Brought down to sight, with ease you view 'em
Though deep the bottom, yet the stream is clear.
Your flutt’ring sex still valued science less;
Careless of any but the arts of dress.
Their useless time was idly thrown away
On empty novels, or some new-born play :
The best, perhaps, a few loose hours might spare
For some unmeaning thing, miscall’d a prayer.
In vain the gliet'ring orbs, each starry night,
With mingling blazes shed a flood of light:
Each nymph with cold indiff'rence saw 'em rise ;
And, taught by fops, to them preferr’d her eyes.
None thought the stars were suns so widely sown,
None dreamt of other worlds, besides our own.
Well Inight they boast their charms, when every
Thought this world all; and her's the brightest here.
Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book inspires,
For those thin trifles which your sex admires :
Assert your claim to sense, and shew mankind,
That reason is not to themselves confin'd.
The haughty belle, whose beauty's awful shrine
*Twere sacrilege t'imagine not divine,
Who thought so greatly of her eyes before,
Bid her read this, and then be vain no more.
How poor evin you, who reign without control,
If we except the beauties of your soul!
Should all beholders feel the same surprise :
Should all who see you, see you with my eyes ;