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E P I S T L E

To Miss BLOUNT.

With the WORKS of VOITURE.

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N these gay thouglats the Loves and Grace

And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line ;
His easy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,

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Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great ;
Still with esteem no less convers’d than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred :
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did share,
His tiine, the Muse, the witty, and the fair.
Thus wisely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supprest,
As smiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev’n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn’d before ;
The truest hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was went 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 strict 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.

Lot

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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 those and none can live to these. 30

Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd,
Severe to all, but most to Womankind;
Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide;
Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; 35
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by shame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase,
But sets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your suff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,

45 For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife; Nor let false Shews, or empty Titles please : Aim not at Joy, but rest content with Ease.

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, 51 And, to compleat her bliss, a Fool for Mate. She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring, A vain, unquiet, glittring, wretched Thing ! Pride, Pomip, and State but reach her outward part; She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart.

But,

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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, foon or late difarms: 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 : 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’Elysian coast, Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost : Pleas'd, while with smiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you. The brightest eyes of France inspir'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 beside.

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* Mademoiselle Paulet. P.

E PIST LE

To the fame,

On her leaving the Town after the CORO

NATION.

S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the Town to wholesome Coun-

try air,

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Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh ;
From the dear man unwilling the must fever, 5
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda few,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew;
Not that their pleafures 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, Assembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and pray’rs three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, 15
To muse, and spill her solitary 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 stories to the squire;

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Coronation.] Of King George the first, 1715.

P.

Up

Up to her godly garret after sev’n,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.

Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack;
Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, 25
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries, -No words !
Or with his hound comes hallowing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse,
And loves you best of all things--but his horse. 30
In some fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rise on ev'ry green ;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights

35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter d

Knights, While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes ; Then give one flirt and all the vision fies. Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls, And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls ! 40

So when your Slave, at fome dear idle time, (Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme) Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew, And while he seems to study, thinks of you; Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45 Or fees the blush of soft Parthenia rise, Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my sight; Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow, Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50

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