ESSAY
on
FRIENDSHIP
.
TO
Artemisia
.
—
'Tis
to
her
we
sing
,
For
her
once
more
we
touch
the
sounding
String
,
'Tis
not
to
Cythera's
Reign
nor
Cupid's
Fires
,
But
sacred
Friendship
that
our
Muse
inspires
.
A
Theme
that
suits
Aemilia's
pleasing
Tongue
:
So
to
the
Fair
Ones
I
devote
my
Song
.
The
Wise
will
seldom
credit
all
they
hear
,
Tho'
saucy
Wits
shou'd
tell
them
with
a
Sneer
,
That
Womens
Friendships
,
like
a
certain
Fly
,
Are
hatch'd
i'th
Morning
and
at
Ev'ning
die
.
'Tis
true
,
our
Sex
has
been
from
early
Time
A
constant
Topick
for
Satirick
Rhyme
:
Nor
without
Reason
—
since
we're
often
found
,
Or
lost
in
Passion
,
or
in
Pleasures
drown'd
:
And
the
fierce
Winds
that
bid
the
Ocean
roll
,
Are
less
inconstant
than
a
Woman's
Soul
:
Yet
some
there
are
who
keep
the
mod'rate
Way
,
Can
think
an
Hour
,
and
be
calm
a
Day
:
Who
ne'er
were
known
to
start
into
a
Flame
,
Turn
Pale
or
tremble
at
a
losing
Game
.
Run
Chloe's
Shape
or
Delia's
Features
down
,
Or
change
Complexion
at
Celinda's
Gown
:
But
still
serene
,
compassionate
and
kind
,
Walk
through
Life's
Circuit
with
an
equal
Mind
.
Of
all
Companions
I
would
choose
to
shun
Such
,
whose
blunt
Truths
are
like
a
bursting
Gun
,
Who
in
a
Breath
count
all
your
Follies
o'er
,
And
close
their
Lectures
with
a
mirthful
Roar
:
But
Reason
here
will
prove
the
safest
Guide
,
Extremes
are
dang'rous
plac'd
on
either
Side
.
A
Friend
too
soft
will
hardly
prove
sincere
;
The
Wit's
inconstant
,
and
the
Learn'd
severe
.
Good-Breeding
,
Wit
,
and
Learning
,
all
conspire
To
charm
Mankind
and
make
the
World
admire
:
Yet
in
a
Friend
but
serve
an
under
Part
,
The
main
Ingredient
is
an
honest
Heart
:
By
this
can
Urs'la
all
our
Souls
subdue
Which
wanting
,
this
,
not
Sylvia's
Charms
,
can
do
.
Now
let
the
Muse
(
who
takes
no
Courtier's
Fee
)
Point
to
her
Friend
—
and
future
Ages
see
(
If
this
shall
live
'till
future
Ages
be
)
One
Line
devoted
to
Fidelia's
Praise
,
The
lov'd
Companion
of
my
early
Days
:
Whouse
harmless
Thoughts
are
sprightly
as
her
Eyes
,
By
Nature
chearful
,
and
by
Nature
wise
.
To
have
them
last
,
the
social
Laws
decree
;
We
choose
our
Friendships
in
the
same
degree
:
What
mighty
Pleasure
,
if
we
might
presume
,
To
strut
with
Freedom
in
Arvida's
Room
,
Or
share
the
Table
what
supreme
Delight
?
With
some
proud
Dutchess
or
a
scornful
Knight
,
To
sit
with
formal
and
assenting
Face
?
For
who
shall
dare
to
contradict
her
Grace
?
Our
free-born
Nature
hates
to
be
confin'd
,
Where
State
and
Power
check
the
speaking
Mind
;
Where
heavy
Pomp
and
sullen
Form
withholds
That
chearful
Ease
and
Sympathy
of
Souls
.
But
yet
the
Soul
whate'er
its
Partner
do
,
Must
lift
its
Head
above
the
baser
Crew
.
Celestial
Friendship
with
its
nicer
Rules
,
Frequents
not
Dunghills
nor
the
Clubs
of
Fools
.
It
asks
,
to
make
this
Union
soft
and
long
,
A
Mind
susceptible
,
and
Judgment
strong
;
And
then
a
Taste
:
But
let
that
Taste
be
giv'n
By
mighty
Nature
and
the
Stamp
of
Heav'n
:
Possest
of
these
,
the
justly
temper'd
Flame
Will
glow
incessant
,
and
be
still
the
same
:
Not
mov'd
by
Sorrow
,
Sickness
,
or
by
Age
To
sullen
Coldness
or
distemper'd
Rage
.
The
Soul
unstain'd
with
Envy
or
with
Pride
,
Pleas'd
with
itself
and
all
the
World
beside
,
Unmov'd
can
see
gilt
Chariots
whirling
by
,
Or
view
the
wretched
with
a
melting
Eye
,
Discern
a
Failing
and
forgive
it
too
:
Such
,
Artemisia
,
we
may
find
in
you
.
Be
seldom
sour
,
or
your
Friends
will
fly
From
the
hung
Forehead
and
the
scornful
Eye
:
Nor
,
like
Aurelia
,
in
the
Morning
kind
,
And
soft
as
Summer
or
the
western
Wind
:
But
round
ere
night
her
giddy
Passions
wheel
,
She'll
clap
the
Door
against
your
parting
Heel
.
An
even
Temper
will
be
sure
to
please
,
With
cool
Reflexion
and
a
chearful
Ease
.
But
see
Armida's
unfrequented
Rooms
,
How
vainly
spread
with
Carpets
and
Perfumes
:
All
shun
her
like
the
Cocatrice's
Beams
,
And
for
no
other
Reason
but
her
loath'd
Extremes
.
To-day
more
holy
than
a
cloister'd
Nun
,
Almost
an
Atheist
by
to-morrow's
Sun
:
Now
speaks
to
Heaven
with
a
lifted
Eye
:
Now
to
her
Footman
,
You're
a
Rogue
,
and
lye
.
O
say
,
from
what
strange
Principles
begin
These
odd
Compounds
of
Piety
and
Sin
?
A
sickly
Fair
may
some
Excuses
find
,
(
What
grieves
the
Body
will
affect
the
Mind
)
But
not
the
Creatures
who
have
learn'd
to
screen
Their
own
Ill-nature
in
the
name
of
Spleen
.
What
the
black
Mists
afflict
the
aking
Skull
,
The
Spirits
tremble
and
the
Heart
be
dull
:
Have
you
from
thence
a
Licence
to
offend
,
Affront
a
Patron
or
abuse
a
Friend
?
And
ape
the
Manners
of
a
surly
Beast
,
Because
'tis
cloudy
and
the
Wind's
i'th'
East
?
But
all
have
Failings
,
not
the
best
are
free
,
Or
in
a
greater
or
a
less
Degree
.
What
follows
then
?
—
Forgive
,
or
unforgiven
Expect
no
Passage
at
the
Gate
of
Heav'n
.
Kind
Nature
gave
,
in
Pity
to
Mankind
,
This
social
Virtue
to
the
human
Mind
:
This
gives
our
Pleasures
a
more
easy
Flow
,
And
helps
to
blunt
the
Edge
of
smarting
Woe
:
The
Soul's
Relief
,
with
Grief
or
Cares
opprest
,
Is
to
disclose
them
to
a
faithful
Breast
;
And
then
how
lovely
in
a
Friend
appear
,
The
mournful
Sigh
and
sympathizing
Tear
.
When
changing
Fortune
with
propitious
Ray
,
Gilds
the
brown
Ev'ning
or
the
smiling
Day
;
The
pleas'd
Companion
shares
the
welcome
Tide
,
And
wrap'd
in
Joy
the
happy
Minutes
glide
.
Grave
Authors
differ
—
Men
of
Sense
incline
This
Way
or
that
—
Opinions
rarely
join
:
Their
Thoughts
will
vary
.
Why
?
Because
they're
free
,
But
most
in
this
and
only
this
agree
;
That
our
chief
Task
is
seldom
to
offend
,
And
Life's
great
Blessing
a
well-chosen
Friend
.