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To Mr. C

By the Same.


T length, by much importunity press’d,

Take, C -, at once the inside of my breast.
This stupid indiff'rence so often you blame,
Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame.
I am not as cold as a virgin in lead,
Nor is Sunday's fermon so strong in my head:
I know but too well how time flies along,
That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young.

But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy
Long years of repentance for moments of joy.)
Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find
Good sense and good-nature so equally join'd ?)
Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine ;
Not meanly would boast, nor lewdly design,
Not over severè, yet not stupidly vain,
For I would have the power, tho' not give the pain.


No pedant, yet learned; nor rake-helly gay,
Or laughing because he has nothing to say;
To all my whole sex, obliging and free,
Yet never be fond of any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And fhew in his eyes he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely pert, nor fopishly low.

But when the long hours of publick are past,
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May ev'ry fond pleasure that moment endear ;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!
Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd,
He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud,
Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live,
And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.

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And that my delight may be folidly fix'd,
Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd,
In whose tender bofom my soul may confide,
Whose kindness can sooth me, whose counfel can guide.
From such a dear lover, as here I describe,
No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe;
But till this aftonishing creature I know,
As I long have liv'd chaste, I will keep myself fo.


I never will share with the wanton coquet,
Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit.
The toasters and songfers may try all their art,
But never shall enter the pass of my heart.
I loath the lewd rake, the dress'd fopling despise :
Before such pursuers the nice virgin fies :
And as Ovid has sweetly in parables told,
We harden like trees, and like rivers




Written extempore on a Window.

By the Same.

WHILST thirt

HILST thirst of praise, and vain defire of fame,
In every age,


woman's aim ;
With courtship pleas’d, of filly toasters proud,
Found of a train, and happy in a crowd;
On each poor fool beftowing some kind glance,
Each conquest owing to some loose advance ;
While vain coquets affect to be pursu'd,
And think they're virtuous, if not grossly lewd :
Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide ;
In part she is to blame that has been try'd
He comes too near that comes to be deny'd,


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WHILST pretty fellows think a woman's fame

In every state and every age the same;
With their own folly pleas'd the fair they toast,
And where they least are happy, swear they're most i
Ņo difference making 'twixt coquet and prude ;
And her that seems, yet is not really lewd ;
While thus they think, and thus they vainly live,
And tafte no joys but what their fancy give :
Let this great maxim be my action's guide,
May I ne'er hope, tho' I am ne'er deny'd ;
Nor think a woman won, that's willing to be try'd.


An EPISTLE to Lord B

By the Same.


HOW happy you ! who varied joys pursue ;


And every hour presents you fomething new?
Plans, schemes, and models, all Palladio's art,
For fix long months have gain'd upon your heart;


Of colonades, of corridores you talk,
The winding stair-case and the cover'd walk;
You blend the orders with Vitruvian toil,
And raise with wond'rous joy the fancy'd pile :
But the dull workman's flow performing hand
But coldly executes his lord's command.
With dirt and mottar foon you grow displeas’d,
Planting succeeds, and avenues are rais'd,
Canals are cut, and mountains level made; ;
Bowers of retreats and galleries of shade ;
The shaven turf presents a lively green;
The bordering flow'rs in mystick knots are seen :
With studied art on nature you refine-
The spring beheld you warm in this design,
But scarce the cold attacks your fav’rite trees,
Your inclination fails, and wilhes freeze.
You quit the grove, so lately you admir'd;
With other views your eager hopes are fir'd,
Poft to the city you direct your way;
Not blooming paradise could bribe your stay:
Ambition shews your power's brightest fide;
'Tis meanly poor in folitude to hide.
Tho' certain pains attend the cares of state,
A good man owes his country to be great ;
Should act abroad the high diftinguish'd part,
Or shew at least the purpose of his heart.
With thoughts like these the shining courts you seek ;
Full of new projects for almost a week:


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