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Whatever fortune lavishly can pour,

If thunder's awful, how much more our dread, The mind annihilates, and calls for more.

When Jove deputes a lady in his stead ?
Wealth is a cheat; believe not what it says; A lady? pardon my mistaken pen,
Like any lord, it promises--and pays.

A sbameless woman is the worst of men.
How will the miser startle, to be told

Few to good-breeding make a just pretence ; Of such a wonder, as insolvent gold !

Good-breeding is the blossom of good-sense ;
What nature wants has an intrinsic weight; The last result of an accomplish'd mind,
All more is but the fashion of the plate,

With outward grace, the body's virtue, join'd.
Which, for one moment, charms the fickle view; A violated decency now reigns ;
It charms us now ; anon we cast anew;

And nymphs for failings take peculiar pains. To some fresh birth of fancy more inclin'd: With Chinese painters modern toasts agree, Then wed not acres, but a noble mind.

The point they aim at is deformity : Mistaken lovers, who make worth their care, They throw their persons with a hoyden air And think accomplishments will win the fair; Across the room, and toss into the chair. The fair, 'tis true, by genius should be won, So far their commerce with mankind is gone, As flowers unfold their beauties to the Sun; They, for our manners, have exchang'd their own. And yet in female scales a fop out-weighs, The modest look, the castigated grace, And wit must wear the willow and the bays. The gentle movement, and slow-measurid pace, Nought shines so bright in vain Liberia's eye For which her lovers died, her parents paid, As riot, impudence, and perfidy;

Are indecorums with the modern maid.
The youth of fire, that has drunk deep, and play'd, Stiff forms are bad; but let not worse intrude,
And kill'd his man, and triumph'd o'er his maid ; Nor conquer art and nature, to be rude.
Por him, as yet unhang’d, she spreads her charms, Modern good-breeding carry to its height,
Snatches the dear destroyer to her arms;

And lady D_'s self will be polite.
And amply gives (though treated long amiss) Ye rising fair! ye bloom of Britain's isle !
The man of merit his revenge in this.

When high-born Anna, with a soften'd smile, If you resent, and wish a woman ill,

Leads on your train, and sparkles at your head, But turn her o'er one moment to her will.

What seems most hard, is, not to be well-bred. The languid lady next appears in state,

Her bright example with success pursue, Who was not born to carry her own weight; And all, but adoration, is your due. She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid “ But adoration! give me something more,” To her own stature lifts the feeble maid.

Cries Lycé, on the borders of threescore : Then, if ordain'd to so severe a doom,

Nought treads so silent as the foot of Time; Sbe, by just stages, journeys round the room: Hence we mistake our autumn for our prime; But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs "Tis greatly wise to know, before we're told, To scale the Alps-that is, ascend the stairs. The melancholy news, that we grow old. My fan! let others say, who laugh at toil; Autumnal Lycé carries in her face Fan! hood ! glove ! scarf! is her laconic style ; Memento mori to each public place. And that is spoke with such a dying fall,

O how your beating breast a mistress warms, That Betty rather sers, than hears the call : Who looks through spectacles to see your charms ! The motion of her lips, and meaning eye,

While rival undertakers hover round, Piece out th' idea her faint words deny.

And with his spade the setton marks the ground, O listen with attention most profound !

Intent not on her own, but others' doom, Her voice is but the shadow of a sound.

She plans new conquests, and defrauds the tomb.
And help! oh help! her spirits are so dead, In vain the cock has summon'd sprites away,
One hand scarce lifts the other to her head. She walks at noon, and blasts the bloom of day.
If, there, a stubborn pin it triumphs o'er,

Gay rainbow silks ber mellow charms infold,
She pants! she sinks away! and is no more. And nought of Lycé but herself is old.
Let the robust and the gigantic carve,

Her grizzled locks assume a smirking grace,
Life is not worth so much, she'd rather starve: And art bas levell’d her deep furrow'd face,
But chew she must herself; ah cruel fate ! Her strange demand no mortal can approve,
That Rosalinda can't by proxy eat.

We'll ask her blessing, but can't ask her love, An antidote in female caprice lies

She grants, indeed, a lady may decline (Kind Heaven!) against the poison of their eyes, (All ladies but herself) at ninety-nine. Thalestris triumphs in a manly mien;

O how unlike her was the sacred age Loud is her accent, and her phrase obscene, Of prudent Portia! Her gray hairs engage, In fair and open dealing where's the shame? Whose thoughts are suited to her life's decline : What Nature dares to give, she dares to name. Virtue's the paint that can with wrinkles shine. This honest fellow is sincere and plain,

That, and that only, can old age sustain ; And justly gives the jealous husband pain. Which yet all wish, nor know they wish for pain. (Vain is the task to petticoats assign’d,

Not numerous are our joys, when life is new; If wanton language shows a naked mind.)

And yearly some are falling of the few; And now and then, to grace her eloquence,

But when we conquer life's meridian stage,
An oath supplies the vacancies of sense.

And downward tend into the vale of age,
Hark! the shrill potes transpierce the yielding air, They drop apace; by nature some decay,
And teach the neighbouring Echoes how to swear. And some the blasts of fortune sweep away;
By Jove, is faint, and for the simple swain; Till, naked quite of happiness, aloud
She, on the Christian system, is profane.

We call for death, and shelter in a shroud.
, though the volley rattles in your ear,

Where's Portia now?-But Portia left behind Believe her dress, she's not a grenadier.

Two lovely copies of her form and mind.

What heart uptouch'd their early grief can riew, My portraits grace your mind, as his your side;
Like blushing rose-buds dipp'd in morning dew? His portraits will inflame, mine quench, your pride :
Who into shelter takes their tender bloom, He's dear, you frugal; choose my cheaper lay;
And forms their minds to flee from ills to come? And be your reformation all my pay.
The mind, when turn'd adrift, no rules to guide, Lavinia is polite, but not profane;
Drives at the mercy of the wind and tide; To church as constant as to Drury-lane.
Fancy and passion toss it to and fro;

She decently, in form, pays Heaven its due ;
A while torment, and then quite sink in woe.

And makes a civil visit to her pew. Ye beauteous orphans, since in silent dust Her lifted fan, to give a solemn air, Your best example lies, my precepts trust.

Conceals her face, which passes for a prayer : Life swarins with ills; the loldest are afraid;

Curt'sies to curt’sies, then, with grace, succeed; Where then is safety for a tender maid ?

Not one the fair omits, but at the Creed. Unfit for conflict, round beset with woes,

Or, if she joins the service, 't is to speak; And man, whom least she fears, her, worst of foes ! Through dreadful silence the pent heart mightbreak: When kind, most cruel; when oblig'd the most, Untaught to bear it, women talk away The least obliging; and by favours lost.

To God himself, and fondly think they pray. Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate;

But sweet their accent, and their air refind; And scorn you for those ills themselves create. For they're before their Maker--and mankind : If on your fame our sex a blot has thrown,

When ladies once are proud of praying well, 'T will ever stick, through malice of your own,

Satan himself will toll the parish bell. Most hard! in pleasing your chief glory lies ; Acquainted with the world, and quite well-bred, And yet from pleasing your chief dangers rise : Drusa receives her visitants in bed ; Then please the best; and know, for men of sense, But, chaste as ice, this Vesta, to defy Your strongest charms are native innocence. The very blackest tongue of calumny, Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face,

When from the sheets her lovely form she lifts, Fright him, that's worth your luve, from your em- She begs you just would turn you, while she shifts. brace,

Those charms are greatest which decline the sight, In simple manners all the secret ljes;

That makes the banquet poignant and polite. Be kind and virtuous, you'll be blest and wise.

There is no woman, where there's no reserve ; Vain show and noise intoxicate the brain,

And 'tis on plenty your poor lovers starve, Begin with giddiness, and end in pain.

But with a modern fair, meridian merit Affect not empty fame, and idle praise,

Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of spirit. Which, all those wretches 1 describe, betrays. Mark well the rollings of her faming eye; Your sex's glory 'tis, to shine unknown ;

And tread on tiptoe, if you dare draw nigh. Of all applause, be fondest of your own.

“ Or if you take a lion by the beard', Beware the fever of the mind that thirst

Or dare defy the fell Hyrcanian pard, With which the age is eminently curst :

Or arm'd rbinoceros, or rough Russian bear," To drink of pleasure, but inflames desire ; First make your will, and then converse with her. And abstinence alone can quench the fire ;

This lady glories in profuse expense; Take pain from life, and terrour from the tomb;

And thinks distraction is magnificence.
Give peace in hand; and promise bliss to come. To beggar her gallant, is some delight;

To be more fatal still, is exquisite;
Had ever nymph such reason to be glad?

In duel fell two lovers; one run mad;

Her foes their honest execrations pour ;

Her lovers only should detest her more.

Flavia is constant to her old gallant,

And generously supports him in his want.

But marriage is a fetter, is a snare,

A hell, no lady so polite can bear. Interdum tamen & tollit comoedia vocem. She's faithful, she's observant, and with pains


Her angel-brood of bastards she maintains.
Nor least advantage bas the fair to plead,

But that of guilt, above the marriage-bed.
I sought a patroness, but sought in vain.

Amasia hates a prude, and scorns restraint; Apollo whisper'd in my ear-“ Germain.”- Whate'er she is, she'll not appear a saint: I know her not." Your reason's somewhat odd; Her soul superior fies formality; Who knows his patron, now ?” replied the god. So gay her air, her conduct is so free, “ Men write, to me, and to the world, unknown; Some might suspect the nymph not over-good. Then steal great pames, to shield them from the Nor would they be mistaken, if they should. Detected worth, like beauty disarray'd, (town: Unmarried Abra puts on formal airs; To covert fjes, of praise itself afraid ;

Her cushion's thread-bare with her constant prayers. Should she refuse to patronise your lays,

Her only grief is, that she cannot be In vengeance write a volume in her praise. At once engag'd in prayer and charity. Nor think it hard so great a length to run; And this, tu do her justice, must be said, When such the theme, 't will easily be done.” “Who would not think that Abra was a maid ?”

Ye fair! to draw your excellence at length, Some ladies are too beauteous to be wed ; Exceeds the narrow bounds of human strength; For where's the man that's worthy of their bed? You, here, in miniature your picture see; Nor hope from Zinck more justice than from me.




If no disease reduce her pride before,

Hence, men are often captives of a fáce, Lavinia will be ravish'd at threescore.

They know not why, of no peculiar grace : Then she submits to venture in the dark;

Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can bear; And nothing now is wanting--but her spark. Some, none resist though not exceeding fair. Lucia thinks happiness consists in state;

Arpasia's highly born, and nicely bred, She weds an idiot, but she eats in plate.

Of taste refin'd, in life and manners read ; The goods of fortune, which ber soul possess, Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense, Are but the ground of unmade happiness ;

But to be teas'd by her own excellence. The rude material: wisdom add to this,

“ Folks are so awkward! Things so unpolite!” Wisdom, the sole artificer of bliss;

She's elegantly pain'd from morn till night. She from herself, if so compell’d by need,

Her delicacy's shock'd where-e'er she goes; Of thin content can draw the subtle thread; Each creature's imperfections are her woes. But (no detraction to her sacred skill)

Heaven by its favour has the fair distrest, If she can work in gold, 't is better still.

And pour'd such blessings that she can't be blest. If Tullia had been blest with half her sense, Ah! why so vain, though blooming in thy spring? None could too much admire her excellence : Thou shining, frail, ador'd, and wretched thing! But since she can make errour shine so bright, Old-age will come; disease may come before ; She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.

Fifteen is full as mortal as threescore. With understanding she is quite o'er-run; Thy fortune, and thy charms, may soon decay: And by too great accomplishments undone : But grant these fugitives prolong their stay, With skill she vibrates her eternal tongue,

Their basis totters, their foundation shakes; For ever most divinely in the wrong.

Life, that supports them, in a moment breaks; Naked in nothing should a woman be;

Then wrought into the soul let virtues shine; But veil her very wit with modesty :

The ground eternal, as the work divine. Let men discover, let not her display,

Julia's a manager; she's born for rule; But yield her charms of mind with sweet delay. And knows her wiser husband is a fuol ;

For pleasure form’d, perversely some believe, Assemblies holds, and spins the subtle thread To make themselves important, men must grieve. That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed : Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,

For difficult amours can smooth the way, Pretends, the fop she laughs at, is ador'd.

And tender letters dictate, or commey. In vain she's proud of secret innocence;

But, if depriv'd of such important cares, The fact she feigns were scarce a worse offence. Her wisdom condescends to less affairs.

Mira, endow'd with every charm to bless, For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Has no design, but on her husband's peace :

Nur take her tea without a stratagem; He lov'd her much; and greatly was he mov'd Presides o'er triftes with a serious face; At small inquietudes in her he lov'd.

Important, by the virtue of grimace. “How charming this!”—The pleasure lasted long; Ladies supreme among amusements reign ; Now every day the fits come thick and strong : By nature born to sooth, and entertain. At last he found the charmer only feign'd; Their prudence in a share of folly lies : And was diverted when he should be pain'd. Why will they be so weak, as to be wise ? What greater vengeance have the gods in store ? Syrena is for ever in extremes, How tedious life, now she can plague no more ! And with a vengeance she commends, or blames, She tries a thousand arts; but none succeed : Conscious of her discernment, which is good, She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed :

She strains too much to make it understood. Thus strictly prov'd this virtuous, loving rife, Her judgment just, her sentence is too strong ; Her husband's pain was dearer than her life. Because she's right, she's ever in the wrong. Anxions Melania rises to my view,

Brunetta's wise in actions, great, and rare : Who never thinks her lover pays his due: But scorns on trifles to bestow her care. Visit, present, treat, flatter, and adore ;

Thus every hour Brunetta is to blame, Her majesty, to morrow, calls for more.

Because th' occasion is beneath her aim. His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,

Think nought a trifle, though it small appear; As unoil'd hinges, querulously shrill.

Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
“ You went last night with Celia to the ball." And trifles life. Your care to trifles give,
You prove it false. “ Not go! that's worst of all.” Or you may die, before you truly live.
Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame; Ġ, breakfast with Alicia, there you'll see,
And arrant contradictions are the same.

Simplex munditüs, to the last degree :
Her lover must be sad, to please her spleen; Unlac'd her stays, her night-gown is untied,
His mirth is an inexpiable sin :

And what she has of head-dress, is asidė.
For of all rivals that can pain her breast,

She draws her words, and waddles in her pace; There's one, that wounds far deeper than the rest; Unwash'd her hands, and much besnuff d her face To wreck her quiet, the most dreadful shelf A nail uncut, and head uncomb'd, she loves; Is if her lover dares enjoy himself.

And would draw on jack-boots, as soon as gloves. And this, because she's exquisitely fair : Gloves by queen Bess's maidens might be mist; Should I dispute her beauty, how she'd stare ! Her blessed eyes ne'er saw a female fist. How would Melania be surpris'd to hear

Lovers, beware! to wound how can she fail She's quite deform'd! And yet the case is clear; With scarlet finger, aud long jetty nail? What's female beauty, but an air divine,

For Harvey, the first wit she cannot be, Through which the mind's all-gentle graces shine? Nor, cruel Richmond, the first toast, for thee. They, like the Sun, irradiate all between;

Since full each other station of renown, The body charms because the soul is seen,

Who would not be the greatest trapes in town?

Women were made to give our eyes delight; Wisdom to gold prefer; for 't is much less
A female sloven is an odious sight.

To make our fortune, than our happiness.
Fair Isabella is so fond of fame,

That happiness which great-ones ofien see, That her dear self is her eternal theme;

With rage and wouder, in a low degree; Through hopes of contradiction, oft she'll say, Themselves unblest. The poor are only poor! “Methinks I look so wretchedly to-day!”

But what are they who droop amid their store ! When most the world applauds you, most beware; Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state ; "Tis often less a blessing than a snare.

The happy only are the truly great.
Distrust mankind; with your own heart confer; Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings;
And dread even there to find a flatterer.

And those best satisfied with cheapest things.
The breath of others raises our renown;

Could toth our Indies buy but one new sense,
Our own as surely blows the pageant down. Our envy would be due to large expense.
Take up no more than you by worth can claim, Since not, those pomps which to the great belong,
Lest soon you prove a lankrupt in your fame, Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
But own I must, in this perverted age,

See how they beg an alms of tattery!
Who most deserve, can't always most engage. They languish ! oh support them with a lie!
So far is worth from making glory sure,

A decent competence we fully taste;
It often hinders what it should procure.

It strikes our sense, and gives a constant feast : Whom praise we most? The virtuous, brave, and More, we perceive by dint of thought alone ; wise?

The rich must labour to possess their own, No; wretches, whom, in secret, we despise. . To feel their great abundance; and request And who so blind, as not to see the cause ?

Their humble friends to help them to be blest; No rivals rais'd by such discreet applause;

To see their treasures, hear their glory told, And yet, of credit it lays in a store,

And aid the wretched impotence of gold. By which our spleen may wound true worth the more. But some, great souls ! and touch'd with warinth Ladies there are who think one crime is all :

divine, Can women, then, no way but backward fall ? | Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine. So sweet is that one crime they don't pursue, All hoarded treasures they repute a load; To pay its loss, they think all others few. Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestow'd, Who hold that crime so dear, must never claim Grand reservoirs of public happiness, Of injur'd modesty the sacred name.

Through secret streams diffusively they bless; But Clio thus: “ What! railing without end ? And, while their bounties glide, conceal'd from “Mean task! how much more generous to com

view, mend ! »

Relieve our wants, and spare our blushes too. Yes, to commend as you are wont to do,

But Satire is my task; and these destroy My kind instructor, and example too.

Her gloomy province, and malignant joy. “ Daphnis,” says Clio, “has a charming eye: Help me, ye misers ! help me to complain, What pity 't is her shoulder is awry!

And blast our common enemy, Germain : Aspasia's shape indeed-But then her air

But our imectives must despair success; The man has parts who finds destruction there. For, next to praise, she values nothing less. Almeria's wit has something that's divine;

What picture's yonder, loosen'd from its frame? And wit's enough-how few in all things shine! Or is 't Asturia, that affected dame? Selina serves her friends, relieves the poor

The brightest forins, through affectation, fade Who was it said Selina's near threescore?

To strange new things, which Nature nerer made. At Lucia's match I from iny soul rejoice;

Frown not, ye fair! so much your sex we prize, The world congratulates so wise a choice ;

We hate those arts that take you from our eyes, His lordship's rent-roll is exceeding great

In Albucinda's native grace is seen But mortgages will sap the best estate.

What you, who labour at perfection, mean. In Shirley's form might cherubims appear ; Short is the rule, and to be learnt with ease, But then she has a freckle on her ear.”

Retain your gentle selves, and you must please. Without a but, Hortensia she commends,

Here might I sing of Memmia's mincing mien, The first of women, and the best of friends; And all the movements of the soft machine : Owns her in person, wit, fame, virtue, bright; How two red lips affected Zephyrs blow, But how comes this to pass ?-She died last night. To cool the bohea, and inflame the beau :

Thus nymphs commend, who yet at satire rail While one white finger and a thumb conspire Indeed that's needless, if such praise prevail. To lift the cup, and make the world admire. And whence such praise ? Our virulence is thrown Tea ! how I tremble at thy fatal stream! On others' fame, through fondness for our own. As Lethe, dreadful to the Love of Fame.

Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns; What devastations on thy banks are seen! For are not coronets a-kin to crowns ?

What shades of mighty names which once have been! Her greedy eye, and her sublime address,

A hecatomb of characters supplies The height of avarice and pride confess.

Thy painted altars' daily sacrifice. You seek perfections worthy of her rank;

H- , P- , B- , aspers'd by thee, decay, Go, seek for her perfections at the Bank.

As grains of finest sugars melt away,
By wealth unquench'd, by reason uncontrola, And recommend thee more to mortal taste;
For ever burns her sacred thirst of gold,

Scandal's the sweetner of a female feast.
As fond of five-pence, as the veriest cit;

But this inbuman triumph shall decline, And quite as much detested as a wit.

And thy revolting Naiads call for wine ; Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine ? Spirits no longer shall serve under thee; Can we dig peace, or wisdom, from the mine? | But reign in thy ovu cup, exploded tea!


Citronia's nose declares thy ruin nigh,

Rise then, my Muse, in honest fury rise ; And who dares give Citronia's nose the lie ? They dread a satire, who defy the skies.

The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd, Atheists are few: most nymphs a Godhead owa; And what impair’d both health and virtue, blam’d; And nothing but his attributes dethrone. At length, to rescue man, the generous lass From atheists far, they steadfastly believe Stole from her consort the pernicious glass; God is, and is Almighty-to forgive. As glorious as the British queen renown'd,

His other excellence they'll not dispute ; Who suck'd the poison from her husband's wound. But mercy, sure, is his chief attribute.

Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclin'd, Shall pleasures of a short duration chain But every bolder vice of bold mankind.

A lady's soul in everlasting pain ? O Juvenal ! for thy severer rage !

Will the great Author us poor worms destroy, To lash the ranker follies of our age.

For now and then a sip of transient joy? Are there, among the females of our isle, No, he's for ever in a smiling mood; Such faults, at which it is a fault to smile? He's like themselves; or how could he be good ? There are. Vice, once by modest nature chaiu'd And they blaspheme, who blacker schemes suppose. And legal ties, expatiates unrestrain'd;

Devoutly, thus, Jehovah they depose, Withont thin decency held up to view,

The pure! the just ! and set up, in his stead, Naked she stalks o'er Law and Gospel too.

A deity, that's perfectly well-bred. Our matrons lead such exemplary lives,

“Dear Tillotson ! be sure the best of nen; Men sigh in vain for none but for their wives ; Nor thought he more, than thought greai Origen. Who marry to be free, to range the more,

Though once upon a time he misbehav'd ; And wed one man, to wanton with a score.

Poor Satan! doubtless, he'll at length be sar'd. Abroad too kind, at home 't is steadfast hate, Let priests do something for their one in ten ; And one eternal tempest of debate.

It is their trade ; so far they're bonest men. What foul eruptions, from a look most meek! Let thein cant un, since they have got the knack, What thunders bursting, from a dimpled cheek! And dress their potions, like themselves, in black ; Their passions bear it with a lofty hand!

Fright us with terrours of a world unknown, But then, their reason is at due command.

From joys of this, to keep them all their own. Is there whom you detest, and seek his life? Of Earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee ; Trust no soul with the secret-but his wife. But then they leave our untith'd virtue free. Wives wonder that their conduct I condemn, Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show : And ask, what kindred is a spouse to them? Did ever mortal write like Rouchefoucault ?”

What swarms of amorous grandmothers I see ! Thus pleads the Devil's fair apologist, And misses, ancient in iniquity!

And, pleading, safely enters on his list. What blasting whispers, and what loud declaim- Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain ; ing!

Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane. What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, gaming! For what's true beauty, but fair virtue's face : Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence; Virtue made visible in outward grace? Such griping avarice, such profuse expense ; She, then, that's haunted with an impious mind, Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes; The more she charms, the more sbe shocks mankind. Such licens'd ill, such masquerading times;

But charins decline : the fair long vigils keep: Such venal faith, such misapplied applause ; They sleep no more! Quadrille has murderd sleep'. Such flatter'd guilt, and such inverted laws ! “Poor K-p!” cries Livia ; “I have not been there

Such dissolution through the whole I find, These two nights; the poor creature will despair. "T is not a world, but chaos of mankind.

I hate a crowd—but to do good, you knowSince Sundays have no balls, the well-dress'd belle And people of condition should bestow.” Shines in the pew, but smiles to hear of Hell ; Convinc'd, o'ercoine, to Kp's grave matrons run; And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all

Now set a daughter, and now stake a son ; Who listen less to Collins than St. Paul.

Let health, fare, temper, beauty, fortune, fly; Atheists have been but rare; since Nature's birth, And beggar half their race through charity. Till now, she-atheists ne'er appeard on Earth. Immortal were we, or else mortal quite, Ye men of deep researches, say, whence springs I less should blame this criminal delight: This daring character, in timorous things? But since the gay assembly's gayest room Who start at feathers, from an insect fly,

Is but an upper story to some tomb,
A match for nothing—but the Deity.

Methinks, we need not our short being shun,
But, not to wrong the fair, the Muse mist own And, thought to fly, contend to be undone.
In this pursuit they court not fame alone;

We need nut buy our ruin with our crime,
But join to that a more substantial view,

And give eternity to murder time." “From thinking free, to be free agents too."

The love of gaming is the worst of ills ; They sirive with their own hearts, and keep them with ceaseless storms the blacken'd soul it alls; down,

Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood; In complaisance to all the fools in town.

Destroys the power and will of doing good O how they tremble at the name of prude ! Kills health, pawns honour, plunges in disgrace, And die with shame at ihought of being good! And, what is still more dreadful-spoils your face. For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,

See yonder set of thieves that live on spoil, What will the wite, that is, the coxcombs, say? The scandal and the ruin of our isle ! They Heaven defy, to Earth's vile dregs a slave; And see (strange sight!) amid that ruffian band, Through cowardice, most execrably brave.

A form divine high wave her snowy hand; With our own judgments durst we to comply, la virtue sbould we live, in glory die.

* Shakespeare

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