And yet, so plain (tho' blind you know)
Milton could see it years ago:

Thus has the bard our sex attackt,
"Fair outward, inward less exact."
But you a strong exception stand,
With Wit and Beauty hand in hand,
Apart how weak! combin'd how strong!
They'll sweep whole ranks of hearts along;
Before such pow'rs each foe will fly,
That principal, and this ally.

Lovers you then will slay in plenty,
Like Bobadil each day your twenty;

Then will you grow the topic common,

"How soon, (they'll say) shot up a woman! "What eyes! what lips! how fine each feature! “Fore gad !—a most delicious creature !”This from the beaux-Mean time each belle, in Mere spite, my dear, at your excelling, Stung to the heart and devilish jealous Of homage paid by pretty fellows. Shall flirt her fan, and toss, and snuff, And cry-" The thing is well enough"But for my soul, to say what's true t' ye, "I can't find out where lies her beauty." Mean time you smile with sweet disdain, Like Dian 'midst her meaner train.

Thus my prophetic soul foreknows What Time shall more anon disclose.

Swift move that time on rapid wing,
And news of dear Conolly bring;
Yet let not those who love, complain,
If thus to part is killing pain,

'Tis still to make the bliss more dear,
When the sweet hour of meeting's near.
So streams are sever'd in their course
To join again with double force.

EPISTLE XI.

ΤΟ

A LADY, IN AUTUMN.

BY THE LATE

EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

ASSES milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before,
Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more.

At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone,
There's no pleasure in bed.-MARY, bring me my

gown:

Slip on that ere you rise; let your caution be such :. Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too

much;

Your pinners set right, your twitcher ty'd on,

Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done; Retire to some author, improving and gay,

And with sense like your own, set your mind for the

day.

At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' the year
The sun, like your wit, is as mild as 'tis clear:
But mark in the meadows the ruin of Time;

Take the hint, and let life be improv'd in its prime.
Return not in haste, nor of dressing take heed;
For beauty, like yours, no assistance can need.

With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you sit,
Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your wit:
Let this be indulg'd, and let laughter go round;
As it pleases your mind, to your health 'twill redound.
After dinner two glasses at least I approve ;

Name the first to the king, and the last to your love:
Thus cheerful with wisdom with innocence gay,
And calm with your joys gently glide through the

day.

The dews of the evening most carefully shun;

Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
Then in chat or at play, with a dance, or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along.
All cares, but of love banish far from your mind;
And those you may end, when you please to be kind.

EPISTLE XII.

FROM

J. BRAMSTON

ΤΟ

CAPTAIN HINTON.

HINTON, Old Friend, accept from me
The following rules without a fee:
An asthma is your case, I think,
So you must neither eat nor drink;
I mean, of meats preserv'd in salt,
Nor any liquor made of malt;

From season'd sauce avert your eyes,
From hams, and tongues, and pigeon-pies:
If venison-pasty 's set before you,
Each bit you eat-memento mori.

Your suppers, nothing, if you please,
But above all, no toasted cheese.
And now, perhaps, you may observe,
What I prescribe will make you starve:
No-I allow you at a meal

A leg, a loin, or neck of veal: