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Muse! at that Name thy facred forrows shed, Those tears eternal, that embalm the dead : Call round her Tomb each object of desire, Each purer frame inform’d with purer fire : Bid her be all that chears or softens life,

The tender fifter, daughter, friend and wife : . Bid her be all that makes mankind adore; Then view this Marble, and be vain no more!

Yet still her charms in breathing paint engagé ; Her modeft cheek shall warm a future age.

56 Beauty, frail flow'r that ev'ry season fears, Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years. Thus Churchill's race shall other hearts surprize, And other Beauties envy Worsley's eyes;

60 Each pleasing Blount shall endless smiles bestow, And soft Belinda's blush for ever glow.

Oh lafting as those Colours may they shine, Free as thy stroke, yet faultless as thy line ; New graces yearly like thy works display,

65 Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by some rule, that guides, but not constrains ; And finish'd more thro? happiness than pains. The kindred Arts shall in their praise conspire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. 70 Yet should the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face; Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their soul ;; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, 75 And these be sung 'till Granville's Myra die : Alas ! how little from the grave we claim! Thou but preserv'lt a Face, and I a Name.

EPISTLE

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EP I S T L E

To Miss BLOUNT.

With the WORKS of VOITURE.

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I

N these gay thoughts the Loves ard Grace
His easy Art may happy Nature seem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,

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Who without fatt'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 Ihare,
His time, the Mufe, 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 suppreft,
As smiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The truelt hearts for Voiture heav'd with sighs,
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 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.

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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 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 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 jeyels, 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, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart. 56

But,

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:

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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,

65 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 ftill 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 perufe ; 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 P I S T L E

To the fame,

On her leaving the Town after the Coro

NATION,

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

trý 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, 5
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caus’d her discontent,
She sigh'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.

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