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From Lydia's monarch should the Search descend,
By Solon caution'd to regard his End,
In Life's last Scene what Prodigies surprise,
Fears of the Brave, and Follies of the Wise?
From Marlb'rough's Eyes the Streams of Dotage flow,
And Swift expires a Driv'ler and a Show.
The[1] teeming Mother, anxious for her Race,
Begs for each Birth the Fortune of a Face:
Yet Vane could tell what Ills from Beauty spring;
And Sedley curs'd the Form that pleas'd a King.
Ye Nymphs of rosy Lips and radiant Eyes,
Whom Pleasure keeps too busy to be wise,
Whom Joys with soft Varieties invite
By Day the Frolick, and the Dance by Night,
D
Who
- ↑ Ver. 289—345.
