EPISTLE II.

OF THE CHARACTERS OF WOMEN.

TO A LADY.

Or the characters of women (considered only as contradistinguished from the other sex). That these are yet more inconsistent and incomprehensible than those of men, of which instances are given even from such characters as are plainest, and most strongly marked; as in the affected, Ver. 7, &c. The soft-natured, 29; the cunning, 45; the whimsical, 50; the wits and refiners, 69; the stupid and silly, 80. How contrarieties run through them all.

But though the particular characters of this sex are more various than those of men, the general characteristick, as to the ruling passion, is more uniform and contined. In what that lies, and whence it proceeds, 109, &e. Men are best known in publick life, women in private, 110. What are the aims, and the fate of the sex, both as to power and pleasure? 121, 133, &c. Advice for their true interest, 151. The picture of an esteemable woman, made up of the best kind of contrarieties, 171, &c.

EPISTLE II.

TO A LADY.

NOTHING So true as what you once let fall,
"Most women have no characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
How many pictures of one nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's countess, here in ermin'd pride,
Is there Pastora by a fountain side :
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
Is there, a naked Leda with a swan,
Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,

In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye,

Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,

With simp'ring angels, palms, and herps divine;
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,

If folly grows romantic, I must paint it!

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare !
Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air,
Chuse a firm cloud before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.
Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the Park,
Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sapho's diamonds with her dirty smock;
Or Sapho, at her toilet's greazy task,
And issuing flagrant to an evening mask,
So morning insects that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow, in the setting-sun.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend,

The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend :
To her, Calista prov'd her conduct nice,
And good Simplicius asks of her advice.

Sudden she storms! she raves! You tip the wink,
But spare your censure, Silia does not drink.
All eyes may see from what the change arose ;
All eyes may see-a pimple on her nose.
Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,

Sighs for the shades-"How charming is a park!"'

A park is purchas'd; but the fair he sees

All bath'd in tears-"Oh odious, odious trees!"
Ladies like variegated tulips show,

'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe,
Such happy spots the nice admireṛ take,

Fine by defect, and delicately weak.
'Twas thus Calypso once our hearts alarm'd,

Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue bewitch'd as odly as her eyes,
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise;
Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,

As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,

To make a wash, would hardly stew a child,
Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's pray'r,
And paid a tradesman once, to make him stare,
Gave alms at Easter in a christian trim,
And made a widow happy, for a whim,

Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,
When 'tis by that alone she can be born?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame !

Now deep in Taylor and the book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres.
Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns;
And atheism and religion take their turns;

65

A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.

Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray,
To toast our wants and wishes, is her way;
Nor asks of God but of her stars to give
The mighty blessing, "while we live, to live."
Then all for death, that opiate of the soul !
Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.
Say, what can cause such impotence of mind?
A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind.
Wise fool! with pleasures too refin'd to please,
With too much spirit to be e'er at ease,

With too much quickness ever to be taught,

With too much thinking to have common thought:
Who purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate;

No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate:

Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends,
Because she's honest, and the best of friends:
Or her, whose life the Church and scandal share,
For ever in a passion or a pray'r :

Or her who laughs at Hell, but (like her Grace)
Cries, oh how charming if there's no such place!
Or who in sweet vicissitude appears

Of mirth and opium, ratifie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,

To kill those foes to fair ones, Time and Thought.
Woman and fool are two hard things to hit,
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.
Pictures like these, (dear madam) to design,
Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;
Some wand'ring touches, some reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit them right;
For how should equal colours do the knack,
Cameleons who can paint in white and black?

In publick stations men sometimes are shown,

A woman's seen in private life alone :

Our bolder talents in full view display'd,

Your virtues open fairest in the shade.

Bred to disguise, in publick 'tis you hide ;

Where none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride,
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice,

105

Is still to please, can pleasure seem a fault?
Experience, this: by man's oppression curst,
They seek the second not to lose the first.

Men, some to bus'ness, some to pleasure take,
But every woman is, at heart a rake:
Men, some to quiet, some to publick strife,
But every lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!
Pow'r all their end, but beauty all the means.
In youth they conquer, with so wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age:
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well tim'd retreat,
As hard a science to the fair as great!
Beauties like tyrants, old and friendless grown,
Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone:
Worn out in publick, weary ev'ry eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die.
Pleasures the sex, as children birds, pursue,

Still out of reach, yet never out of view,
Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most,
To cover flying, and regret when lost.
At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend :
Asham'd to own they gave delight before,
Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more:
As hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spight,
So these their merry miserable night;

120

125

130

135

110

Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their honour dy'd.

See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolicks, an old age of cards,
Fair to no purpose, artful to no end,
Young without lovers, old without a friend,
A fop their passion, but their prize a sot,
Alive, ridiculous, and dead forgot!

Ah friend to dazzle let the vain design,

To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring
Flaunts and goes down, an unreguarded thing.
So when the sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight,
All mild ascends the moon's more sober light,
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
And unobserv'd the glaring orb declines.

Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to morrow chearful as to day;
She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;
Who never answers till a husband cools,
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules ;
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys;
Lets fops or fortune fly which way they will;
Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, tho' China fall.

And yet believe me, good as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still.
Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can
Its last, best work, but forms a softer man ;
Picks from each sex, to make the fav'rite blest,
Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest,
Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules,
Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools.
Reserve with frankness, art with truth ally'd,
Courage with softness, modesty with pride,
Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new ;
Shakes all together, and produces- -you.

Ev'n such is woman's fame with this un-blest,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.
This Phoebus promis'd, (I forget the year,)
When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere;
Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care,
Averted half your parent's simple pray'r.
And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf

145

150

155

160

165

170

175

180

185

190

EPISTLE III.

OF THE USE OF RICHES.

TO ALLEN LORD BATHURST.

That it

THE true use of riches known to few, most falling into one of the extremes, avarice, or profusion. Ver. 1, &c. The point discuss'd whether the invention of money was more commodious or pernicious to mankind, 21 to 28. Riches can scarce afford necessaries either to the avaritious or prodigal, much less any happiness, 81, &c. It is never for their own families, or for the poor, that misers covet wealth, but a direct phrensy without an end or purpose, 100. Conjectures, about the motives of avaritious men, to 152. can only be accounted for by the order of Providence, which works general good out of extremes, and brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions, 153 to 178. A picture of a miser acting upon principles which appear to him reasonable, 179. Another of a prodigal acting on the contrary principles which seem to him equally right, 199. The due medium and true use of riches, 219 to 248. The character and praises of the Man of Ross, 250. The fate of the covetous, and of the profuse, in two examples, 298 and 315. That both are miserable, in life and in death. The tale of Sir Balaam, the degrees of corruption by riches, and the consequences, 339, &c.

EPISTLE III.`

ΤΟ

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD BATHURST.

WHO shall decide, when doctors disagree,

And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me ?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus giv'n,
That man was made the standing jest of heav'n,
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For half to heap, and half to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And surely Heav'n and I are of a mind)
Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound,
Deep hid the shining mischief under ground:
But when, by man's audacious labour won,
Flam'd forth this rival to its sire the Sun,
Then, in plain prose, were made two sorts of men,
To squander some, and some to hide agen.

Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past,
We find our tenets just the same at last :
Both fairly owning, riches in effect
No grace of heav'n, or token of th' elect;
Giv'n to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil.
What Nature wants, commodious gold bestows,
'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows :
But how unequal it bestows, observe,
'Tis thus we riot, while who sow it, starve.

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