| Nothing so true as what you once let fall, | ||
| “Most Women have no Characters at all.” | ||
| Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, | ||
| And best distinguish’d by black, brown, or fair. | ||
| 5 | How many pictures of one Nymph we view, | |
| All how unlike each other, all how true! | ||
| Arcadia’s Countess, here, in ermin’d° pride, | in expensive nobles’ furs | |
| Is, there, Pastora by a fountain side. | ||
| Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, | ||
| 10 | And there, a naked Leda with a Swan. | |
| Let then the Fair one beautifully cry, | ||
| In Magdalen’s loose hair and lifted eye, | ||
| Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, | ||
| With simpering Angels, Palms, and Harps divine; | ||
| 15 | Whether the Charmer sinner it, or saint it, | |
| If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it. | ||
| Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! | ||
| Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air; | ||
| Choose a firm Cloud, before it fall, and in it | ||
| 20 | Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. | |
| Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o’er the Park, | ||
| Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark,° | attractive man | |
| Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,° | a philosopher | |
| As Sappho’s diamonds with her dirty smock; | ||
| 25 | Or Sappho at her toilet’s° greasy task, | dressing table |
| With Sappho fragrant at an evening Masque: | ||
| So morning Insects that in muck begun, | ||
| Shine, buzz, and flyblow° in the setting sun. | lay eggs | |
| How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; | ||
| 30 | The Frail one’s advocate, the Weak one’s friend: | |
| To her, Calista prov’d her conduct nice; | ||
| And good Simplicius asks of her advice. | ||
| Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, | ||
| But spare your censure;° Silia does not drink. | criticism | |
| 35 | All eyes may see from what the change arose, | |
| All eyes may see—a Pimple on her nose. | ||
| Papillia, wedded to her amorous° spark,° | loving — young man | |
| Sighs for the shades—“How charming is a Park!” | ||
| A Park is purchas’d, but the Fair he sees | ||
| 40 | All bath’d in tears — “Oh odious,° odious Trees!” | hateful |
| Ladies, like variegated° Tulips, show; | multi-colored | |
| ’Tis to their Changes half their charms we owe; | ||
| Fine by defect, and delicately weak, | ||
| Their happy Spots the nice admirer take, | ||
| 45 | ’Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm’d, | |
| Aw’d without Virtue, without Beauty charmed; | ||
| Her tongue bewitch’d as oddly as her Eyes, | ||
| Less Wit than Mimic, more a Wit than wise; | ||
| Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, | ||
| 50 | Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; | |
| Yet ne’er so sure our passion to create, | ||
| As when she touch’d the brink of all we hate. | ||
| Narcissa’s nature, tolerably mild, | ||
| To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; | ||
| 55 | Has ev’n been prov’d to grant a Lover’s pray’r, | |
| And paid a Tradesman once to make him stare; | ||
| Gave alms° at Easter, in a Christian trim, | charity | |
| And made a Widow happy, for a whim. | ||
| Why then declare Good-nature is her scorn, | ||
| 60 | When ’tis by that alone she can be borne? | |
| Why pique all mortals, yet affect° a name? | put on | |
| A fool to Pleasure, yet a slave to Fame: | ||
| Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, | ||
| Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: | ||
| 65 | Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns; | |
| And Atheism and Religion take their turns; | ||
| A very Heathen in the carnal part, | ||
| Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart. | ||
| See Sin in State, majestically drunk; | ||
| 70 | Proud as a Peeress, prouder as a Punk;° | prostitute |
| Chaste to her Husband, frank to all beside, | ||
| A teeming° Mistress, but a barren Bride. | fertile | |
| What then? let Blood and Body bear the fault, | ||
| Her Head’s untouch’d, that noble Seat of Thought: | ||
| 75 | Such this day’s doctrine—in another fit | |
| She sins with Poets thro’ pure Love of Wit. | ||
| What has not fir’d her bosom or her brain? | ||
| Caesar and Tallboy, Charles and Charlemagne. | ||
| As Helluo, late Dictator of the Feast, | ||
| 80 | The Nose of Hautgout, and the Tip of Taste, | |
| Critick’d your wine, and analyz’d your meat, | ||
| Yet on plain Pudding deign’d at home to eat; | ||
| So Philomede, lecturing all mankind | ||
| On the soft Passion, and the Taste refin’d, | ||
| 85 | Th’ Address, the Delicacy—stoops at once, | |
| And makes her hearty meal upon a Dunce. | ||
| Flavia’s a Wit, has too much sense to Pray; | ||
| To Toast our wants and wishes, is her way; | ||
| Nor asks of God, but of her Stars, to give | ||
| 90 | The mighty blessing, “while we live, to live.” | |
| Then all for Death, that Opiate of the soul! | ||
| Lucretia’s dagger, Rosamonda’s bowl. | ||
| Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? | ||
| A spark° too fickle, or a Spouse too kind. | man | |
| 95 | Wise Wretch! with Pleasures too refin’d to please; | |
| With too much Spirit to be e’er at ease; | ||
| With too much Quickness ever to be taught; | ||
| With too much Thinking to have common Thought: | ||
| You purchase Pain with all that Joy can give, | ||
| 100 | And die of nothing but a Rage to live. | |
| Turn then from Wits;° and look on Simo’s Mate, | clever people | |
| No Ass so meek, no Ass so obstinate. | ||
| Or her, that owns her Faults, but never mends, | ||
| Because she’s honest, and the best of Friends. | ||
| 105 | Or her, whose life the Church and Scandal share, | |
| For ever in a Passion, or a Pray’r. | ||
| Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her Grace)° | term for a duchess | |
| Cries, “Ah! how charming, if there’s no such place!” | ||
| Or who in sweet vicissitude° appears | changeability | |
| 110 | Of Mirth and Opium, Ratafie and Tears, | |
| The daily Anodyne,° and nightly Draught,° | painkiller — drink | |
| To kill those foes to Fair ones, Time and Thought. | ||
| Woman and Fool are two hard things to hit; | ||
| For true No-meaning puzzles more than Wit. | ||
| 115 | But what are these to great Atossa’s mind? | |
| Scarce once herself, by turns all Womankind! | ||
| Who, with herself, or others, from her birth | ||
| Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: | ||
| Shines, in exposing Knaves, and painting Fools, | ||
| 120 | Yet is, whate’er she hates and ridicules. | |
| No Thought advances, but her Eddy Brain | ||
| Whisks it about, and down it goes again. | ||
| Full sixty years the World has been her Trade, | ||
| The wisest Fool much Time has ever made. | ||
| 125 | From loveless youth to unrespected age, | |
| No passion gratify’d except her Rage. | ||
| So much the Fury still outran the Wit, | ||
| The Pleasure miss’d her, and the Scandal hit. | ||
| Who breaks with her, provokes Revenge from Hell, | ||
| 130 | But he’s a bolder man who dares be well. | |
| Her ev’ry turn with Violence pursu’d, | ||
| Nor more a storm her Hate than Gratitude: | ||
| To that each Passion turns, or soon or late; | ||
| Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate: | ||
| 135 | Superiors? death! and Equals? what a curse! | |
| But an Inferior not dependant? worse. | ||
| Offend her, and she knows not to forgive; | ||
| Oblige her, and she’ll hate you while you live: | ||
| But die, and she’ll adore you—Then the Bust | ||
| 140 | And Temple rise—then fall again to dust. | |
| Last night, her Lord was all that’s good and great; | ||
| A Knave this morning, and his Will a Cheat. | ||
| Strange! by the Means defeated of the Ends, | ||
| By Spirit robb’d of Pow’r, by Warmth of Friends, | ||
| 145 | By Wealth of Followers! without one distress | |
| Sick of herself thro’ very selfishness! | ||
| Atossa, curs’d with ev’ry granted pray’r, | ||
| Childless with all her Children, wants an Heir. | ||
| To Heirs unknown descends th’ unguarded store, | ||
| 150 | Or wanders, Heav’n-directed, to the Poor. | |
| Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design, | ||
| Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line; | ||
| Some wandering touches, some reflected light, | ||
| Some flying stroke alone can hit ’em right: | ||
| 155 | For how should equal Colours do the knack? | |
| Chameleons who can paint in white and black? | ||
| “Yet Chloe sure was form’d without a spot—” | ||
| Nature in her then err’d not, but forgot. | ||
| “With ev’ry pleasing, ev’ry prudent part, | ||
| 160 | Say, what can Chloe want?”—She wants a Heart. | |
| She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; | ||
| But never, never, reach’d one gen’rous Thought. | ||
| Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, | ||
| Content to dwell in Decencies for ever. | ||
| 165 | So very reasonable, so unmov’d, | |
| As never yet to love, or to be lov’d. | ||
| She, while her Lover pants upon her breast, | ||
| Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; | ||
| And when she sees her Friend in deep despair, | ||
| 170 | Observes how much a Chintz exceeds Mohair. | |
| Forbid it Heav’n, a Favour or a Debt | ||
| She e’er should cancel—but she may forget. | ||
| Safe is your Secret still in Chloe’s ear; | ||
| But none of Chloe’s shall you ever hear. | ||
| 175 | Of all her Dears she never slander’d one, | |
| But cares not if a thousand are undone. | ||
| Would Chloe know if you’re alive or dead? | ||
| She bids her Footman put it in her head. | ||
| Chloe is prudent—Would you too be wise? | ||
| 180 | Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. | |
| One certain Portrait may (I grant) be seen, | ||
| Which Heav’n has varnish’d out, and made a Queen: | ||
| The same for ever! and describ’d by all | ||
| With Truth and Goodness, as with Crown and Ball. | ||
| 185 | Poets heap Virtues, Painters Gems at will, | |
| And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. | ||
| ’tis well—but, Artists! who can paint or write, | ||
| To draw the Naked is your true delight. | ||
| That robe of Quality so struts and swells, | ||
| 190 | None see what Parts of Nature it conceals: | |
| Th’ exactest traits of Body or of Mind, | ||
| We owe to models of an humble kind. | ||
| If Queensbury to strip there’s no compelling, | ||
| ’tis from a Handmaid we must take a Helen. | ||
| 195 | From Peer or Bishop ’tis no easy thing | |
| To draw the man who loves his God, or King: | ||
| Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) | ||
| From honest Mah’met, or plain Parson Hale. | ||
| But grant, in Public Men sometimes are shown, | ||
| 200 | A Woman’s seen in Private life alone: | |
| Our bolder Talents in full light displayed; | ||
| Your Virtues open fairest in the shade. | ||
| Bred to disguise, in Public ’tis you hide; | ||
| There, none distinguish twixt your Shame or Pride, | ||
| 205 | Weakness or Delicacy; all so nice, | |
| That each may seem a Virtue, or a Vice. | ||
| In Men, we various Ruling Passions find; | ||
| In Women, two almost divide the kind; | ||
| Those, only fix’d, they first or last obey, | ||
| 210 | The Love of Pleasure, and the Love of Sway.° | power |
| That,° Nature gives; and where the lesson taught | (refers to love of pleasure) | |
| Is but to please, can Pleasure seem a fault? | ||
| Experience, this;° by Man’s oppression curst, | (refers to love of power) | |
| They seek the second not to lose the first. | ||
| 215 | Men, some to Business, some to pleasure take; | |
| But ev’ry Woman is at heart a Rake:° | immoral man | |
| Men, some to Quiet, some to public Strife; | ||
| But ev’ry Lady would be Queen for life. | ||
| Yet mark the fate of a whole Sex of Queens! | ||
| 220 | Pow’r all their end, but Beauty all the means: | |
| In Youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, | ||
| As leaves them scarce a subject in their Age: | ||
| For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; | ||
| No thought of peace or happiness at home. | ||
| 225 | But Wisdom’s triumph is a well-tim’d Retreat, | |
| As hard a science to the Fair as Great! | ||
| Beauties, like Tyrants, old and friendless grown, | ||
| Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone, | ||
| Worn out in public, weary ev’ry eye, | ||
| 230 | Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. | |
| Pleasures the sex,° as children Birds, pursue, | women | |
| Still out of reach, yet never out of view; | ||
| Sure, if they catch, to spoil the Toy at most, | ||
| To covet flying, and regret when lost: | ||
| 235 | At last, to follies Youth could scarce defend, | |
| It grows their Age’s prudence to pretend; | ||
| Asham’d to own they gave delight before, | ||
| Reduc’d to feign it, when they give no more: | ||
| As Hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spite, | ||
| 240 | So these their merry, miserable Night; | |
| Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide, | ||
| And haunt the places where their Honour died. | ||
| See how the World its Veterans rewards! | ||
| A Youth of Frolics, an old Age of Cards; | ||
| 245 | Fair to no purpose, artful° to no end, | skillful |
| Young without Lovers, old without a Friend; | ||
| A Fop their Passion, but their Prize a Sot; | ||
| Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot! | ||
| Ah Friend! to dazzle let the Vain design; | ||
| 250 | To raise the Thought, and touch the Heart be thine! | |
| That Charm shall grow, while what fatigues the Ring, | ||
| Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: | ||
| So when the Sun’s broad beam has tir’d the sight, | ||
| All mild ascends the Moon’s more sober light, | ||
| 255 | Serene in Virgin Modesty she shines, | |
| And unobserv’d the glaring Orb declines. | ||
| Oh! blest with Temper, whose unclouded ray | ||
| Can make tomorrow cheerful as today; | ||
| She, who can love a Sister’s charms, or hear | ||
| 260 | Sighs for a Daughter with unwounded ear; | |
| She, who ne’er answers till a Husband cools, | ||
| Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; | ||
| Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,° | influences | |
| Yet has her humour most, when she obeys; | ||
| 265 | Let Fops or Fortune fly which way they will; | |
| Disdains all loss of Tickets, or Codille;° | a card game | |
| Spleen,° Vapours,° or Smallpox, above them all, | depression — moodiness | |
| And Mistress of herself, though China° fall. | plates | |
| And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, | ||
| 270 | Woman’s at best a Contradiction still. | |
| Heav’n, when it strives to polish all it can | ||
| Its last best work, but forms a softer Man; | ||
| Picks from each sex, to make the Favorite blest, | ||
| Your love of Pleasure, our desire of Rest: | ||
| 275 | Blends, in exception to all general rules, | |
| Your Taste of Follies, with our Scorn of Fools: | ||
| Reserve with Frankness, Art with Truth ally’d, | ||
| Courage with Softness, Modesty with Pride; | ||
| Fix’d Principles, with Fancy ever new; | ||
| 280 | Shakes all together, and produces—You. | |
| Be this a Woman’s Fame: with this unblest, | ||
| Toasts° live a scorn, and Queens may die a jest. | beautiful women | |
| This Phoebus° promis’d (I forget the year) | Apollo | |
| When those blue eyes first open’d on the sphere; | ||
| 285 | Ascendant Phoebus watch’d that hour with care, | |
| Averted half your Parents’ simple Pray’r; | ||
| And gave you Beauty, but deny’d the Pelf | ||
| That buys your sex° a Tyrant o’er itself. | women | |
| The generous God, who Wit and Gold refines, | ||
| 290 | And ripens Spirits as he ripens Mines, | |
| Kept Dross for Duchesses, the world shall know it, | ||
| To you gave Sense, Good Humour, and a Poet. |