The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray'rs," Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, 50 The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate, And, to compleat her bliss, 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 Duchess at her heart. 56 But, Madam, if the fates withftand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Truft not too much your now refiftless charms, Thofe, Age or Sicknefs, foon or late difarms: 60 Good humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day; 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. 65 70 Thus Voiture's early care ftill fhone the fame, And Monthaufier was only chang'd in name: By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit ftill sparkling, and their flames ftill warm. Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft, Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghoft: * Mademoiselle Paulet. Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, The brightest eyes of France infpir'd his Muse; And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride 76 EPISTLE To the fame, On her leaving the Town after the CORONATION. S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care Α try air; Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye, Coronation] Of King George the firft, 1715. 5 Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent, 9 15 She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went. 20 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 toaft in fack; Who vifits with a Gun, prefents you birds, 25 Then gives a fmacking buss, and cries,---No words! Or with his hound comes hallowing from the ftable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jefts are coarse, And loves you beft of all things---but his horfe. 30 In fome fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid, You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade; Before you pafs th' imaginary fights 35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights, While the spread fan o'ershades your clofing eyes; And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! 40 Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50 THE BASSET-TABLE. AN ECLOGUE. CARDELIA. SMILINDA. CARDELIA. HE Baffet-Table spread, the Tallier come; Rife, penfive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you: SMILINDA. Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue, I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu. The Baffet-Table.] Only this of all the Town Eclogues was Mr. Pope's; and is here printed from a copy corrected by his own hand. The humour of it lies in this, that the one is in love with the Game, and the other with the Sharper. 2 |