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Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd,
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, And, to complete 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.
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, soon 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, A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn; This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong, The willing heart, and only holds it long.
Thus Voiture's early care still shone the same, And Monthausier was only chang'd in name: By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elysian coast,
The brightest eyes of France inspir'd his Muse;
Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
Ver. 69. Thus Voiture's early care] Mademoiselle Paulet. P.
MRS. TERESA BLOUNT,
ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION.
As some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
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,
Coronation] Of King George the first, 1715.
Ver. 7. Zephalinda] The assumed name of Teresa Blount, under which she corresponded for many years with a Mr. More, under the feigned name of Alexis.
Up to her godly garret after sev❜n,
Before you pass th' imaginary sights
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50
VERSES TO MR. C.
ST. JAMES'S PLACE.
London, Oct. 22.
FEW words are best; I wish you well; BETHEL, I'm told, will soon be here; Some morning walks along the Mall, And evening friends, will end the
If, in this interval, between
The falling leaf and coming frost, You please to see, on Twit'nam green
Your friend, your poet, and your host;
For three whole days you here may rest From Office business, news and strife; And (what most folks would think a jest)
Want nothing else, except your wife.