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 Pow'r; Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour, Soon will resume the empire which he gave, And soon the tyrant shall become the slave.

Blest is the maid and worthy to be blest
Whose soul entire by him she loves possest
Feels ev'ry vanity in fondness lost,

And asks no pow'r but that of pleasing most :
Her's is the bliss in just return to prove
The honest warmth of undissembled love;
For her inconstant man might cease to range,
And gratitude forbid desire to change.

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But lest harsh care the lover's peace destroy, 85 And roughly blight the tender buds of joy, Let reason teach what passion fain would hide, That Hymen's bands by Prudence should be ty'd. Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown If angry Fortune on their union frown; Soon will the flatt'ring dream of bliss he o'er, And cloy'd imagination cheat no more: Then waking to the sense of lasting pain With mutial tears the nuptial couch they stain, And that fond love which should afford relief Does but increase the anguish of their grief, While both could easier their own sorrows bear

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Than the sad knowledge of each other's care.

Yet may you rather feel that virtuous pain,
Than sell your violated charms for gain,
Than wed the wretch whom you despise or hate
For the vain glare of useless wealth or state.
The most abandon'd prostitutes are they
Who not to love but av'rice fall a prey:

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Nor aught avails the specious name of wife; 105 A maid so wedded is a whore for life.

Ev'n in the happiest choice, where fav'ring Heav'n Has equal love and easy fortune giv'n,

Think not the husband gain'd that all is done;
The prize of happiness must still be won;
And oft' the careless find it to their cost
The lover in the husband may be lost:
The Graces might alone his heart allure;
They and the Virtues meeting must secure.

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Let ev'n your prudence wear the pleasing dress Of care for him and anxious tenderness. From kind concern about his weal or wo Let each domestic duty seem to flow. The household sceptre if he bids you bear, Make it your pride his servant to appear: Endearing thus the common acts of life The mistress still shall charm him in the wife, And wrinkled age shall unobserv'd come on Before his eye perceives one beauty gone; Ev'n o'er your cold, your ever-sacred urn, His constant flame shall unextinguish'd burn. Thus I, Belinda! would your charms improve, And form your heart to all the arts of love:

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The task were harder to secure my own
Against the pow'r of those already known,
For well you twist the secret chains that bind
With gentle force the captivated mind,
Skill'd ev'ry soft attraction to employ,
Each flatt'ring hope and each alluring joy.
I your own genius, and from you receive.
The rules of pleasing which to you I give.. 136

VERSES

WRITTEN AT MR. POPE'S HOUSE AT TWICKENHAM, WHICH HE HAD LENT TO MRS.GREVILLE,

In August 1735.

I.

Go, Thames! and tell the busy Town

Not all its wealth or pride

Could tempt me from the charms that crown
Thy rural flow'ry side;

II.

Thy flow'ry side, where Pope has plac'd

The Muses' green retreat,

With ev'ry smile of Nature grac'd,

With ev'ry art complete.

III.

But now, sweet Bard! thy heav'nly song
Enchants us here no more,

Their darling glory lost too long
Thy once lov'd shades deplore.

IV.

Yet still for beauteous Greville's sake,
The Muses here remain;

Greville ! whose eyes have pow'r to make
A Pope of ev'ry swain.

YE

AN IRREGULAR ODE,

WRITTEN AT WICKHAM IN 1746.

To Miss Fortesque.

I.

E sylvan scenes with artless beauty gay,
Ye gentle shades of Wickham! say

What is the charm that each successive year
Which sees me with my Lucy here

Can thus to my transported heart

A sense of joy unfelt before impart ?

II.

Is it glad Summer's balmy breath that blows
From the fair jasmine and the blushing rose?
Her balmy breath and all her blooming store
Of rural bliss was here before;

Oft' have I met her on the verdant side

Of Norwood Hill, and in the yellow meads
Where Pan the dancing Graces leads,
Array'd in all her flow'ry pride;

No sweeter fragrance now the gardens yield,

No brighter colours paint th' enamell'd field.
III.

Is it to Love those new delights I owe?
Four times has the revolving sun

His annual circle thro' the zodiack run
Since all that Love's indulgent pow'r
On favour'd mortals can bestow

Was giv'n to me in this auspicious bow'r.

IV.

Here first my Lucy sweet in virgin charms
Was yielded to my longing arms;
And round our nuptial bed

Hov'ring with purple wings th' Idalian boy
Shook from his radiant torch the blissful fires
Of innocent desires,

While Venus scatter'd myrtles o'er her head.
Whence then this strange increase of joy?

He, only he, can tell who, match'd like me,
(If such another happy man there be)
Has by his own experience try'd

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How much the wife is dearer than the bride.

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