Modern good-breeding carry to its height,
And Lady D's felf will be polite.

Ye rifing fair! ye bloom of Britain's ifle!
When high-born Anna, with a foften'd fmile,
Leads on your train, and fparkles at your head,
What feeins moft hard is not to be well-bred.
Her bright example with fuccefs purfue,
And all, but adoration, is your due.

But adoration give me fomething more, Cries Lyce, on the borders of threefcore; Nought treads fo filent as the foot of Time: Hence we mistake our autumn for our prime; 'Tis greatly wife to know, before we're told, The melancholy news that we grow old? Autumnal Lyce carries in her face Memento mori to each public place. O how your beating breast a miftrefs warms, Who looks thro' fpectacles to fee your charms! While rival undertakers hover round, And with his fpade the fexton marks the ground, Intent, not on her own, but others doom, She plans new conquefts, and defrauds the tomb. In vain the cock has fummon'd fprights away, She walks at noon, and blafts the bloom of day. Gay rainbow filks her mellow charms infold, And nought of Lyce but herself is old. Her grizzled locks affume a fmirking grace, And art has levell'd her deep-furrow'd face. Her ftrange demand no mortal can approve; We'll ask her blefling, but can't ask her love. She grants indeed a lady may decline (All ladies but herfelf) at ninety-nine.

O how unlike her was the facred age Of prudent Portia! her grey hairs engage, Whofe thoughts are fuited to her life's decline; Virtue's the paint that can make wrinkles fhine. That, and that only, can old age fuftain; Which yet all with, nor know they with for pain. Not numerous are our joys when life is new, And yearly fome are falling of the few; But when we conquer life's meridian stage, And downward tend into the vale of age, They drop apace; by nature fome decay, And fome the blafts of fortune fweep away; Till naked quite of happiness, aloud We call for Death, and fhelter in a fhroud.

Where's Portia now ?-but Portia left behind
Two lovely copies of her form and mind.
What heart untouch'd their early grief can view,
Like blushing rofe-buds dipt in morning dew?
Who into fhelter takes their tender bloom,
And forms their minds to fly from ills to come?
The mind, when turn'd adrift, no rules to guide,
Drives at the mercy of the wind and tide;
Fancy and paffion tofs it to and fro,

A while torment, and then quite fink in woe.
Ye beauteous orphans! fince in filent duft
Your beft example lies, my precepts truft.
Life fwarms with ills, the boldeft are afraid;
Where then is fafety for a tender maid?
Unfit for conflict, round befet with woes;
And man, whom icaft the fears, her worst of foes!
When kind, most cruel; when oblig'd the moft,
The leaft obliging; and by favours, loft!

Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate,
And fcorn you for thofe ills themselves create.
If on your fame our fex a blot has thrown,
'Twill ever stick, thro' malice of your own.
Moft hard! in pleafing your chief glory lies;
And yet from pleafing your chief dangers rife :
Then please the best: and know, for men of fenfe
Your strongest charms are native innocence.
Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face,
Fright him that's worth your love, from your
embrace.

In fimple manners all the fecret lies;
Be kind and virtuous, you'll be bleft and wife.
Vain fhew and noife intoxicate the brain,
Begin with giddinefs, and end in pain.
Affect not empty fame and idle praife,
Which all thofe wretches I defcribe betrays:
Your fex's glory 'tis to fhine unknown;
Of all applaufe be fondeft of your own.
Beware the fever of the mind! that thirst
With which this age is eminently curft.
To drink of pleasure but inflames defire,
And abftinence alone can quench the fire.
Take pain from life, and terror from the tomb,
Give peace in hand, and promife blifs to come.

'the town.

'Detected worth, like beauty difarray'd, To covert flies, of praife itfelf afraid;

Should the refufe to patronize your lays, In vengeance write a volume in her praife: 'Nor think it hard fo great a length to run; When fuch the theme, 'twill eafily be done.'

Ye fair! to draw your excellence ar length, Exceeds the narrow bounds of human ftrength; You here in miniature your pictures fee; Nor hope from Zinks more juftice than from me. My portraits grace your mind, as his your fide; His portraits will inflame, mine quench your pride;

He's dear, you frugal; chufe my cheaper lay,
And be your reformation all my pay.

Lavinia is polite, but not profane;
To church as conftant as to Drury-lane.

She

She decently in form pays Heav'n its duc;
And makes a civil vifit to her pew.
Her lifted fan, to give a folemn air,
Conceals her face, which pafes for a pray'r:
Court'fies to court'fies, then, with grace fucceed,
Not one the fair omits, but at the creed.
Or if the joins the fervice, 'tis to fpcak;
Thro' dreadful filence the peut heart might break;
Untaught to bear it, women talk away
To God himself, and fondly think they pray.
But fweet the accent, and their air refin'd;
For they're before their Maker-and mankind:
When ladies once are proud of praying well,
Satan himfelf will toll the parifh-bell.
Acquainted with the world,and quite well-bred,
Drufa receives her vifitants in bed;
But chaffe as ice, this Vefta to defy
The very blackeft tongue of calumny,
When from her theets her lovely form the lifts,
She begs you just would turn you while the fhifts.
Thofe charms are greatest which decline the
fight,

That makes the banquet poignant and polite.
There is no woman where there's no referve;
And 'tis on plenty your poor lovers starve.

But with the modern fair, meridian merit
Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of fpirit.
Mark well the rollings of her flaming eve,
And tread on tiptoe, if you dare draw nigh.
Or if you take a lion by the beard",

• Or dare defy the fell Hyrcarian pard,

Or arm'd rhinoceros, or rough Ruffian bear,' Firft make your will, and then converfe with her. This lady glories in profufe expence, And thinks diftraction is magnificence. To beggar her gallant is fome delight; To be more fatal ftill is exquifite. Had ever nymph fuch reafon to be glad? In duel fell two lovers; one run mad. Her foes their honeft execrations pour; Her lovers only fhould deteft her more. Thrice happy they! who think I boldly feign, And startle at a mistress of my brain.

Flavia's conftant to her old gallant, And gen'roufly fupports him in his want. But marriage is a fetter, is a fnare, A hell no lady fo polite can bear. She's faithful, fhe's obfervant, and with pains Her angel brood of baftards the maintains. Nor leaft advantage has the fair to plead, But that of guilt above the marriage-bed. Amafia hates a prude, and fcorus reftraint; Whate'er fhe is, fhe'll not appear a faint: Her foul fuperior, flies formality; So gay her air, her conduct is to free, Some might fufpect the nymph not over goodNor would they be mistaken if they thou'd.

Unmarry'd Abra puts on formal aus; Her cuthion's thread-bare with her conftant pray'rs.

Her only grief is, that the cannot be
At once engaged in pray'r and charity!

And this, to do her juftice, must be said,
Who would not think that Abra was a maid:
Some ladies are too beauteous to be wed;
For where's the man that's worthy of their bed
If no difeafe reduce her pride before,
Lavinia will be ravifh'd at threescore.
Then the fubmits to venture in the dark;
And nothing now is wanting-but her spark.
Lucia thinks happinefs confifts in ftate;
She weds an idiot, but the eats in plate.

The goods of fortune, which her foul poffefs,
Are but the ground of unmade happiness;
The rude material; wifdom add to this,
Wifden, the fole artificer of blifs.

She from herfelf, if fo compell'd by need,
Of thin content can draw the fubtle thread;
But (no detraction to her facred skill)
If the can work in gold, 'tis better ftill.

If Tullia had been bleft with half her sense,
None could too much admire her excellence.
But fince the can make error fhine fo bright,
She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.
With understanding the is quite o'er-run;
And by too great accomplishments undone.
With fkill the vibrates her eternal tongue,
For ever moft divinely in the wrong.

Naked in nothing should a woman be, But veil her very wit with modefty; Let man difcover, let not her difplay, But yield her charms of mind with fweet delay.

For pleafure form'd, perverfely fome believe, To make themselves important, men muft grieve. Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord, Pretends the fop fhe laughs at is ador❜d. In vain fhe's proud of fecret innocence; The fact the feigns were fcarce a worse offence. Mira, endow'd with ev'ry charm to blefs, Has no defign but on her husband's peace; He lov'd her much, and greatly was he mov'd At finall inquietudes in her he lov'd. [long;

How charming this?'-The pleasure lafted Now ev'ry day the fit comes thick and ftrong; At laft he found the charmer only feign'd, And was diverted when he should be pain'd. What greater vengeance have the Gods in store? How tedious life, now the can plague no more? She tries her thousand arts, but none fucceed: She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed: Thus ftrictly prov'd this virtuous loving wife, Her husband's pain was dearer than her life.

Anxious Melania rifes to my view, Who never thinks her lover pays his due; Vifit, prefent, treat, flatter, and adore; Her majefty to-morrow calls for more. His wounded ears complaints eternal fill, As unoil'd hinges querilously fhrill. "You went last night with Celia to the ball." You prove it falfe. "Not go! that's worft of all." Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame; And arrant contradictions are the fame. Her lover must be fad to please her spleen; His mirth is an inexpiable fin.

• At Lucia's match I from my foul rejoice,
• The world congratulates fo wife a choice;
His Lordthip's rent-roll is exceeding great-
But mortgages will fap the beft eftate.
In Shirley's form might cherubims appear;
But then he has a freckle on her ear.'
Without a but, Hortenfia fhe commends,
The first of women, and the best of friends;
Owns her in perfon, wit, fame, virtue bright;
But how comes this to pafs?the dy'd laft night.
Thus nymphs commend, who yet at Satire
rail:-

Indeed that's needlefs, if fuch praise prevail;
And whence fuch praife? our virulence is thrown
On others fame, thro' fondnefs for our own.

Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns; For are not coronets akin to crowns? Her greedy eye and her fublime address The height of avarice and pride confess. You feek perfections worthy of her rank; Go, feek for her perfections at the bank. By wealth unquench'd, by reafon uncontroll'd, For ever burns her facred thirft of gold. As fond of five-pence as the vericft cit, And quite as much detefted as a wit.

Can gold calm paffion, or make reafon fhine?
Can we dig peace or wifdom from the mine?
Wifdom to gold prefer, for 'tis much lefs
To make our fortune than our happiness.
That happiness which great ones often fee,
With rage and wonder, in a low degree,
Themfelves unbleft: the poor are only poor;
But what are they who droop amid their flore?
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of ftate;
The happy only are the truly great.
Peafants enjoy like appetites with kings,
And thofe beft fatisfy'd with cheapest things.
Could both our Indies buy but one new fenfe,
Our envy would be due to large expence.
Since not, thofe pomps which to the great belong
Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
See, how they beg an alms of Flattery!
They languifh! oh fupport them with a lie!
A decent competence we fully taste;
It strikes our fenfe, and gives a conftant feaft:
More, we perceive by dint of thought alone;
The rich muft labour to poffefs their own,
To feel their great abundance; and request
Their humble friends to help them to be bleft;
To fee their treafures, hear their glory told,
And aid the wretched impotence of gold.
But fome, great fouls! and touch'd with
warmth divine,

Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine.
All hoarded treafures they repute a load,
Nor think their wealth their own, till well be-
ftow'd.

Grand refervoirs of public happiness,
Through fecret streams diffufively they blefs;
And while their bounties glide conceal'd from
view,

Relieve our wants, and fpare our blufhes too.

But fatire is my task, and these destroy
Her gloomy province and malignant joy.
Help me, ye mifers! help me to complain,
And blaft our common enemy, Germain:
But our invectives muft defpair fuccefs,
For next to praife, the values nothing lefs.

What picture's yonder loofen'd froin its frame!
Or is't Aufturia? that affected dame.
The brighteft forms, thro' affectation, fade
To ftrange new things, which nature never made;
Frown not, ye fair! fo much your fex we prize,
We hate thofe arts that take you from our eyes.
In Albucinda's native grace is feen

What you, who labour at perfection, mean.
Short is the rule, and to be learnt with cafe,-
Retain your gentle felves, and you must please.
Here might I fing of Memmia's mincing mien,
And all the movements of the foft machine:
How two red lips affected zephyrs blow,
To cool the bohea, and inflame the beau;
While one white finger and a thumb confpire
To lift the cup, and make the world admire,

Tea! how I tremble at thy fatal stream!
As Lethe, dreadful to the love of fame.
What devaftations on thy banks are feen!
What shades of mighty names which once have
been!

A hecatomb of characters supplies
Thy painted altar's daily facrifice.
H—, P—, B—, afpers'd by thee, decay
As grains of finest fugars melt away,
And recommend thee more to mortal tafte:
Scandal's the fweet'ner of a female feaft.

But this inhuman triumph fhall decline,
And thy revolving Naiads call for wine;
Spirits no longer thall ferve under thee,
But reign in thy own cup, exploded tea!
Citronia's nofe declares thy ruin nigh;
And who dares give Citronia's nofe the lie *

The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd,
And what impair'd both health and virtue blam'd.
At length, to refcue man, the gen'rous lafs
Stole from her confort the pernicious glass:
As glorious as the British queen renown'd,
Who fuck'd the poifon from her husband's
wound.

Nor to the glafs alone are nymphs inclin'd, But ev'ry bolder vice of bold mankind.

O Juvenal! for thy feverer rage! To lafh the ranker follies of our age. Are there among the females of our isle Such faults, at which it is a fault to fmile? There are. Vice, once by modeft nature chain'd, And legal ties, expatiates unreftrain'd, Without thin decency held up to view, Naked fhe ftalks o'er law and gofpel too. Our Matrons lead fuch exemplary lives, Men figh in vain for none but for their wives; Who marry to be free, to range the more, And wed one man to wanton with a fcore. Abroad too kind, at home 'tis ftedfaft hate, And one eternal tempeft of debate.