New graces yearly like thy works difplay,
Soft without weaknefs, without glaring gay;
Led by fome rule, that guides, but not conftrains;
And finish'd more thro' happiness than pains.
The kindred Arts fhall in their praise confpire,
One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre.
Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place,
And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face;
Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie,
And these be fung 'till Granvill's Myra dye:
Alas! how little from the grave we claim !
Thou but prefer 'ft a Face, and I a Name.
With the WORKS of VOITURE.
N thefe gay thoughts the Loves and Graces fine,
And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line;
His eafy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
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 fhare,
His time, the Mufe, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft,
As fmiling Infants fport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
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 ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious Comedy;
In ev'ry scene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Though not too ftrictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to thofe, and none can live to these.
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, ftubborn but for fame;
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by fhame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you wifh for change by those accurft,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.
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,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife ;
Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please:
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Ease.
The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray'rs, Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, 50 The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to compleat her blifs, 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 Dutchess at her heart.
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 Sickness, foon or late difarms:
Good humour only teaches charms to last,
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 ftrong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.
Thus * Voiture's early care, ftill fhone the fame, And Monthaufier was only chang'd in name: 70 By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit ftill fparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft, Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:
Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view,
And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you.
The brighteft eyes of France infpir'd his Muse;
The brighteft eyes of Britain now perufe ;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world befide.
On her leaving the Town after the CORONATION.
S fome fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the Town to wholesome Country
Juft when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she mutt fever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew;
Coronation] Of King George the first, 17151
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