Oh thou that know’st each Shepherds Strains } That Pipes and Sings upon the Plains; } Inform me where the youth remains. } The spightful Paper bare no name, Nor can I guess from whom it came, Or if at least a guess I found, ‘Twas not t’instruct but to confound. _To_ Alexis _in Answer to his Poem against Fruition_. ODE. _by Mrs._ B. Ah hapless sex! who bear no charms, But what like lightning flash and are no more, False fires sent down for baneful harms, Fires which the fleeting Lover feebly warms And given like past Beboches o’re, Like Songs that please (thô bad,) when new, But learn’d by heart neglected grew. In vain did Heav’n adorn the shape and face With Beautyes which by Angels forms it drew: In vain the mind with brighter Glories Grace, While all our joys are stinted to the space Of one betraying enterview, With one surrender to the eager will We’re short-liv’d nothing, or a real ill. Since Man with that inconstancy was born, To love the absent, and the present scorn, Why do we deck, why do we dress For such a short-liv’d happiness? Why do we put Attraction on, Since either way ‘tis we must be undon? They fly if Honour take our part, Our Virtue drives ‘em o’re the field. We lose ‘em by too much desert, And Oh! they fly us if we yeild, Ye Gods! is there no charm in all the fair To fix this wild, this faithless, wanderer? Man! our great business and our aim, For whom we spread our fruitless snares, No sooner kindles the designing flame, But to the next bright object bears The Trophies of his conquest and our shame: Inconstancy’s the good supream The rest is airy Notion, empty Dream! Then, heedless Nymph, be rul’d by me If e’re your Swain the bliss desire; Think like _Alexis_ he may be Whose wisht Possession damps his fire; The roving youth in every shade Has left some sighing and abandon’d Maid, For ‘tis a fatal lesson he has learn’d, After fruition ne’re to be concern’d. _To_ Alexis, _On his saying, I lov’d a Man that talk’d much, by Mrs._ B. _Alexis_, since you’ll have it so I grant I am impertinent. And till this moment did not know Thrô all my life what ‘twas I ment; Your kind opinion was th’ unflattering Glass, In which my mind found how deform’d it was. In your clear sense which knows no art, I saw the error of my Soul; And all the feebless of my heart, With one reflection you controul, Kind as a God, and gently you chastise, By what you hate, you teach me to be wise.