In vain the rich Brocade you wear,
In Paint, and Gold, and Velvet glare,
And fet your felf fo fine out;
Brilliants, in vain, adorn your Head,
They are but (as th' old Proverb faid)
Like Jewels in a Swine's Snout.
Long, long ago I thought you Fair,
Engaging was your Wit and Air,
But no Man e'er could fix ye;
And do you dream of Conquests now,
With hollow Cheeks, and wither'd Brow,
The fad Prefage of Sixty?
CHLORIS, with you, once fhar'd my Heart,
But fhe triumphant did depart,
Whilft beauteous, young, and tender;
But you survive, to your own Shame,
And ftand the fecond next in Fame,
And Form, to th' Witch of E NDOR.
But now we view that fick'ning Light,
That once was so divinely bright,
With faded Luftre blink;
And when it feels its laft Decay,
Shall laugh to see it dye away,
And go out in a Stink.
Hanks to the GODS, they've heard my Pray'rs,
LUCY is old, and full of Airs;
And fhe! the filly foolish Ghost,
Thinks fhe deferves to be a Toaft;
She'll fing and please you, tho' each Note
Shakes in her Paralytick Throat;
She drinks good Nantz to cheer her Heart,
Thofe Cheeks fhe borrows too of Art:
Look at your felf, good Lucy, well,
Do you believe that any Spell
Can make your wrinkled Skin appear
Like charming CHLOE's, fmooth and fair?
Was LovE yet ever known to stay
With rotten Teeth, and Treffes grey?
That rich Brocade, that monft'rous Hoop;
Inftead of gracing, make you ftoop;
Take off those Diamonds if you're wife,
They gliften fo, they'll fpoil your Eyes.
I've seen you walk with a good Grace,
And once I lik'd your Shape and Face:
Where's that easy Je ne Scay quoy,
In which I once plac'd all my Joy?
I'm fure you cannot be the fame,
That next to CELIA was my Flame:
Ah! the poor Girl was fnatch'd away,
But you, by Fate, was doom'd to stay,
That I might laugh, now you are Old,
And with no small Delight behold
What for a while fo brightly burn'd
Now into dirty AsнÈS turn'd.
HE Opera firft Italian Mafters taught,
Enrich'd with SONGS, but Innocent of
Thought;
Britannia's learned THEATRE difdains
Melodious Trifles, and enervate Strains;
And blushes on her injur'd Stage to fee
Nonfenfe well tun'd, and fweet Stupidity.
No Charms are wanting to thy artful Song,
Soft as CORELLI, but, as VIRGIL, ftrong.
From Words fo fweet new Grace the Notes receive,
And Mufick borrows Helps, fhe us'd to give.
Thy Style hath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing Numbers far excel the New.
Their Cadence in fuch eafy Sound convey'd,
That Height of Thought may feem fuperfluous Aid;
Yet in fuch Charms the noble Thoughts abound,
That needlefs feem the Sweets of eafy Sound.
Landskips how gay the Bow'ry Grotto yields,
Which Thought creates, and lavish Fancy builds!
What Art can trace the vifionary Scenes,
The flow'ry Groves, and everlasting Greens?
The babbling Sounds that Mimick ECHO plays,
The fairy Shade, and its eternal Maze?
Nature and Art in all their Charms combin'd,
And all ELYSIUM at one View confin'd!
No farther could Imagination roam,
'Till Vanbrugh frain'd, and Marlbro' rais'd the Dome,
Ten thousand Pangs my anxious Bofome tear, When drown'd in Tears I fee th' imploring Fair; When BAR DS lefs foft the moving Words fupply, A feeming Justice dooms the N Y MPH to die;
But here fhe begs, nor can fhe beg in vain, (In Dirges thus expiring Swans complain)
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