20

The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and serious Comedy;
In ev'ry scene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine an innocent gay farce appear,
25

And more diverting still than regular,
Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace,
Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to thofe, and none can live to these.

30

Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd, Severe to all, but moft to Womankind;

Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your

guide;

Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By Nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame; 35
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by shame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase,
But fets up one, a greater in their place:

Well might you wish for change by those accurft,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.

40

Still in constraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please:
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Eafe.

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray'rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate, 51
And, to compleat her blifs, 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 fighs, and is no Duchefs at her heart. 56

you

But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Truft not too much your now refiftlefs charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late, difarms: 60 Good-humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the paft; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day;

45

65

As flow'ry bands in wantonnefs are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn ;
This binds in ties more eafy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.

Thus *Voiture's early care ftill fhone the fame, And Monthaufier 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

warm.

Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft, Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost: Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you. 76 The brightest eyes of France infpir'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 befide.

*Mademoiselle Paulet. P.

EPISTLE

To the fame,

On her leaving the Town after the
CORONATION.

A

care

Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew;
1 Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went,
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking
rooks:

She went from Op'ra, Park, Affembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and pray'rs three hours a day;

S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's

NOTES.

Coronation.] Of King George the first, 1715. P.

To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, 15

To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea,

Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,

Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the fquire; 20
Up to her godly garret after fev'n,
There ftarve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.

Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whofe game is Whisk, whofe treat a toast in sack; Who vifits with a Gun, presents you birds, 25 Then gives a fmacking bufs, and cries,--No words! Or with his hound comes hallowing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whofe laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you beft of all things-but his horse. 30

In fome fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid, You dream of Triumphs in the rural fhade; In penfive thought recall the fancy'd fcene, See Coronations rife on ev'ry green; Before you pass th' imaginary fights Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd

35

Knights,