To Mrs. Armine Cartwright, at Bath. Lovely Armina, o'er her Books reclin'd, Impairs her Body, to improve her Mind: Of Wisdom fond, as others are of Wealth, In that Pursuit will sacrifice her Health: Then, Miser-like, when she has gain'd the Prize, Hides both Herself, and Treasure, from our Eyes. In this alone, Armina, you're to blame, Regardless of your Health, or Friendship's Claim: A giddy, thoughtless World your Aid require; And Ignorance prevails, when You retire. Why, Form'd to please! and why, Improv'd with Care! Is there no End, in being Wise, and Fair?