Trust not too much your now refistless Charms,
Thofe, Age or Sickness, foon or late, difarms:
Good Humour only teaches Charms to last,

Still makes new Conquefts, and maintains the past:
Love, rais'd on Beauty, will, like that, decay,
Our Hearts may bear its flender Chain a Day;
As flow'ry Bands in Wantonnefs are worn,
A Morning's Pleasure, and at Ev'ning torn:
This binds in Ties more easy, yet more strong...
The willing Heart, and only holds it long.

Thus Voiture's early Care ftill fhone the fame, And Montanfier was only chang'd in Name.

By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their Flames ftill warm,

Now crown'd with Myrtle on th' Elyfian Coaft,
Amidft these Lovers, joys his gentle Ghöft,
Pleas'd while with Smiles his happy Lines you view,
And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you.

The brighteft Eyes of France infpir'd his Mufe,
The brightest Eyes of Britain now perufe.

And dead as living, 'tis our Author's Pride,

Still to charm those who charm the World befrde.

*Madamoiselle Paulet.

THE

THE

Vanity of Ambition.

HERON, amongft his Travels found
A broken Statue on the Ground;
And fearching onward as he went,

He trac'd a ruin'd Monument.

Mould, Mofs, and Shades had over-grown
The Sculpture of the crumbling Stone;
Yet e'er he paft, with much ado,

He guefs'd and spell'd out Sci-pi-o. ·

Enough, he cry'd, I'll drudge no more

"In turning the dull Stoicks o'er:
"Let Pedants wafte their Hours of Eafe,

"And feed their Boys with Notes and Rules,
"Thofe tedious Recipe's of Schools
"To cure Ambition: I can learn

With greater Eafe, the great Concern
Of Mortals; how we may defpife
"All the gay things below the Skies.

"Methinks a mould'ring Pyramid

Learns us all the old Sages faid; "For me thefe fhatter'd Tombs contain "More Morals than the Vatican.

"The Duft of Heroes caft abroad,

" And kick'd and trampled in the Road;
"The Relicks of a lofty Mind

"That lately Wars and Crowns defign'd,
"Toft for a Jeft from Wind to Wind,
"Bid me be humble, and forbear
" Tall Monuments of Fame to rear,
They are but caftles in the Air.

"The tow'ring Height and frightful Falls,
"The ruin'd Heaps and Funerals

"Of fmoaking Kingdoms and their KINGS, "Tell me a thousand mournful Things

"In mournful Silence,

"Here his pale Trunk, and there his Head;

"Great

"Great Pompey! while I meditate

66

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遇

With folemn Horror thy fad Fate,

Thy Carcafs fcatter'd on the Shore

Without a Name, inftruct me more

"Than my whole Library before.

Lie ftill my Plutarch then, and fleep, "And my good Seneca may keep Your Volumes clos'd for ever too, I have no further Ufe for you: For when I find my Vertue fail, "And my ambitious Thoughts prevail, "I'll take a Turn among the Tombs, "And fee whereto all Glory comes; "There the vile Foot of ev'ry Clown "Tramples a Charles or Naffau down;

Who envys none that Chance doth raise,
Nor Vice hath ever understood;

How deepest Wounds are giv'n by Praife,

Nor Rules of State, but Rules of Good.

Who hath his Life from Rumours freed,
Whose Conscience is his strong Retreat;
Whofe State can neither Flatt'rers feed,
Nor Ruin make Oppreffors great.

Who GOD doth late and early pray,
More of his Grace, than Gifts to lend;

And entertains the harmless Day
With a Religious Book, or Friend.

This Man is freed from fervile Bands,
Of Hope to rife, or Fear to fall;
Lord of himself, tho' not of Lands,
-And having Nothing, yet hath All.