Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design, Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line; Some wandering touches, some reflected light, Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right: For how should equal colours do the knack? Chameleons who can paint in white and black? 'Yet Chloe, sure, was form'd without a spot'-- Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. 'With every pleasing, every prudent part, Say, what can Chloe[17] want?'--She wants a heart. 160 She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; But never, never reach'd one generous thought. Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, Content to dwell in decencies for ever. So very reasonable, so unmoved, As never yet to love, or to be loved. She, while her lover pants upon her breast, Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; And when she sees her friend in deep despair, Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair. 170 Forbid it, Heaven! a favour or a debt She e'er should cancel--but she may forget. Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear; But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. Of all her dears she never slander'd one, But cares not if a thousand are undone. Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead? She bids her footman put it in her head. Chloe is prudent--would you, too, be wise? Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. 180 One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen, Which Heaven has varnish'd out, and made a queen: The same for ever! and described by all With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball. Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. 'Tis well--but, artists! who can paint or write, To draw the naked is your true delight. That robe of quality so struts and swells, None see what parts of nature it conceals: 190 The exactest traits of body or of mind, We owe to models of an humble kind. If Queensberry to strip there's no compelling, 'Tis from a handmaid we must take an Helen From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing To draw the man who loves his God, or king: Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) From honest Mahomet[18], or plain Parson Hale.[19] But grant, in public men sometimes are shown, A woman's seen in private life alone: 200 Our bolder talents in full light display'd; Your virtues open fairest in the shade. Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide; There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride, Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, That each may seem a virtue, or a vice. In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind; Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. 210 That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by man's oppression curst, They seek the second not to lose the first.