But overcharg'd, and out of wind,
Though ftrong in limbs, he lagg'd behind.
Defire had now the goal in fight: It was a tow'r of monftrous height; Where on the fummit Fortune stands, A crown and fceptre in her hands; Beneath a chafm as deep as hell, Where many a bold advent'rer fell. Defire, in rapture gaz'da while, And faw the treach'rous goddess fmile; But, as he climb'd to grafp the crown, She knock'd him with the fceptre down. He tumbled in the gulph profound; There doom'd to whirl an endless round.
Poffeffion's load was grown fo great, He funk beneath the cumb'rous weight: And as he now expiring lay,
Flocks ev'ry ominous bird of prey;
The raven, vulture, owl, and kite,
At once upon his carcafe light,
And ftrip his hide, and pick his bones,
Regardless of his dying groans.
Written in the Year 1727.
E wife, inftru&t me to endure
An evil, which admits no cure:
Or, how this evil can be born,
Which breeds at once both hate and fcorn.
Bare innocence is no fupport,
When you are try'd in scandal's court.
Stand high in honour, wealth, or wit:
All others who inferior fit,
Conceive themselves in confcience bound
To join and drag you to the ground.
Your altitude offends the eyes
Of those who want the pow'r to rise.
The world, a willing ftander-by,
Inclines to aid a fpecious lye:
Alas! they would not do
you wrong,
But all appearances are ftrong.
Yet whence proceeds this weight we lay On what detracting people say;
For let mankind difcharge their tongues
In venom, till they burft their lungs,
Their utmoft malice cannot make
Your head, or tooth, or finger ake:
I 2
Nor fpoil your shape, diftort your face,
Or put one feature out of place;
Nor will you find your fortune fink
By what they speak or what they think;
Nor can ten hundred thousand lyes
Make you lefs virtuous, learn'd, or wife.
The most effectual way to baulk
The Furniture of a Woman's MIN D.
Written in the Year 1727.
A Set of phrafes learnt by rote;
A paffion for a fcarlet-coat;
When at a play to laugh, or cry,
Yet cannot tell the reason why;
Never to hold her tongue a minute,
While all fhe prates has nothing in it;
Whole hours can with a coxcomb fit,
And take his nonfenfe all for wit;
Her learning mounts to read a fong,.
But half the words pronouncing wrong;
Hath every repartee in ftore,
She fpoke ten thousand times before;
Can ready compliments fupply
On all occafions, cut and dry;
Such hatred to a parfon's gown,
The fight will put her in a fwoon;
For converfation well endu'd,
She calls it witty to be rude;
And placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greateft failing;
Nor make a fcruple to expofe
Your bandy leg, or crooked nofe;
Can at her morning tea run o'er
The fcandal of the day before;
Improving hourly in her fkill,
To cheat and wrangle at quadrille.
In chufing lace a critick nice,
Knows to a groat the lowest price;
Can in her female clubs difpute,
What linen beft the filk will fuit,
What colours each complexion match,
And where with art to place a patch.
If chance a mouse creeps in her fight,
Can finely counterfeit a fright;
So fweetly fcreams, if it comes near her,
She ravishes all hearts to hear her.
Can dext'roufly her husband tease,
By taking fits whene'er fhe please;
By frequent practice learns the trick
feafons to be fick;
Thinks nothing gives one airs fo pretty,
At once creating love and pity;
If Molly happens to be careless,
And but neglects to warm her hair-lace,
She gets a cold as fure as death,
And vows the scarce can fetch her breath;
Admires how modeft women can
Be fo robuftious, like a man.
In party, furious to her pow'r;
A bitter whig, or tory four;
Her arguments directly tend
Against the fide she would defend;
Will prove herself a tory plain,
From principles the whigs maintain;
And to defend the whiggish caufe
Her topicks from the tories draws.
O yes! * if any man can find
More virtues in a woman's mind,
Let them be fent to Mrs. + Harding;
She'll pay the charges to a farthing;
Take notice, fhe has my commiffion
To add them in the next edition;
They may out-fell a better thing;
So, holla, boys; God fave the king.
* Oyes: a corruption of oyez, hear ye, a word used by cryers. + A printer.
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