Epiftle from the late Lord Viscount B-GB-KE to Mifs LUCY A-K-NS.
EAR thoughtless CLARA to my verse attend,
Believe for once thy lover and thy friend;
Heaven to each fex has various gifts affign'd,
And fhewn an equal care of human-kind;
Strength does to man's imperial race belong,
To yours that beauty which fubdues the strong;
But as our strength, when misapply'd, is lost,
And what should fave, urges our ruin most;
Juft fo, when beauty prostituted lies,
Of bawds the prey, of rakes th' abandon'd prize,
Women no more their empire can maintain,
Nor hope, vile flaves of luft, by love to reign.
Superior charms but make their cafe the worse,
And what should be their bleffing, proves their curfe.
O nymph! that might, reclin'd on Cupid's breast,
Like Pfyche, footh the God of love to rest;
Or, if ambition mov'd thee, Jove enthral,
Brandifh his thunder, and direct its fall;
Survey thyself, contemplate every grace
Of that sweet form, of that angelic face,
Then CLARA fay, were those delicious charms
Meant for lewd brothels, and rude ruffians arms?
NO CLARA, no! that perfon, and that mind,
Were form'd by nature, and by heaven defign'd
For nobler ends; to thefe return, though late,
Return to these, and fo avert thy fate.
Think CLARA, think, (nor will that thought be vain)
Thy flave, thy HARRY, doom'd to drag his chain
Of love, ill-treated and abus'd, that he
From more inglorious chains might rescue thee.
Thy drooping health reftor'd; by his fond care,
Once more thy beauty its full luftre wear;
Mov'd by his love, by his example taught,
Soon fhall thy foul, once more with virtue fraught,
With kind and gen'rous truth thy bofom warm,
And thy fair mind, like thy fair perfon, charm.
To virtue thus, and to thyfelf restor'd,
By all admir'd, by one alone ador'd,
Be to thy HARRY ever kind and true,
And live for him, who more than dies for you.
OOK round the wide world each profeffion, you'll find,
Hath something dishonest, which myft'ry they call; Each knave points another, at home is stark blind,
Except but his own, there's a cheat in them all: When tax'd with impofture, the charge he'll evade, And like Falstaff pretend he but lives by his trade.
The hero ambitious (like Philip's great fon,
Who wept when he found no more mischief to do) Ne'er fcruples a neighbouring realm to o'er-run, While flaughters and carnage his fabre imbrue. Of rapine and murder the charge he'll evade, For conquest is glorious, and fighting his trade.
The statesman, who fteers by wife Machiavel's rules, Is ne'er to be known by his tongue or his face; They're traps by him us'd to catch credulous fools,
And breach of his promise he counts no difgrace;
But policy calls it, reproach to evade,
For flatt'ry's his province, cajoling his trade.
The priest will inftruct you this world to defpife,
With all its vain pomp, for a kingdom on high;
While earthly preferments are chiefly his prize,
And all his pursuits give his doctrine the lye;
He'll plead you the gospel, your charge to evade :
The lab'rer's entitled to live by his trade.
The lawyer, as oft on the wrong fide as right,
Who tortures for fee the true fenfe of the laws,
While black he by fophiftry proves to be white,
And falfhood and perjury lifts in his caufe;
With steady affurance all crime will evade :
His client's his care, and he follows his trade.
The fons of Machaon, who thirsty for gold
The patient paft cure vifit thrice in a day,
Write largely the Pharmacop league to uphold,
While poverty's left to diseases a prey;
Are held in repute for their glitt'ring parade:
Their practice is great, and they shine in their trade.
Since then in all stations imposture is found,
No one of another can juftly complain;
The coin he receives will pass current around,
And where he is cousen'd he cousens again :
But I, who for cheats this apology made,
Cheat myself by my rhyming, and starve by my trade.
S Chloe ply'd her needle's art,
A purple drop the spear
Made from her heedless finger start,
And from her eyes a tear.
Ah! might but Chloe by her smart
Be taught for mine to feel;
Mine caus'd by Cupid's piercing dart,
More fharp than pointed steel!
Then I her needle would adore,
Love's arrow it should be,
Indu'd with such a subtle pow'r
To reach her heart for me.
|