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September 27, 1764. No.
15. |
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Verses
to a young LADY,
on her going out into Life
By Mr. Khudde
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Trust
not a Man! We are by Nature false,
DISSEMBLING,
SUBTLE,
CRUEL,
and UNCONSTANT:
When a Man talks of
LOVE,
with Caution trust him:
But if he swears, he’ll certainly deceive thee. |
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OTWAY. |
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This
Verse, dear PHILLIS,
I to thee assign, |
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Nor
all my Views to elder Worth confine.
But what on this Occasion shall I say?
How form and turn the Warm, the Faithful lay? |
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my fond Affection let me show, |
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teach the Lines with artful Tints to glow, |
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in high labour’d Pathos give the Numbers Flow. |
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While
Life’s gay Scenes before you sportive rise,
And tempt you forth with glowing Forms and Dyes;
Still as the flow’ry Lengths you smiling pass, |
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Beware
the Serpent lurking in the Grass:
The Serpent Man! Who haunts the Virgin’s Way,
Woman his Sport, Woman his constant Prey! |
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These
your first Views; but make it still your Care
To keep the Mean, and of Extream aware; |
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Nor
Life mistaking, and its social Good,
Sink down and settle in the sullen Prude.
The Purport mark, and meditate the End,
To which Man’s Overtures still doubtful tend;
And thus the False distinguished from the True,
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As
Prudence bids, your cautious Plan pursue;
Thus try the Man: ’Tis his, remember well,
His, to attack;—Your’s, PHILLIS, to repel.
Acquit yourself; maintain the well-fought Field;
And only with, not at Discretion yield:
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Think
that you fall for ever if you fall;
A Woman’s Honour is a Woman’s All.
In this, WIT,
BEAUTY,
FORTUNE,
FORM
and MIND,
She gives, like Atoms, to the whistling Wind!
All Worth, all Pleasure, is with Honor lost; |
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A
Truth that Thousands witness to their Cost.
The Fate of Woman deeply we deplore,
“They fall like Stars, that set, to rise no more.”
But why this Topic, with such Ardour press’d,
To you, with Innocence, with Virture bless’d?
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Not
that I think you Weak, proceeds my Song,
But that I know the Wretch, false Man! Is strong.
My Fears from Fondness, not Suspicion, rise;
No Storm he dreads, who risks at Sea no Prise:
Indulgent then, the friendly Strains receive,
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A
friendly Strain is all a Bard
can give;
Some Worth still waits on Poverty’s rude Call,
A Mite has Value when a Mite is all.
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