide,
At night Aftronomers agree,
The evening has the day bely'd;
And Phyllis is fome forty-three.
HAT a frail thing is Beauty, fays baron Le Cras,
Perceiving his Mistress had one eye of glass :
And scarcely had he spoke it;
When the more confus'd, as more angry fhe grew,
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true :
She dropt the eye, and broke it.
AN EPIGRAM.
Written to the Duke de NOAILLES.
AIN the concern which you exprefs,
That uncall'd Alard will poffefs
Your house and coach, both day and night,
And that Macbeth was haunted lefs
By Banquo's reftlefs fpright.
With fifteen thousand pounds a year,
Do you complain, you cannot bear
An ill, you may fo foon retrieve?
Good Alard, faith, is modefter
By much than you believe.
Lend him but fifty Louis-d'or;
And you fhall never fee him more:
Take the advice; probatum eft.
Why do the Gods indulge our ftore,
But to fecure our reft?
EPILOGUE to SMITH'S PHEDRA and HIPPOLYTUS, Spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD, who acted ISMENA. LADIES, to-night your pity I implore
For one, who never troubled you before;
An Oxford-man, extremely read in Greek,
Who from Euripides makes Phædra speak ;
And comes to town to let us Moderns know,
How women lov'd two thousand years ago.
If that be all, faid I, e'en burn your play:
Egad! we know all that as well as they :
Shew us the youthful, handsome charioteer,
Firm in his feat, and running his career ;
Our fouls would kindle with as generous flames,
As e'er infpir'd the antient Grecian dames :
Every Ifmena would refign her breast;
And every dear Hippolytus be bleft.
But, as it is, fix flouncing Flanders mares
Are e'en as good as any two of theirs:
And, if Hippolytus can but contrive
To buy the gilded chariot, John can drive.
Now of the buftle you have seen to-day,
And Phædra's morals in this fcholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be said ;
But this Hippolytus fo fills one's head-
WI hadra liv'd as chaftely as the cou'd;
For he was Father Jove's own flesh and blood.
Her aukward love indeed was oddly fated;
She and her Poly were too near related;
And yet that fcruple had been laid afide,
If honeft Thefeus had but fairly dy'd:
But when he came, what needed he to know,
But that all matters ftood in ftatu quo?
There was no harm, you fee; or, grant
She might want conduct; but he wanted care.
'Twas in a husband little less than rude,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude-
He thould have sent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at fuch an hour;
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jeft;
Found every thing contribute to his rest;
The picquet friend difmifs'd, the coaft all clear,
And spouse alone impatient for her dear.
But, if these gay reflections come too late,
To keep the guilty Phædra from her fate;
If your more serious judgement must condemn
The dire effects of her unhappy flame :
Yet, ye chafte matrons, and ye tender fair,
Let Love and Innocence engage your care:
My fpotlefs flames to your protection take;
And spare poor Phædra for Ifmena's fake.
HOW capricious were Nature and Art to poor
She was painting her cheeks at the time her nofe fell.
EPILOGUE to Mrs. MANLEY'S LUCIUS.
HE Female Author who recites to-day,
Trufts to her fex the m rit of her play.
Like Father Bayes fecurely the fits down:
Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad! all's our own.
In ancient Greece, the fays, when Sappho writ,
By their applaufe the critics fhew'd their wit,
They tun'd their voices to her Lyric ftring;
Though they could all do fomething more than fing.
But one exception to this fact we find ;
That booby Phaon only was unkind,
An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down through all fucceeding ages,
And now on French or on Italian stages,
Rough fatyrs, fly remarks, ill-natur'd speeches,
Are always aim'd at Poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a fharp pen upon a naked woman.
The bluftering bully in our neighbouring streets
Scorns to attack the female that he meets :
Fearlefs the petticoat contemns his frowns:
The hoop fecures whatever it furrounds.
The many-colour'd gentry there above,
By turns are rul'd by tumult and by love :
And, while their sweethearts their attention fix,
Sufpend the din of their damn'd clattering sticks.
Now, Sirs
To you our author makes her soft request,
Who speak the kindest, and who write the best,
Your fympathetic hearts fhe hopes to move,
From tender friendship, and endearing love.
If Petrarch's Muse did Laura's wit rehearse;
And Cowley flatter'd dear Orinda's verse;
She hopes from you-Pox take her hopes and fears!
I plead her fex's claim; what matters hers?
By our full power of beauty we think fit,
To damn the Salique law impos'd on wit:
We'll try the empire who fo long have boasted;
And, if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.
Approve what one of us prefents to-night;
Or every mortal woman here fhall write :
Rural, pathetic, narrative, fublime,
We'll write to you, and make you write in rhyme;
Female remarks fhall take up all your time.
Your time, poor fouls! we'll take your very money:
Female third-days fhall come fo thick upon you,
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless you yield for better and for worse :
Then the She-Pegasus shall gain the course;
And the
grey mare will prove
|