So hit the fex's dearest whim,
So rais'd them in their own esteem,
That ev'ry confcious worth increas'd,
And every foible funk to rest.
Nay, e'en when chivalry was o'er,
And adoration reign'd no more,
Within due bounds the following sect
Reftrain'd them by profound refpect;
Politely grafp'd the filken reins,
And held them in ideal chains.
But now, when you appear before 'em,
You want all deference and decorum ;
And, conscious of good Heav'n knows what,
Noddle your heads, and flouch your hat;
Or, careless of the circling throng,
Thro' full affemblies lounge along,
And on a couch politely throw
Your liftlefs limbs without a bow,
While all the fair, like Sheba's Queen,
Croud eager to the inviting scene,
And o'er that couch in raptures hang
To hear their Solomon's harangue.
No doubt 'tis edifying stuff,
(For gentle ears are cannon-proof)
And wife the doctrines which
But your examples more than preach :
For 'tis from hence your high-bred laffes
Lofe, or defpife, their native graces.
Hence comes it that at every rout
They hoyden in, and hoyden out.
The modeft dignity of yore,
The step chaftis'd, is feen no more.
They hop, they gallop, and they trot,
A curt'fy is a thing forgot.
Th' affected ftare, the thruft-out chin,
The leer, the titter, and the grin,
Supply what hung on Hebe's cheek,
"And lov'd to live in dimple fleek.'
Nay, fome who boast their fixteen quarters
One might mistake for chandlers daughters.
Ah, could thefe trifiers of a day
Know what their mafters think and say,
When o'er their claret they debate
Each pretty victim's future fate ;
With what contempt and malice fraught
They fneer the follies they have taught;
How deep a blush their cheek would fire!
Their little breasts would burft with ire;
And the moft heedlefs mawkin there,
The lovelieft idiot, drop a tear.
Virtues have fexes, paft a doubt,
Mythologists have mark'd them out;
Nor yet in excellence alone
Have this peculiar difference shown:
Your vices-that's too hard a name-
Your follies-fhould not be the fame.
In every plant, in every grain
Of Nature's genuine works we find
Some innate effences remain
Which mark the fpecies and the kind.
Tho' forms may vary, round or square,
Be fmooth, be rough, be regular;
Tho' colours feparate or unite,
The fport of fuperficial light?
Yet is there Something, that, or this,
By Nature's kind indulgence fown,
Which makes each thing be what it is,
A tree a tree, a ftone a ftone.
So in each fex diftinct and clear
A genuine Something fhould appear,
A Fe-ne fai quoi, however flight,
To vindicate the natural right.
Then, Sirs, for I perceive you yawn,
Be this conclufion fairly drawn:
Sexes are proper, and not common ;
Man must be man, and woman woman.
In fhort, be coxcombs if you please,
Be arrant ladies in your drefs;
Be every name the vulgar give
To what their groffness can't conceive:
Yet one fmall favour let me afk,
Not to impofe too hard a task-
Whether you fix your fancied reign
In brothels, or in drawing-rooms,
The little Something ftill retain.
Be gamefters, gluttons, jockies, grooms,
Be all which Nature never meant,
Free-thinkers in the full extent,
But ah! for Something be rever'd,
And keep your fex, and SHOW THE BEARD. END OF VOLUME SEVENTY-TWO.
HE Danger of Writing Verfe. An Epifile, 141
Ann Boleyn to Henry the Eighth. An Heroic
On Nobility. An Epiftle, to the Earl of
An Hymn to the Nymph of Bristol Spring,
On Friendship,
An Epistle from a Grove in Derbyshire to a Grove
The Youth and the Philofopher. A Fable,
To a Gentleman, on his pitching a Tent in his
The Lark. A Simile. To the Reverend Mr.
To the Honourable Charles Townsend,
To the fame, on the Death of a Relation,
To Mr. Garrick,
VOL. LXXII.
Nature to Dr. Hoadly, on his Comedy of the Suf
To the Rev. Dr. Lowth, on his Life of William
Ode to the Tiber. On entering the Campania of
Elegy I. Written at the Convent of Haut Villers
Elegy H. On the Maufoleum of Auguftus. To
the Right Honourable George Buffy Villiers,
Vifcount Villiers,
Elegy III. To the Right Honourable George Si
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