And fince their lips, fo knowing to deceive,
Thý unexperienc'd youth might foon believe,
And fince their tears in falfe fubmiffion drest
Might thaw the icy coldness of thy breast,
O! fhut thine eyes to fuch deceitful woe;
Caught by the beauty of thy outward fhow,
Like me they do not love, whate'er they seem,
Like me
with paffion founded on esteem.
Answer to the foregoing Lines.
OO well thefe lines that fatal truth declare,
Which long I've known, yet now I blush to hear.
But fay, what hopes thy fond ill-fated love,
What can it hope, tho' mutual it shou'd prove?
This little form is fair in vain for you,
In vain for me thy honest heart is true;
For wou'd'ft thou fix difhonour on my name,
And give me up to penitence and shame;
Or gild my ruin with the name of wife,
And make me a poor virtuous wretch for life:
Cou'd'st thou submit to wear the marriage chain,
(Too fure a cure for all thy prefent pain)
No faffron robe for us the godhead wears,
His torch inverted, and his face in tears.
Tho' ev'ry fofter wish were amply crown'd,
Love foon wou'd ceafe to fmile where Fortune frown'd ;
Then wou'd thy foul my fond consent deplore,
And blame what it follicited before;
Thy own exhaufted would reproach my truth,
And fay I had undone thy blinded youth ;
That I had damp'd Ambition's nobler flame,
Eclips'd thy talents, and obfcur'd thy fame;
To madrigals and odes that wit confin'd,
That wou'd in fenates or in courts have shin'd.
Gloriously active in thy country's cause,
Afferting freedom, and enacting laws.
Or fay, at beft, that negatively kind
You only mourn'd, and filently repin'd;
The jealous dæmons in my own fond breast
Wou'd all these thoughts inceffantly fuggeft,
And all that fenfe muft feel, tho' pity had fuppreft.
Yet added grief my apprehenfion fills
(If there can be addition to those ills)
When they shall cry, whofe harsh reproof I dread,
"'Twas thy own deed, thy folly on thy head!"
Age knows not to allow for thoughtless youth,
Nor pities tenderness, nor honours truth;
Holds it romantic to confefs a heart,
And say those virgins act a wifer a wifer part
Who hofpitals and bedlams wou'd explore
To find the rich, and only dread the poor;
Who legal proftitútes, for int'reft fake,
Clodios and Timons to their bosoms take,
And, if avenging heav'n permit increase,
People the world with folly and disease.
Thofe, titles, deeds, and rent-rolls only wed,
Whilft the best bidder mounts the venal bed,
And the grave aunt and formal fire approve
This nuptial fale, this auction of their love.
But if regard to worth or fenfe be shown,
That poor degenerate child her friends difown,
Who dares to deviate by a virtuous choice
From her great name's hereditary vice.
These scenes my prudence ufhers to my mind,
Of all the ftorms and quickfands I muft find,
If I embark upon this fummer sea,
Where Flatt'ry smooths, and Pleasure gilds the way.
Had our ill fate ne'er blown thy dangʼrous flame
Beyond the limits of a friend's cold name,
I might upon that score thy heart receive,
And with that guiltless name my own deceive;
That commerce now in vain you recommend,
I dread the latent lover in the friend ;
Of ignorance I want the poor excufe,
And know, I both must take, or both refuse.
Hear then the fafe, the firm refolve I make,
Ne'er to encourage one Į must forfake,
Whilft other maids a fhameless path pursue,
Neither to int'reft, nor to honour true,
And proud to fwell the triumph of their eyes,
Exult in love from lovers they despise;
Their maxims all revers'd I mean to prove,
And tho' I like the lover, quit the love.
IN CE language never can describe my pain,
How can I hope to move when I complain?
But fuch is woman's frenzy in distress,
We love to plead, tho' hopeless of redress.
Perhaps, affecting ignorance, thou'lt fay,
From whence thefe lines? whofe meffage to convey?
Mock not my grief with that feign'd cold demand,
Too well you know the hapless writer's hand :
But if you force me to avow my fhame,
Behold it prefac'd with Monimia's name.
Loft to the world, abandon'd and forlorn,
Expos'd to infamy, reproach, and fcorn,
To mirth and comfort loft, and all for you,
Yet loft, perhaps, to your remembrance too,
How hard my lot! what refuge can I try,
Weary of life, and yet afraid to die!
Of hope, the wretch's laft refort, bereft,
By friends, by kindred, by my lover, left.
Oh! frail dependence of confiding fools!
On lovers oaths, or friendship's facred rules,
How weak in modern heats, too late I find,
Monimia's faln, and Philocles unkind!
To these reflections, each flow wearing day,
And each revolving night a constant prey,
Think what I suffer, nor ungentle hear
What madness dictates in my fond defpair;
Grudge not this short relief, (too fast it flies)
Nor chide that weaknefs I myself despise.
One moment fure may be at least her due,
Who facrific'd her all of life for you.
Without a frown this farewel then receive,
For, 'tis the laft my hapless love shall give ;
Nor this I wou'd, if reafon cou'd command,
But what reftriction reins a lover's hand?
Nor prudence, fhame, nor pride, nor int'reft fways,
The hand implicitly the heart obeys :
Too well this maxim has my conduct shewn,
Too well that conduct to the world is known.
Oft have I writ, and often to the flame
Condemn'd this after-witnefs of my fhame;
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