They little guefs, who at our arts are griev'd,
The perfect joy of being well deceiv'd ;
Inquifitive as jealous cuckolds grow;
Rather than not be knowing, they will know
What, being known, creates their certain woe.
Women fhould thefe, of all mankind, avoid,
For wonder, by clear knowledge, is destroy'd.
Woman, who is an arrant bird of night,
Bold in the dusk, before a fool's dull fight
Muft fly, when Reafon brings the glaring light.
But the kind easy fool, apt to admire
Himself, trufts us; his follies all confpire
To flatter his, and favour our defire :
Vain of his proper merit, he with ease
Believes we love him beft, who beft can please;
On him our gross, dull, common flatteries pass,
Ever most happy when most made an ass ;
Heavy to apprehend, though all mankind
Perceive us falfe, the fop himself is blind;
Who, doating on himself------
Thinks every one that fees him of his mind.
Thefe are true womens men---
----Here, forc'd to cease
Through want of breath, not will, to hold her peace,
She to the window runs, where she had spy'd
Her much-esteem'd dear friend, the monkey, ty'd;
With forty fmiles, as many antic bows,
As if 't had been the lady of the house,
The dirty chattering monfter fhe embrac'd,
And made it this fine tender speech at laft :
Kifs me, thou curious miniature of man;
How odd thou art, how pretty, how japan!
Oh! I could live and die with thee: then on,
For half an hour, in compliments she ran :
I took this time to think what Nature meant,
When this mixt thing into the world the fent,
So very wife, yet fo impertinent :
One that knows every thing that God thought fit,
Should be an afs through choice, not want of wit;
Whose foppery, without the help of sense,
Could ne'er have rofe to fuch an excellence :
Nature's as lame in making a true fop
As a philofopher; the very top
And dignity of folly we attain
By ftudious fearch and labour of the brain,
By obfervation, counfel, and deep thought :
God never made a coxcomb worth a groat;
We owe that name to industry and arts :
An eminent fool must be a fool of parts,
And fuch a one was fhe, who had turn'd o'er
As many books as men, lov'd much, read more,
Had a difcerning wit; to her was known
Every one's fault, or merit, but her own.
All the good qualities that ever blest ·
A woman fo distinguish'd from the rest,
Except difcretion only, the poffeft.
But now, mon cher, dear Pug, fhe cries, adieu;
And the difcourfe broke off does thus renew:
You smile to fee me, who the world perchance
Mistakes to have fome wit, fo far advance
She fainting spoke, and trembling lay,
For fear he should comply ;
Her lovely eyes her heart betray,
And give her tongue the lye.
Thus fhe, who princes had deny'd,
With all their pomp and train,
Was in the lucky minute try'd,
And yielded to a fwain.
GIVE me leave to rail at you,
I afk nothing but my due;
To call you falfe, and then to say
You shall not keep my heart a day :
But, alas! against my will,
I must be your captive still.
Ah! be kinder then; for I
Cannot change, and would not die.
Kindness has refiftlefs charms,
All befides but weakly move,
Fierceft anger it difarms,
And clips the wings of flying love.
Beauty does the heart invade,
Kindnefs only can perfuade;
It gilds the lover's fervile chain,
And makes the flaves grow pleas'd again.
NOTHING adds to your fond fire
More than fcorn, and cold disdain :
I, to cherish your defire,
Kindness us'd, but 't was in vain.
You that could my heart fubdue,
To new conquefts ne'er pretend :
Let th' example make me true,
And of a conquer'd foe a friend.,
Then, if e'er I fhould complain
Of your empire, or my chain,
Summon all the powerful charms,
And kill the rebel in your arms.
Cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor fwain that fighs for you,
For you alone was born,
No, Phillis, no, your heart to move
A furer I'll try ;
And, to revenge my flighted love,
Will still love on, will still love on, and die.
When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies,
And you to mind fhall call
The fighs that now unpity'd rise,
The tears that vainly fall :
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