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The Gods, to curse 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 bliss, 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 Duchess at her heart.

But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are deftio'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late difarms: 60 Good humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the paft; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear įts slender chain a day; As flow'ry bands in wantonness are worn, A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn; This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong, The willing heart, and only holds it long.

Thus * Voiture's early care fill fhone the same, And Monthausier was only chang'd in name : 70 By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit ftill sparkling, and their flames still warm.

Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elysian coaft, Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:


* Mademoiselle Paulet.


Pleas'd, while with smiles his happy lines you view,
And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you.

The brightest eyes of France inspir'd his Muse;
The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world beside.


To the same,

On her leaving the Town after the


S some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the Town to wholesome Coun:

try air;

Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling the must sever,
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, 1715.


Not that their pleasures caus d her discontent,

9 She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went.

She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks: She went from Op'ra, Park, Assembly, Play, To morning walks, and pray’rs three hours a day; To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,

15 To muse, and spill her folitary tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, Hum half a tune, tele stories to the squire ; Up to her godly garret after sev'n, There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n. Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;

is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, 25 Then gives a smacking buss, and cries ---No words! Or with his hound comes hallowing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And loves you best of all things---but his hoise. 30

In some fair ev’ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade ;
In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rise on ev'ry green ;
Before you pafs th' imaginary fights

35 Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and gartei 'd


Whose gan



While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave in lone woods, or empty walls ! 40

So when your Slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head-achs,or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you ;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my fight;
Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50







HE Basset-Table spread, the Tallier come;

Why stays SMILINDA in the Dressing. Room? Rise, pensive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you : ?

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Ah, Madam, since my SHarper is untrue,
I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu.

The Bafet-Table.] Only this of all the Town Eclogues was Mr. Pope's; and is here printed from a copy corrected by his own hand. - The humour of it lies in this, that the one is in love with the Game, and the other with the Sbarper,


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