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From pole to pole the fatal arrow bears,
Whose rooted point his bleeding bofom tears,
With equal pain each diff'rent clime he tries,
And is himself that torment which he flies.

For how fhould ills, that from our paffions flow,
Be chang'd by Afric's heat, or Ruffia's fnow?
Or how can aught but pow'rful Reason cure,
What from unthinking Folly we endure?
Happy is He, and He alone, who knows
His heart's uneafy difcord to compose;
In gen❜rous love of others' good to find
The sweetest pleasures of the social mind;
To bound his wishes in their proper sphere;
To nourish pleasing hope, and conquer anxious fear."
This was the wisdom ancient Sages taught,
This was the fov'reign good they justly fought;
This to no place or climate is confin'd,

But the free native produce of the mind.

Nor think, my Lord, that Courts to you deny

The useful practice of Philosophy :

Horace, the wifeft of the tuneful choir,

Not always chose from Greatnefs to retire,

But in the palace of Auguftus knew

The fame unerring maxims to pursue,

Which in the Sabine or the Velian fhade
His study and his happiness he made.

May you, my friend, by his example taught,
View all the giddy scene with fober thought;
Undazzled every glittering folly fee,

And in the midst of flavish forms be free;
In its own center keep your steady mind;
Let Prudence guide you, but let Honour bind;
In fhow, in manners, act the Courtier's part,
But be a Country-gentleman at heart.

T

ADVICE to a LADY.

By the Same 1731.

HE counfels of a friend, Belinda, hear,

Too roughly kind to please a Lady's ear,
Unlike the flatt'ries of a lover's pen,

Such truths as women feldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I shew
What female Vanity might fear to know:

Some

Some merit's mine, to dare to be fincere,
But greater your's, fincerity to bear.

Hard is the fortune that your sex attends ;
Women, like Princes, find few real friends:
All who approach them their own ends pursue:
Lovers and minifters are feldom true.

Hence oft from Reafon heedlefs Beauty ftrays,
And the most trusted Guide the most betrays:
Hence by fond dreams of fancy'd pow'r amus'd,
When most you tyrannize you're most abus'd.
What is your fex's earliest, latest care,
Your heart's fupreme ambition? To be fair;
For this the toilet every thought employs,
Hence all the toils of drefs, and all the joys:
For this, hands, lips, and eyes are put to school,
And each inftructed feature has its rule;
And yet how few have learnt, when this is giv'n,
Not to difgrace the partial boon of heav'n?
How few with all their pride of form can move?
How few are lovely, that were made for love?
Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess

An elegance of mind as well as dress;

Be that your ornament, and know to please
By graceful Nature's unaffected ease,

Nor make to dangerous Wit a vain pretence, But wifely reft content with modeft Sense;

For Wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,

Too ftrong for feeble woman to sustain ;

Of those who claim it, more than half have none,
And half of those who have it, are undone.

Be ftill fuperior to your fex's arts,

Nor think Difhonefly a proof of Parts;
For you the plaineft is the wifeft rule,

A CUNNING WOMAN is a KNAVISH FOOL.

Be good yourself, nor think another's shame
Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame.
Prudes rail at whores, as statesmen in disgrace
At minifters, because they wish their place.
Virtue is amiable, mild, ferene,

Without, all beauty, and all peace within:
The honour of a prude is rage and storm,
'Tis ugliness in its most frightful form :
Fiercely it ftands defying gods and men,
As fiery monsters guard a giant's den.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great ;

A woman's nobleft station is Retreat;
Her fairest virtues fly from public fight,
Domestic worth, that fhuns too strong a light,

Το

To rougher man Ambition's task refign: 'Tis ours in Senates or in Courts to fhine,

To labour for a funk corrupted state,
Or dare the rage of envy, and be great.
One only care your gentle breasts should move,
Th' important business of your life is Love:
To this great point direct your conftant aim,
This makes your Happiness, and this

your

Fame.

Be never cool reserve with paffion join'd;
With caution chuse; but then be fondly kind.
The selfish heart, that but by halves is giv'n,
Shall find no place in Love's delightful heav'n;
Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless,
The virtue of a lover is excess.

A maid unask'd may own a well-plac'd flame,
Not loving first, but loving wrong is fhame.
Contemn the little pride of giving pain,
Nor think that conqueft juftifies difdain;
Short is the period of infulting Pow'r;
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour,
Soon will refume the empire which he gave,
And foon the Tyrant shall become the Slave.
Bleft is the maid, and worthy to be bleft,
Whofe foul, entire by him fhe loves poffefs'd,