But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy Long years of repentance for moments of joy. Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find Good sense and good nature so equally join'd?) Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine; Not meanly would boast, nor lewdly design; Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain, For I would have the power, though not give the pain. No pedant, yet learned; no rake-helly gay, Or laughing, because he has nothing to say; To all my whole sex obliging and free, Yet never be fond of any but me; In public preserve the decorum that's just, And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust! Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow, But not fulsomely pert, nor yet foppishly low. But when the long hours of public are past, And we meet with champaign and a chicken at last, May every fond pleasure that moment endear; Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live, And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive. And that my delight may be solidly fix'd, Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd; In whose tender bosom my soul may confide, Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide. From such a dear lover as hero I describe, No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe; But till this astonishing creature I know, As I long have liv'd chaste, I will keep myself so. I never will share with the wanton coquette, Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit. The toasters and songsters may try all their art, But never shall enter the pass of my heart. I loathe the lewd rake, the dress'd fopling despise: Before such pursuers the nice virgin flies; And as Ovid has sweetly in parable told, We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold." This delightful epistle to Congreve appears to have been written at the time she resided at Twickenham,--lured there by the quiet and loveliness of that classic spot, and the fascination of Pope's society. The following letter would seem to confirm the sincerity of these racy verses;--and the presence of "Doctor Swift and Johnny Gay," --ballad-writing too,--must have had some influence over the pen of the poetess.