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Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;

Chuse a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it

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,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's di'monds with her dirty smock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an evʼning mask:
So morning insects that in muck begun,

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Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend;

The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend.

30

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.

All eyes may see from what the change arose,

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All eyes may see a pimple on her nose.

Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,

Sighs for the shades!" How charming is a Park!"
A park is purchas'd, but the fair he sees

All bath'd in tears-"Oh odious, odious trees !"
Ladies, like variegated tulips, show,

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'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe;

Finé

VER. 24. As Sappho's di’monds, &c.] It appears very clear that by Sappho, throughout, Lady Montagu must have been meant.

Fine by defect, and delicately weak,

Their happy spots the nice admirer take.
'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd,
Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
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,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,

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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 ;
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,
And made a widow happy, for a whim.
Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,

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When 'tis by that alone she can be born?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?

бо

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:

Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns:

And atheism and religion take their turns;

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A heathen in the carnal part,

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Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.

See

VER. 68. Yet still a sad,] Thought to be designed for the then

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See sin in state, majestically drunk;

Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk ;
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.

70

What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought :
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit

75

She sins with poets through pure love of wit.
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain?
Cæsar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlema❜ne.
As Helluo, late dictator of the feast,
The nose of Hautgout and the tip of Taste,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat :
So Philomedé, lect'ring all mankind,
On the soft passion, and the taste refin❜d,

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Th' address, the delicacy-stoops at once,

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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
The mighty blessing, "While we live, to live." 90
Then

VER. 70. Proud as a peeress,] Designed for the Duchess of Marlborough, who so much admired Congreve; and after his death caused a figure of wax-work to be made of him, and placed frequently at her table.

VER. 77. What has not fir'd, &c.] In the MS.

In whose mad brain the mixt ideas roll
Of Tall-boy's breeches, and of Cæsar's 30yl.

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.

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,

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

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Turn then from wits, and look on Simo's mate,
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.
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)

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Cries, "Ah! how charming if there's no such place!”
Or who in sweet vicissitude appears,

Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodine, and nightly draught,
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.

But what are these to great Atossa's mind?

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Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!

Who

VER. 107. Or her, who laughs at bell,] The person Pope in tended to ridicule was the Duchess of Montague.

Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon earth:
Shines in exposing knaves, and painting fools,
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.
From loveless youth to unrespected age,
No passion gratify'd, except her rage.
So much the fury still out-ran the wit,
The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell,
But he's a bolder man who dares be well.

Her ev'ry turn with violence pursu’d,

No 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 :
Superiors? death! and equals? what a curse!
But an inferior not dependant? worse.

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Offend

VER. 115. great Atossa's mind?] Atossa is a name mentioned in Herodotus, and said to be a follower of Sappho. She was daughter of Cyrus and sister of Cambyses, and married Darius. She is also named in the Persæ of schylus. She is said to be the first that wrote epistles. The name is here applied to the famous Duchess of Marlborough, whom Swift had also severely satirized in the Examiner.

After Ver. 122. in the MS.

Oppress'd with wealth and wit, abundance sad!
One makes her poor, the other makes her mad.

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