Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

DANCINDA . " NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain " To calm my care and mitigate my pain ; " If all my sighs, my cares , can fail to move, " Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love." Thus STREPHON spoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd : What must I do to gratify your pride ? Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art) How much you triumph in this tender heart ; What proof of love remains for me to grant ? Yet still you teize me with some new complaint. Oh ! would to heav'n ! — but the fond wish is vain — Too many favours had not made it plain ! But such a passion breaks thro' all disguise, Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes. Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind !) I own the secret conflict of my mind ? You cannot know what secret pain I prove, When I with burning blushes own I love. You see my artless joy at your approach, I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch ; And in your absence all the world I shun ; I hate mankind, and curse the cheering sun. Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue ; Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you. I shew you all my heart without disguise : But these are tender proofs that you despise — I see too well what wishes you pursue ; You wou'd not only conquer, but undo : You, cruel victor, weary of your flame, Would seek a cure in my eternal shame ; And not content my honour to subdue, Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too. Oh ! LOVE, a God indeed to womankind, Whose arrows burn me and whose fetters bind, Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame, And blast these traytors that profane thy name, Who by pretending to thy sacred fire, Raise cursed trophies to impure desire. Have you forgot with what ensnaring art You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart ? Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry, Turn, cruel beauty ; whither wou'd you fly ? Why all these Doubts ? why this distrustful fear ? No impious wishes shall offend your ear : Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend Above the title of a tender friend ; Blest, if my lovely Goddess will permit My humble vow, thus sighing at her feet. The tyrant Love that in my Bosom reigns, The God himself submits to wear your chains ; You shall direct his course, his ardour tame, And check the fury of his wildest flame. Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd ; Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd : Now quite forgot that soft submissive fear : You dare to ask what I must blush to hear. Cou'd I forget the honour of my race, And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace ; Cou'd passion o'er my tender youth prevail, And all my mother's pious maxims fail ; Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be, False as it is, for ever dear to me) This fatal proof of love I wou'd not give, Which you contemn the moment you receive. The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys A man may pity, but he must despise. Your ardour ceas'd, I then shou'd see you shun The wretched victim by your arts undone. Yet if I cou'd that cold indifference bear, What more wou'd strike me with the last despair, With this reflection wou'd my soul be torn, To know I merited your cruel scorn. Has Love no pleasures free from guilt or fear ? Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere ? Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze, Love is a child, and like a child it plays. O STREPHON, if you wou'd continue just, If Love be something more than brutal lust, Forbear to ask what I must still deny, This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy, So closely follow'd by the dismal train Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain. She paus'd ; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan ; He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began ; Madam, if Love — but he cou'd say no more, For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door. The dangerous moments no adieus afford ; Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my Lord. The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves, To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves : The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares, While STREPHON cursing, slips down the back-stairs.

SILLIANDER and PATCH. THOU so many favours hast receiv'd, Wondrous to tell, and hard to be believ'd, Oh ! H—— D, to my lays attention lend, Hear how two lovers boastingly contend ; Like thee successful, such their bloomy youth, Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth. St. JAMES's bell had toll'd some wretches in, (As tatter'd riding-hoods alone could sin) The happier sinners now their charms put out , And to their manteaus their complexions suit : The opera queens had finish'd half their faces, And city-dames allready taken places ; Fops of all kinds to see the Lion, run ; The beauties stay till the first act's begun, And beaux step home to put fresh linen on. No well-dress'd youth in coffee-house remain'd, But pensive PATCH, who on the window lean'd ; And SILLIANDER, that alert and gay, First pick'd his teeth, and then began to say. SILLIANDER. Why all these sighs ? ah ! why so pensive grown ? Some cause there is that thus you sit alone. Does hapless passion all this sorrow move ? Or dost thou envy where the ladies love ? PATCH. If, whom they love, my envy must pursue, 'Tis sure, at least, I never envy You. SILLIANDER. No, I'm unhappy, You are in the right, 'Tis You they favour, and 'tis Me they slight. Yet I could tell, but that I hate to boast, A club of ladies where 'tis Me they toast. PATCH. Toasting does seldom any favour prove ; Like us, they never toast the thing they love. A certain Duke one night my health begun ; With chearful pledges round the room it run, Till the young SILVIA press'd to drink it too, Started, and vow'd she knew not what to do : What, drink a fellow's health ! she dy'd with shame : Yet blush'd whenever she pronounc'd my name. SILLIANDER. Ill fates pursue me, may I never find The dice propitious, or the ladies kind, If fair Miss FLIPPY's fan I did not tear, And one from me she condescends to wear. PATCH. Women are always ready to receive ; 'Tis then a favour when the sex will give. A lady (but she is too great to name) Beauteous in person, spotless is her fame, With gentle strugglings let me force this ring ; Another day may give another thing. SILLIANDER. I cou'd say something — see this billet-doux — And as for presents — look upon my shoe — These buckles were not forc'd, nor half a theft, But a young Countess fondly made the gift. PATCH. My Countess is more nice, more artful too, Affects to fly that I may fierce pursue : This snuff-box which I begg'd, she still deny'd, And when I strove to snatch it, seem'd to hide ; She laugh'd and fled, and as I sought to seize, With affectation cramm'd it down her stays : Yet hop'd she did not place it there unseen, I press'd her breasts, and pull'd it from between. SILLIANDER. Last night, as I stood ogling of her Grace, Drinking delicious poison from her face, The soft enchantress did that face decline, Nor ever rais'd her eyes to meet with mine ; With sudden art some secret did pretend, Lean'd cross two chairs to whisper to a friend, While the stiff whalebone with the motion rose, And thousand beauties to my sight expose. PATCH. Early this morn — (but I was ask'd to come) I drank bohea in CÆLIA's dressing-room : Warm from her bed, to me alone within, Her night-gown fasten'd with a single pin ; Her night-cloaths tumbled with resistless grace, And her bright hair play'd careless round her face ; Reaching the kettle, made her gown unpin, She wore no waistcoat, and her shift was thin. SILLIANDER. See TITIANA driving to the park, Hark ! let us follow, 'tis not yet too dark ; In her all beauties of the spring are seen, Her cheeks are rosy, and her mantle green. PATCH. See, TINTORETTA to the opera goes ! Haste, or the crowd will not permit our bows ; In her the glory of the heav'ns we view, Her eyes are star-like, and her mantle blue. SILLIANDER. What colour does in CÆLIA's stockings shine ? Reveal that secret, and the prize is thine. PATCH. What are her garters ! tell me if you can ; I'll freely own thee for the happier man. Thus PATCH continued his heroic strain, While SILLIANDER but contends in vain. After a conquest so important gain'd, Unrival'd PATCH in ev'ry ruelle reign'd.

CARDELIA. THE bassette-table spread, the tallier come, Why stays SMILINDA in the dressing-room ? Rise, pensive nymph ! the tallier stays for you. SMILINDA. Ah ! Madam, since my SHARPER is untrue, I joyless make my once ador'd alpieu. I saw him stand behind OMBRELIA's Chair, And whisper with that soft deluding air, And those feign'd sighs that cheat the list'ng fair — CARDELIA. Is this the cause of your romantic strains ? A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains. As you by love, so I by fortune cross'd, In one bad deal three Septleva's I lost. SMILINDA. Is that a grief which you compare with mine ? With ease the smiles of fortune I resign. Wou'd all my gold in one bad deal were gone, Were lovely SHARPFR mine, and mine alone. CARDELIA. A lover lost, is but a common care, And prudent nymphs against the change prepare. The queen of Clubs thrice lost ! Oh ! who cou'd guess This fatal stroke this unforeseen distress ! SMILINDA. See ! BETTY LOVEIT very à propos ! She all the pains of love and play does know, Deeply experienc'd many years ago. Dear BETTY shall th' important point decide, BETTY, who oft the pains of each has try'd : Impartial, she shall say who suffers most, By cards, ill-usage, or by lovers lost. LOVEIT. Tell, tell your griefs ; attentive will I stay, Tho' time is precious, and I want some tea. CARDELIA. Behold this equipage by MATHERS wrought With fifty guineas (a great pen'orth !) bought ! See on the tooth-pick MARS and CUPID strive, And both the struggling figures seem to liue. Upon the bottom see the Queen's bright face ; A myrtle foliage round the thimble case ; JOVE, JOVE himself does on the scissars shine, The metal and the workmanship divine. SMILINDA. This snuff-box once the pledge of SHARPER's love, When rival beauties for the present strove, (At CORTICELLI's he the raffle won, There first his passion was in public shown ; HAZARDIA blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, A rival's envy all in vain to hide) This snuff-box — on the hinge see diamonds shine ; This snuff-box will I stake, the prize is mine. CARDELIA. Alas ! far lesser losses than I bear, Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear : But oh ! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own Lord who drew the fatal card ! — In complaisance I took the Queen he gave, Tho' my own secret wish was for the Knave : The Knave won son ecart that I had chose, And the next pull my septleva I lose. SMILINDA. But ah ! what aggravates the killing smart, The cruel thought that stabs me to the heart, This curs'd OMBRELIA, this undoing fair, By whose vile arts this heavy grief I bear, She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears, She owes to me, the very charms she wears : An aukward thing when first she came to town, Her shape unfinish'd and her face unknown ; She was my friend, I taught her first to spread Upon her sallow cheeks enlivening red, I introduc'd her to the park and plays, And by my Interest COSINS made her stays ; Ungrateful wretch ! with mimick airs grown pert, She dares to steal my favourite lover's heart. CARDELIA. Wretch that I was ! how often have I swore, When WINNALL tallied, I would punt no more ! I know the bite, yet to my ruin run, And see the folly which I cannot shun. SMILINDA. How many maids have SHARPER's vows deceiv'd ! How many curs'd the moment they believ'd ! Yet, his known falshood could no warning prove : Ah ! what are warnings to a maid in love ! CARDELIA. But of what marble must that breast be form'd, Can gaze on Bassette, and remain unwarm'd ? When kings, queens, knaves are set in decent rank, Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting bank ! Guineas, half-guineas, all the shining train, The Winner's pleasure and the Loser's pain ; In bright confusion open rouleaus lie, They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye ; Fir'd by the sight, all reason I disdain, My passions rise, and will not bear the rein : Look upon Bassette, you who Reason boast, And see if Reason may not there be lost ! SMILINDA. What more than marble must that breast compose, That listens coldly to my SHARPER's vows ! Then when he trembles, when his blushes rise, When awful Love seems melting in his eyes ! With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves : He loves, I whisper to myself, He loves ! Such unfeign'd passion in his look appears, I lose all mem'ry of my former fears ; My panting heart confesses all his charms ; I yield at once, and sink into his arms. Think of that moment, you who Prudence boast ! For such a moment, Prudence well were lost. CARDELIA. At the Groom-porter's, batter'd bullies play ; Some Dukes at Marybon bowl time away : But who the bowl or rattling dice compares To Bassette's heavenly joys and pleasing cares ? SMILINDA. Soft SIMPLICETTA doats upon a beau ; PRUDINA likes a man, and laughs at show : Their several graces in my SHARPER meet ; Strong as the footman, as the master sweet. LOVEIT. Cease your contention, which has been too long, I grow impatient, and the tea too strong : Attend, and yield to what I now decide ; The equipage shall grace SMILINDA's side ; The snuff-box to CARDELIA I decree ; So leave complaining, and begin your tea.

FLAVIA. THE wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd, Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind ; A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore, For now she shun'd the face she sought before. ' How am I chang'd ! alas ! how am I grown ' A frightful spectre, to myself unknown ! ' Where's my Complexion ? where the radiant Bloom, ' That promis'd happiness for Years to come ? ' Then with what pleasure I this face survey'd ! ' To look once more, my visits oft delay'd ! ' Charm'd with the view, a fresher red would rise, ' And a new life shot sparkling from my eyes ! ' Ah ! faithless glass, my wonted bloom restore; ' Alas ! I rave, that bloom is now no more ! ' The greatest good the GODS on men bestow, ' Ev'n youth itself, to me is useless now. ' There was a time, (oh ! that I could forget !) ' When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet ; ' And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine, ' The earliest cherries of the spring were mine. ' Witness, O Lilly ; and thou, Motteux , tell ' How much Japan these eyes have made ye sell. ' With what contempt ye you saw me oft despise ' The humble offer of the raffled prize ; ' For at the raffle still the prize I bore, ' With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore ! ' Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more ! ' For me the Patriot has the house forsook, ' And left debates to catch a passing look : ' For me the Soldier has soft verses writ ; ' For me the Beau has aim'd to be a Wit. ' For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd ; ' The Gamester has for me his dun delay'd, ' And overseen the card, I would have play'd . ' The bold and haughty by success made vain, ' Aw'd by my eyes has trembled to complain: ' The bashful 'squire touch'd by a wish unknown, ' Has dar'd to speak with spirit not his own ; ' Fir'd by one wish, all did alike adore ; ' Now beauty's fled, and lovers are no more! ' As round the room I turn my weeping eyes, ' New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise ! ' Far from my sight that killing picture bear, ' The face disfigure, and the canvas tear ! ' That picture which with pride I us'd to show, ' The lost resemblance but upbraids me now. ' And thou, my toilette! where I oft have sat , ' While hours unheeded pass'd in deep debate, ' How curls should fall, or where a patch to place : ' If blue or scarlet best became my face; ' Now on some happier nymph thy aid bestow ; ' On fairer heads, ye useless jewels glow ! ' No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore ; ' Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more ! ' Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine ; ' Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine ; ' But midst your triumphs with confusion know, ' 'Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe. ' Would pitying Heav'n restore my wonted mien, ' Ye still might move unthought-of and unseen. ' But oh ! how vain, how wretched is the boast ' Of beauty faded, and of empire lost ! ' What now is left but weeping, to deplore ' My beauty fled, and empire now no more ! ' Ye, cruel Chymists, what with-held your aid ! ' Could no pomatums save a trembling maid ? ' How false and trifling is that art you boast ; ' No art can give me back my beauty lost. ' In tears, surrounded by my friends I lay, ' Mask'd o'er and trembled at the sight of day; ' MIRMILLO came my fortune to deplore, ' (A golden headed cane, well carv'd he bore) ' Cordials, he cried, my spirits must restore : ' Beauty is fled, and spirit is no more ! ' GALEN, the grave ; officious SQUIRT was there, ' With fruitless grief and unavailing care : ' MACHAON too, the great MACHAON, known ' By his red cloak and his superior frown ; ' And why, he cry'd, this grief and this despair ? ' You shall again be well, again be fair ; ' Believe my oath ; (with that an oath he swore) ' False was his oath ; my beauty is no more ! ' Cease, hapless maid, no more thy tale pursue, ' Forsake mankind, and bid the world adieu ! ' Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway ; ' All strive to serve, and glory to obey : ' Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow ; ' Men mock the idol of their former vow. ' Adieu ! ye parks ! — in some obscure recess, ' Where gentle streams will weep at my distress, ' Where no false friend will in my grief take part, ' And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart ; ' There let me live in some deserted place, ' There hide in shades this lost inglorious face. ' Ye, operas, circles, I no more must view ! ' My toilette, patches, all the world adieu!

ROXANA from the court retiring late, Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. JAMES's gate: Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast, Not her own chairmen w th more weight opprest; They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear ; She in these gentler sounds express'd her care. " Was it for this, that I these Roses wear, " For this new-set my Jewels for my hair ? " Ah ! Princess ! with what zeal have I pursu'd ! " Almost forgot the duty of a Prude. " Thinking I never cou'd attend too soon, " I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon. " For Thee, ah ! what for Thee did I resign ? " My Pleasures, Passions, all that e'er was mine. " I sacrific'd both Modesty and Ease, " Left Operas, and went to filthy Plays ; " Double entendres shock'd my tender ear, " Yet even this for Thee I chose to bear. " In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay, " And ev'ry joy of life before me lay, " By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd, " The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd : " Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe " Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r. " Alas ! how chang'd! — with the same sermon mien " That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye call't I've seen. " Ah ! cruel Princess, for thy sake I've lost " That reputation which so dear had cost : " I, who avoided ev'ry publick place, " When bloom, and beauty bid me show my face ; " Now near Thee constant ev'ry night abide " With never-failing duty by thy side, " Myself and daughters standing on a row, " To all the foreigners a goodly show ! " Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin, " And merchants wives close by the chair had been seen ; " Had not I amply fill'd the empty space, " And sav'd your Highness from the dire disgrace. " Yet COQUETILLA's artifice prevails, " When all my merit and my duty fails : " That COQUETILLA, whose deluding airs " Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares ; " So sunk her character, so lost her fame, " Scarce visited before your Highness came ; " Yet for the Bed-chamber 'tis Her you chuse, " When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse. " Ah ! worthy choice ! not one of all your train " Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain. " Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs, " And the proud pea-hen snatch the cuckoo's eggs ! " Let IRIS leave her paint, and own her age, " And grave SUFFOLKIA wed a giddy page ! " A greater miracle is daily view'd, " A virtuous Princess with a court so lewd. " I know thee, Court ! with all thy treach'rous wiles, " Thy false caresses and undoing smiles ! " Ah ! Princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts " To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts. " Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim ; " And the neglected patriot follows fame. " The Prince is ogled ; some the King pursue ; " But your ROXANA only follows YOU. " Despis'd ROXANA, cease, and try to find " Some other, since the Princess proves unkind : " Perhaps it is not hard to find at court " If not a greater, a more firm support.

I Why will Delia thus retire, And idly languish life away? While the sighing crowd admire, ’Tis too soon for hartshorn tea: II All those dismal looks and fretting Cannot Damon’s life restore; Long ago the worms have eat him, You can never see him more. III Once again consult your toilette, In the glass your face review: So much weeping soon will spoil it, And no spring your charms renew. IV I, like you, was born a woman, Well I know what vapors mean: The disease, alas! is common; Single, we have all the spleen. V All the morals that they tell us, Never cured the sorrow yet: Chuse, among the pretty fellows, One of honor, youth, and wit. VI Prithee hear him every morning At least an hour or two; Once again at night returning— I believe the dose will do.

At length, by so much importunity press'd, Take, C——, at once, the inside of my breast; This stupid indiff'rence so often you blame, Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame: I am not as cold as a virgin in lead, Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head: I know but too well how time flies along, That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young. But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy Long years of repentance for moments of joy, Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find Good sense and good nature so equally join'd?) Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine; Not meanly would boast, nor would lewdly design; Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain, For I would have the power, tho' not give the pain. No pedant, yet learned; no rake-helly gay, Or laughing, because he has nothing to say; To all my whole sex obliging and free, Yet never be fond of any but me; In public preserve the decorum that's just, And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust; Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow, But not fulsomely pert, nor yet foppishly low. But when the long hours of public are past, And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last, May ev'ry fond pleasure that moment endear; Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud. Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live, And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive. And that my delight may be solidly fix'd, Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd; In whose tender bosom my soul may confide, Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide. From such a dear lover as here I describe, No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe; But till this astonishing creature I know, As I long have liv'd chaste, I will keep myself so. I never will share with the wanton coquette, Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit. The toasters and songsters may try all their art, But never shall enter the pass of my heart. I loath the lewd rake, the dress'd fopling despise: Before such pursuers the nice virgin flies: And as Ovid has sweetly in parable told, We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold.

To all you ladies now at Bath, And eke, ye beaux, to you, With aching heart, and wat'ry eyes, I bid my last adieu. Farewell ye nymphs, who waters sip Hot reeking from the pumps, While music lends her friendly aid, To cheer you from the dumps. Farewell ye wits, who prating stand, And criticise the fair; Yourselves the joke of men of sense, Who hate a coxcomb's air. Farewell to Deard's, and all her toys, Which glitter in her shop, Deluding traps to girls and boys, The warehouse of the fop. Lindsay's and Hayes's both farewell, Where in the spacious hall, With bounding steps, and sprightly air, I've led up many a ball. Where Somerville of courteous mien, Was partner in the dance, With swimming Haws, and Brownlow blithe, And Britton pink of France. Poor Nash, farewell! may fortune smile, Thy drooping soul revive, My heart is full I can no more— John, bid the coachman drive.

Think not this paper comes with vain pretense To move your pity, or to mourn th’ offense. Too well I know that hard obdurate heart; No softening mercy there will take my part, Nor can a woman’s arguments prevail, When even your patron’s wise example fails. But this last privilege I still retain; Th’ oppressed and injured always may complain. Too, too severely laws of honor bind The weak submissive sex of womankind. If sighs have gained or force compelled our hand, Deceived by art, or urged by stern command, Whatever motive binds the fatal tie, The judging world expects our constancy. Just heaven! (for sure in heaven does justice reign, Though tricks below that sacred name profane) To you appealing I submit my cause. Nor fear a judgment from impartial laws. All bargains but conditional are made; The purchase void, the creditor unpaid; Defrauded servants are from service free; A wounded slave regains his liberty. For wives ill used no remedy remains, To daily racks condemned, and to eternal chains. From whence is this unjust distinction grown? Are we not formed with passions like your own? Nature with equal fire our souls endued, Our minds as haughty, and as warm our blood; O’er the wide world your pleasures you pursue, The change is justified by something new; But we must sigh in silence—and be true. Our sex’s weakness you expose and blame (Of every prattling fop the common theme), Yet from this weakness you suppose is due Sublimer virtue than your Cato knew. Had heaven designed us trials so severe, It would have formed our tempers then to bear. And I have borne (oh what have I not borne!) The pang of jealousy, the insults of scorn. Wearied at length, I from your sight remove, And place my future hopes in secret love. In the gay bloom of glowing youth retired, I quit the woman’s joy to be admired, With that small pension your hard heart allows, Renounce your fortune, and release your vows. To custom (though unjust) so much is due; I hide my frailty from the public view. My conscience clear, yet sensible of shame, My life I hazard, to preserve my fame. And I prefer this low inglorious state To vile dependence on the thing I hate— But you pursue me to this last retreat. Dragged into light, my tender crime is shown And every circumstance of fondness known. Beneath the shelter of the law you stand, And urge my ruin with a cruel hand, While to my fault thus rigidly severe, Tamely submissive to the man you fear. This wretched outcast, this abandoned wife, Has yet this joy to sweeten shameful life: By your mean conduct, infamously loose, You are at once my accuser and excuse. Let me be damned by the censorious prude (Stupidly dull, or spiritually lewd), My hapless case will surely pity find From every just and reasonable mind. When to the final sentence I submit, The lips condemn me, but their souls aquit. No more my husband, to your pleasures go, The sweets of your recovered freedom know. Go: court the brittle friendship of the great, Smile at his board, or at his levee wait; And when dismissed, to madam’s toilet fly, More than her chambermaids, or glasses, lie, Tell her how young she looks, how heavenly fair, Admire the lilies and the roses there. Your high ambition may be gratified, Some cousin of her own be made your bride, And you the father of a glorious race Endowed with Ch——l’s strength and Low——r’s face.

Written January 1718 in the Chiosk at Pera overlooking Constantinople Give me Great God (said I) a Little Farm in Summer shady, & in Winter warm where a cool spring gives birth to a clear brook by Nature slideing down a mossy Rock Not artfully in Leaden Pipes convey'd Or greatly falling in a forc'd Cascade Pure & unsully'd winding throu' y e Shade. All bounteous Heaven has added to my Praier a softer Climate and a purer Air. Our Frozen Isle now chilling Winter binds Deform'd by Rains, & rough w th blasting Winds y e wither'd Woods grown white w th hoary Frost by driving storms their scatter'd beautys lost The Trembling birds their leaveless coverts shun And seek in distant Climes a warmer Sun The Water Nymphs their silenced Urns deplore Even Thames benumb'd a River now no more The barren Meadows give no more delight by Glist'ning Snows made painfull to y e Sight. Here Summer reigns w th one Eternal Smile And double Harvests bless y e happy Soil. Fair, fertile Fields to w ar m Indulgent Heaven Has every Charm of every Season given! No Killing Cold deforms y e Beauteous Year The springing Flowers no coming Winter Fear But as y e Parent Rose decays & dies y e Infant Buds w th brighter Colours rise And with fresh sweets y e Mother-scent supplys Near th e m the Vi'let glows w th odours blest And blooms in more than Tyrian Purple drest The rich Jonquils their golden gleam display And shine in glorys emulateing day. These chearfull Groves their living Leaves retain The Streams still murmur undefil'd by Rain And growing Green adorns y e Fruitfull Plain The warbling Kind uninterrupted Sing, Warm'd w th Enjoyment of perpetual Spring. Here from my Window I at once survey The crouded City, & resounding Sea In distant Views see Assian Mountains rise And Lose their Snowy Summits in y e Skies. Above those Mountains high Olympus Tow'rs The Parliamental Seat of Heavenly Powers. New to y e Sight my ravish'd Eyes admire Each guilded Crescent & each Antique Spire The Fair Serail where sunk in Idle ease The Lazy Monarch melts his thoughtless days The Marble Mosques beneath whose Ample Domes Fierce Warlike Sultans sleep in peacefull Tombs Those lofty Structures once the Christian boast Their Names, their Honnours, & their Beautys lost Those Altars bright w th Gold, w th Sculpture grac'd By barbarous Zeal of savage Foes defac'd Convents where Emperors profess'd of old The Labour'd Pillars that their Triumphs told. Vain Monuments of Men that once were great! Sunk, undistinguish'd, by one Common Fate! How art thou falln Imperial City, Low! Where are thy Hopes of Roman Glory now? Where are thy Palaces by Prelates rais'd Where preistly Pomp in Purple Lustre blaz'd? So vast, that Youthfull Kings might there reside So Splendid; to content a Patriarchs pride Where Grecian Artists all their skill displayd Before y e happy Sciences decay'd; So vast, that Youthfull Kings might there reside So Splendid; to content a Patriarchs Pride; Convents where Emperors proffess'd of Old, The Labour'd Pillars that their Triumphs told, Vain Monuments of Men that once were great! Sunk, undistinguish'd in one common Fate! One Little Spot, the small Fenar contains, Of Greek Nobillity, the poor Remains, Where other Helens show like powerfull Charms As once engag'd the Warring World in Arms: Those Names that Roial Auncestry can boast In mean Mechanic Arts obscurely lost Those Eyes a second Homer might inspire, fix'd at the Loom, destroy their useless Fire. Greiv'd at a view w hi ch strikes vpon my Mind The short liv'd Vanity of Human kind In Gaudy Objects I indulge my Sight, And turn where Eastern Pomp gives gay delight. See; the vast Train in various Habits dress'd! By the Bright Seymetar and Sable Vest; The Vizier proud, distinguish'd o're the rest! Six slaves in gay Attire his Bridle hold; His Bridle rough with Gems, his Stirups Gold; His Snowy Steed adorn'd with lavish Pride Whole Troops of Soldiers mounted by his Side, These toss the Plumy Crest, Arabian Coursers guide. With awfull Duty all decline their Eyes, No bellowing Shouts of noisy Crouds arise; Silence in solemn State the march attends Till at the dread Divan the slow processions ends. Yet not these Objects all profusely Gay, The Gilded Navy that adorns the Sea, The riseing City in Confusion fair; Magnificently form'd irregular Where Woods and Palaces at once surprise Gardens, on Gardens, Domes on Domes arise And endless Beauties tire the wandering Eyes, So sooths my Wishes, or so charms my Mind, As this Retreat, secure from Human kind. No Knaves successfull Craft does Spleen excite No Coxcombs tawdry Splendour shocks my Sight; No Mob Alarm awakes my Female Fears, No unrewarded Merit asks my Tears; Nor Praise my Mind, nor Envy hurts my Ear, Even Fame it selfe can hardly reach me here, Impertinence with all her Tattling Train Fair-sounding Flatterys delicious Bane Censorious Folly; Noisy Party Rage; The Thousand with which she must engage Who dare have Virtue in a Vicious Age.