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
.