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Nor Winds, when firft your florid Orchard blows, Shake the light Bloffoms from their blafted Boughs!

This when the various God had urg'd in vain,
He ftrait affum'd his Native Form again;
Such, and fo bright an Aspect now he bears,
As when thro' Clouds th' emerging Sun appears,
And thence exerting his refulgent Ray,
Difpels the Darkness and reveals the Day.
Force he prepar'd, but check'd the rash Design;
For when, appearing in a Form Divine,

The Nymph furvey'd him, and beheld the Grace
Of charming Features and a youthful Face,
A fudden Paffion in her Breast did move,
And the warm Maid confefs'd a mutual Love.

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IN

And all the Writer lives in ev'ry Line;
sin ev'ry L

His eafie Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are Elegant in him.

[Thine,

Sure to charm all was his peculiar Fate,
Who without Flatt'ry pleas'd the Fair and Great;
Still with Efteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With Wit well-natur'd,and with Books well-bred;

His Heart, his Mistress and his Friend did share;
His Time, the Muse, the Witty, and the Fair,
Thus wifely carelefs, innocently gay,

Chearful, he play'd the Trifle, Life, away,
"Till Death scarce felt did o'er his Pleasures creep,
As smiling Infants sport themselves to Sleep:
Ev'n Rival Wits did Voiture's Fate deplore,
And the Gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The trueft Hearts for Voiture heav'd with Sighs;
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 breath.

Let the ftri&t 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

Let mine, like Voiture's, a gay Farce appear, And more Diverting ftill than Regular,

Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace;

No matter for the Rules of Time and Place. Criticks in Wit, or Life, are hard to please, Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe.

Too much your Sex is by their Forms confin❜d, Severe to all, but most to Womankind; [Guide; Cuftom, grown blind with Age, must be your Your Pleafure is a Vice, but not your Pride,...) By nature yielding, ftubborn but for Fame, Made Slaves by Honour,and made Fools by Shame, Marriage may all thofe petty Tyrants chace, But fets up One, a greater, in their Place; Well might you with for Change, by thofe accurst, 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 fome 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 Shows, or empty Titles please;
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Eafe,

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her Pray'rs, Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, The fhining 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

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