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And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd; And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head repos'd. And ravish'd was that constant heart
She did to' ev'ry heart prefer ; For tho' it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,
• Yet, yet, (she cry'd,) I follow thee. My death, my death alone, can shew
* The pure, the lasting love I bore : • Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours,
. And let us, let us weep no more ! The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd; The maid drew tack her languid head,
And, sighing forth his name, expir'd. Tho' justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall we hear a tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true.
My fields were small, my flocks were few;
How chang’d by Fortune's fickle wind,
My Winifreda,-move thy fear;
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care.
With pompous titles grace our blood;
And to be noble, we'll be good.
No mighty treasures we possess,
And be content without excess. Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
And that's the only life to live.
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke,
How they admire such little folk. Thro' youth and age, in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures,
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung, To see them look their mother's features,
To hear 'em lisp their mother's tongue ! And when with envy time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys, You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.
'ADVICE TO A LADY. 1731. THE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear,
Hard is the fortune that your sex attends;
What is your sex's earliest, latest care,
Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence,
Of those who claim it more than half have none; And half of those who have it are undone.
Be still superior to your sex's arts, Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts: For you, the plainest is the wisest rule : A cunning woman is a knavish fool.
Be good yourself, nor think another's shame Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame. Prudes rail at whores, as statesmen in disgrace At ministers, because they wish their place : Virtue-is amiable, mild, serene; Without, all beauty; and all peace within : The honour of a prude is rage and storm, 'Tis ugliness in its most frightful form. Fiercely it stands, defying gods and men, As fiery monsters guard a giant's den,
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great: A woman's noblest station is retreat ; Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
To rougher man Ambition's task resign, 'Tis ours in senates or in courts to shine, To labour for a sunk corrupted state, Or dare the rage of Envy, and be great. One only care your gentle breasts should move, The' important business of your life is love; To this great point direct your constant aim, This makes your happiness, and this your fame.
Be never cool reserve with passion join'd; With caution chuse! but then be fondly kind, The selfish heart, that but by halves is given, Shall find no place in Love's delightful heaven; Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless : The virtue of a lover is excess.
A maid unask'd may own a well-plac'd flame; Not loving first, but loving wrong, is shame.
Contemn the little pride of giving pain, Nor think that conquest justifies disdain. Short is the period of insulting power :: Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour;