An EPISTLE to a LADY. By the Same. CLarinda, dearly lov'd, attend The counsels of a faithful friend; Who with the warmest wishes fraught, Feels all, at least, that friendship ought. But since by ruling heav'n's design, Another's fate shall influence thine; O! may these lines for him prepare A bliss, which I wou'd die to share! Man may for wealth or glory roam, But woman must be blest at home; To this shou'd all her studies tend, This her great object and her end. Distaste unmingled pleasures bring, And use can blunt affliction's sting; Hence perfect bliss no mortals know, And few are plung'd in utter woe; While nature arm'd against despair, Gives pow'r to mend, or strength to bear; And half the thought content may gain, Which spleen employs to purchase pain. Trace not the fair domestick plan, From what you wou'd, but what you can! Nor, peevish, spurn the scanty score, Because you think you merit more! Bliss ever differs in degree, Thy share alone is meant for thee; And thou should'st think, however small, That share enough, for 'tis thy all: Vain scorn will aggravate distress, And only make that little less. Admit whatever trifles come, Units compose the largest sum: O! tell them o'er, and say how vain Are those which form ambition's train: Which swell the monarch's gorgeous state, And bribe to ill the guilty great! But thou more blest, more wise than these, Shalt build up happiness on ease. Hail sweet Content! where joy serene Gilds the mild soul's unruffled scene: And with blith fancy's pencil wrought, Spreads the white web of flowing thought; Shines lovely in the cheerful face, And cloaths each charm with native grace; Effusion pure of bliss sincere, A vestment for a god to wear. Far other ornaments compose The garb that shrouds dissembled woes, Piec'd out with motley dies and sorts, Freaks, whimsies, festivals and sports; The troubled mind's fantastick dress, Which madness titles happiness. While the gay wretch to revel bears The pale remains of sighs and tears; And seeks in crowds, like her undone, What only can be found in one. But, chief, my gentle friend! remove Far from thy couch seducing love! O! shun the false magician's art, Nor trust thy yet unguarded heart! Charm'd by his spells fair honour flies, And thousand treach'rous phantoms rise Where guilt in beauty's ray beguiles, And ruin lurks in friendship's smiles. Lo! where th' enchanted captive dreams Of warbling groves, and purling streams; Of painted meads, of flowers that shed Their odours round her fragrant bed. Quick shifts the scene, the charm is lost, She wakes upon a desert coast! No friendly hand to lend its aid, No guardian bow'r to spread its shade; Expos'd to ev'ry chilling blast, She treads th' inhospitable waste; And down the drear decline of life, Sinks a forlorn, dishonour'd wife. Neglect not thou the voice of Fame, But clear from crime, be free from blame! Tho' all were innocence within, 'Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin. Virtue rejects the foul disguise: None merit praise who praise despise. Slight not, in supercilious strain, Long practis'd modes, as low or vain! The world will vindicate their cause, And claim blind faith in custom's laws. Safer with multitudes to stray, Than tread alone a fairer way; To mingle with the erring throng, Than boldly speak ten millions wrong. Beware of the relentless train Who forms adore, whom forms maintain! Lest prudes demure, or coxcombs loud, Accuse thee to the partial crowd; Foes who the laws of honour slight, A judge who measures guilt by spite. Behold the sage Aurelia stand, Disgrace and fame at her command! As if heaven's delegate design'd, Sole arbiter of all her kind. Whether she try some favour'd piece, By rules devis'd in ancient Greece; Or whether modern in her flight, She tells what Paris thinks polite. For much her talents to advance, She study'd Greece, and travell'd France. There learn'd the happy art to please, With all the charms of labour'd ease; Thro' looks and nods with meaning fraught, To teach what she was never taught. By her each latent spring is seen, The workings foul of secret spleen; The guilt that sculks in fair pretence, Or folly veil'd in specious sense. And much her righteous spirit grieves, When worthlessness the world deceives; Whether the erring crowd commends Some patriot sway'd by private ends; Or husband trust a faithless wife, Secure in ignorance from strife. Averse she brings their deeds to view, But justice claims the rig'rous due; Humanely anxious to produce At least some possible excuse. O ne'er may virtue's dire disgrace Prepare a triumph for the base! Mere forms the fool implicit sway, Which witlings with contempt survey, Blind folly no defect can see, Half wisdom views but one degree; The wise remoter uses reach, Which judgment and experience teach. Whoever wou'd be pleas'd and please, Must do what others do with ease. Great precept undefin'd by rule, And only learn'd in custom's school; To no peculiar form confin'd, It spreads thro' all the human kind; Beauty and wit and worth supplies, Yet graceful in the good and wise. Rich with this gift and none beside, In fashion's stream how many glide? Secure from ev'ry mental woe, From treach'rous friend or open foe; From social sympathy that shares The publick loss or private cares; Whether the barb'rous foe invade, Or merit pine in fortune's shade. Hence gentle Anna ever-gay, The same to-morrow as to-day, Save where perchance, when others weep, Her cheek the decent sorrow steep; Save when perhaps a melting tale, O'er ev'ry tender breast prevail. The good, the bad, the great, the small, She likes, she loves, she honours all. And yet if sland'rous malice blame, Patient she yields a sister's fame. Alike if satire or if praise, She says whate'er the circle says; Implicit does whate'er we do, Without one point or wish in view, Sure test of others, faithful glass Thro' which the various phantoms pass. Wide blank, unfeeling when alone, No care, no joy, no thought her own. Not thus succeeds the peerless dame, Who looks, and talks, and acts for fame; Intent, so wide her cares extend, To make the universe her friend. Now with the gay in frolick shines, Now reasons deep with deep divines. With courtiers now extols the great, With patriots sighs o'er Britain's fate. Now breathes with zealots holy fires, Now melts in less refin'd desires. Doom'd to exceed in each degree, Too wise, too weak, too proud, too free, Too various for one single word, The high sublime of deep absurd. While ev'ry talent nature grants, Just serves to shew how much she wants. Altho' in — combine The virtues of our sex and thine: Her hand restrains the widow's tears, Her sense informs, and sooths and cheers; Yet like an angel in disguise, She shines but to some favour'd eyes; Nor is the distant herd allow'd To view the radiance thro' the cloud. But thine is ev'ry winning art, Thine is the friendly honest heart: And shou'd the gen'rous spirit flow, Beyond where prudence fears to go; Such sallies are of nobler kind, Than virtues of a narrow mind.