The Works of the English Poets

EPILOGUE

WRITTEN BY SIR SAMUEL GARTH.

HAT odd fantastic things we women do!

WHAT

Who would not liften when young lovers woo?
But die a maid, yet have the choice of two!
Ladies are often cruel to their coft:

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To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancel'd, though in convents made.
Would you revenge such rash resolves---you may
Be fpiteful---and believe the thing we say,
We hate you when you're easily said nay.
How needless, if you knew us, were your fears!
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
Qur hearts are form'd as you yourselves would chufe,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse;

We give to merit, and to wealth we sell :
He fighs with most success that fettles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix :
'Tis beft repenting in a coach and fix.

Blame not our conduct, fince we but pursue
Thofe lively leffons we have learnt from you.
Your breafts no more the fire of beauty warms,
But wicked wealth ufurps the power of charms.

What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate,
To fwell in fhow, and be a wretch in state!
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow;
Ev'n churches are no fanctuaries now:
There golden idols all your vows receive,
She is no goddess that has nought to give.
Oh, may once more the happy age appear,
When words were artless, and the thoughts fincere ;
When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things,
And courts lefs coveted than groves and springs :
Love then fhall only mourn when truth complains,
And conftancy feel transport in its chains:
Sighs with fuccess their own soft anguish tell,
And eyes fhall utter what the lips conceal:
Virtue again to its bright station climb,
And beauty fear no enemy but time;
The fair fhall liften to defert alone,
And every Lucia find a Cato's fon.