Love why do we one paffion call,

When 'tis a compound of them all!

Where hot and cold, where fharp and fweet,

For why fuch raptures, flights, and fancies,

To her who durft not read romances?

795

In lofty ftyle to make replies,
Which he had taught her to defpife?

But when her tutor will affect

Devotion, duty, and refpect,
He fairly abdicates the throne;
The government is now her own;

800

He

He has a forfeiture incurr'd;

She vows to take him at his word,
And hopes he will not think it strange,
If both should now their stations change.
The nymph will have her turn to be
The tutor; and the pupil, he :
Though the already can discern
Her scholar is not apt to learn;
Or wants capacity to reach
The science the designs to teach:
Wherein his genius was below
The skill of every common beau,
Who, though he cannot spell, is wife
Enough to read a lady's eyes,

And will each accidental glance
Interpret for a kind advance.

But what fuccefs Vaneffa met,

805

810

815

Or, to compound the business, whether

They temper love and books together;

825

For, though by one perverfe event
Pallas had crofs'd her first intent;
Though her defign was not obtain’d;
Yet had the much experience gain'd,
And, by the project vainly try'd,
Could better now the caufe decide.
She gave due notice, that both parties,
Coram Regina, prox' die Martis,
Should at their peril, without fail,
Come and appear, and fave their bail.

All met; and, filence thrice proclaim'd,
One lawyer to each fide was nam’d.
The judge difcover'd in her face
Refentments for her late disgrace;

.845

The fum of what each lawyer faid,

And, full of anger, fhame, and grief,
Directed them to mind their brief;

Nor fpend their time to fhew their reading;
She'd have a fummary proceeding.

She gather'd under every head

850

Gave her own reasons last, and then

Decreed the cause against the men.

But, in a weighty cafe like this,
To fhew she did not judge amifs,
Which evil tongues might elfe report,
She made a fpeech in open court;
Wherein the grievously complains,
"How the was cheated by the fwains ;"
On whofe petition (humbly fhewing,
That women were not worth the wooing,
VOL. I.

K

860

And

855

And that, unless the fex would mend,
The race of lovers foon must end) —
“She was at Lord knows what expence
"To form a nymph of wit and fense,
“A model for her fex defign'd,
"Who never could one lover find.
"She faw her favour was mifplac'd;
“ The fellows had a wretched taste;

"She needs must tell them to their face,
They were a fupid, fenfelefs race;

"She ftudy to reform the men ;
"Or add fome grains of fully more

"To women, than they had before,

“To put them on an equal foot;

“And this, or nothing elfe, would do 't.

865

870

875

"This might their mutual fancy ftrike; "Since every being loves its like.

"But now, repenting what was done,

880

"She left all bufincfs to her fon;
"She puts the world in his poffeffion,
"And let him use it at difcretion.”

The cryer was order'd to difmifs
The court, fo made his last O yes!
The goddess would no longer wait;
But, rifing from her chair of ftate,

Lett at below at fix and feven,

Haineis'd her doves, and flew to heaven.

885

ΤΟ

TO LOVE*.

N all I wish, how happy fhould I be,

Thou grand Deluder, were it not for thee!
So weak thou art, that fools thy power defpife,
And yet fo ftrong, thou triumph'ft o'er the wife.
Thy traps are laid with fuch peculiar art,
They catch the cautious; let the rafh depart.
Mott nets are fill'd by want of thought and care:
But too much thinking brings us to thy fnare;
Where, held by thee, in flavery we stay,
And throw the pleafing part of life away.
But, what does moft my indignation move,
Difcretion! thou wert ne'er a friend to love:
Thy chief delight is to defeat those arts,
By which he kindles mutual flames in hearts;
While the blind loitering God is at his play,
Thou fteal'ft his golden-pointed darts away;
Thofe darts which never fail; and in their ftead
Convey'ft malignant arrows tipt with lead:
The heedlefs God, fufpecting no deceits,

Shoots on, and thinks he has done wondrous feats;
But the poor nymph, who feels her vitals burn,
And from her fhepherd can find no return,

Laments, and rages at the power divine,

When, curft Discretion! all the fault was thine;

Found in Mifs Vanhomrigh's defk, after her death,

in the hand-writing of Dr. Swift.