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Still in constraint your suff’ring Sex remains,
The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray’rs, Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, 51 And, to compleat her bliss, a Fool for Mate. She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring, A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing! Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; She sighs, and is no Duchess at her heart.
56 But, Madam, if the fates withstand; and
you Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late disarms: 60 Good humour only teaches charms to last, 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 flow’ry bands in wantonness are worn,
Thus* Voiture's early care still Thone the same, And Monthausier was only chang'd in name: 70 By this, ev’n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still
Now crown’d with Myrtle, on th' Elysian coast, Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost : Pleas’d, while with smiles his happy lines you
view, And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you. 76 The brightest eyes of France inspir’d his Muse; ; The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse ; And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
# Mademoiselle Paulei. P.
E P I S T L E
To the fame, ,
On her leaving the Town after the
S some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks: She went from Op'ra, Park, Assembly, Play, To morning-walks, and pray’rs three hours a day;
Coronation ] Of King Georg: the first, 1715. P.
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
15 To muse, and spill. her solitary tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire; Up to her godly garret after sev’n, There starve and
pray, for that's the way to heav'n. Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whose
is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, Thengives a sınacking buss, and cries --No words! Or with his hound comes hallowing 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.
30 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 Coronations rise on ev'ry green ; Before you pass th' imaginary fights
35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes ;
So when your Slave, at some dear idle time,
vanish quite, Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my fight; Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow, Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50