Rufa, whose eye quick glancing o'er the park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, As Sappho's[12] diamonds with her dirty smock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask: So morning insects that in muck begun, Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun. How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend: 30 To her, Calista proved her conduct nice; And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, But spare your censure--Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, All eyes may see--a pimple on her nose. Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Sighs for the shades--'How charming is a park!' A park is purchased, but the fair he sees All bathed in tears--'Oh odious, odious trees!' 40 Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe; Fine by defect, and delicately weak, Their happy spots the nice admirer take. 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd, Awed without virtue, without beauty charm'd; Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise; Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; 50 Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate. Narcissa's[13] nature, tolerably mild, To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; Has even been proved to grant a lover's prayer, And paid a tradesman once, to make him stare; Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, And made a widow happy, for a whim. Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, When 'tis by that alone she can be borne 60 Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns; And atheism and religion take their turns; A very heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart. See Sin in state, majestically drunk; Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; 70 Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride. What then? let blood and body bear the fault, Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought: Such this day's doctrine--in another fit She sins with poets through pure love of wit. What has not fired her bosom or her brain-- Caesar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne? As Helluo, late dictator of the feast, The nose of _haut gout_, and the tip of taste, 80 Critiqued your wine, and analysed your meat, Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat; So Philomede,[14] lecturing all mankind On the soft passion and the taste refined, The address, the delicacy--stoops at once, And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.