His valour would no more employ,

Which might alone have conquer'd Troy ;
But, blinded by refentment, seeks

For vengeance on his friends, the Greeks.

You think this turbulence of blood
From itagnating preferves the flood,
Which thus fermenting, by degrees
Exalts the fpirits, finks the lees.
STELLA, for once you reafon
wrong;
For fhould this ferment last too long,
By time fubfiding, you may find
Nothing but acid left behind:

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From paffion you may then be freed,
When peevishness and fpleen fucceed.

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SAY. Stella when you copy next, Will you keep ftrictly to the text? Dare you let these reproaches ftand, And to your failing set your hand?

Or, if thefe lines your anger fire,
Shall they in bafer flames expire?

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Whene'er they burn if burn they must,

They'll prove my accufation juft.

STELLA to Dr SWIFT on his birthday, Nov. 30. 1721 †.

Τ

ST Patrick's Dean, your country's pride,

My early and my only guide,

This poem fhews the delicacy of Stella's tafte. It is the only remaining performance of that improved and lovely woman that I know of in the poetie ftrain. It was given by Dr Swift to a lady of his acquaintance, who had a great esteem for the virtues and accomplishments of the amiable Stella, altho' he never had the leaft intimacy with her. The Doctor affured this lady that it was a piece entirely genuine from the hands of Stella, without any fort of correction what foever. Swift---See Bons mots de Stella, in vol. iv.; and her character in Dr Swift's life, prefixed to vol. i.

Let me among the reft attend,

Your pupil and your humble friend,
To celebrate in female ftrains

The day that paid your mother's pains;
Defcend to take that tribute due

In gratitude alone to you.

WHEN men began to call me fair, You interpos'd your timely care;

You early taught me to despise

The ogling of a coxcomb's eyes;

Shew'd where my judgment was misplac'd;

Refin'd my fancy and my tafte.

BEHOLD that beauty juft decay'd,

Invoking art to nature's aid;

Forfook by her admiring train,

She spreads her tatter'd nets in vain ;
Short was her part upon the stage;
Went smoothly on for half a page;
Her bloom was gone, fbe wanted art,
As the scene chang'd, to change her part :
She, whom no lover could resist,
Before the fecond act was hits'd.
Such is the fate of female race
With no endowments but a face;
Before the thirti'th year of life
A maid forlorn, or hated wife.

STELLA to you, her tutor, owes
That fhe has ne er resembled those;
Nor was a burden to mankind

behind.

With half her course of years
You taught how I might youth prolong,
By knowing what was right and wrong;
How from my heart to bring fupplies

Of luftre to my fading eyes;

How foon a beauteous mind repairs

The lofs of changʻd or falling hairs ;

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How wit and virtue from within

Send out a fmoothnefs o'er the skin :

Your lectures could my fancy fix,
And I can please at thirty-fix.
The fight of Chloe at fifteen

Coquetting, gives not me the spleen;
The idol now of every fool

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Till time fhall make their paffions cool;

Then tumbling down time's steepy hill,
While Stella holds her ftation ftill.
Oh! turn your precepts into laws,
Redeem the women's ruin'd cause,
Retrieve loft empire to our fex,
That men may bow their rebel necks.
LONG be the day that gave you birth
Sacred to friendship, wit, and mirth;

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Late dying may you cast a fhred
Of your rich mantle o'er my head;
To bear with dignity my forrow,
One day alone, then die to-morrow.

The JOURNAL of a MODERN LADY.

Written in 1728.

T was a most unfriendly part

IT

In you, who ought to know my heart,
So well acquainted with my zeal

For all the female.commonweal-
How could it come into your mind
To pitch on me, of all mankind,
Against the fex to write a fatire,
And brand me for a woman hater?
On me, who think them all fo fair,
They rival Venus to a hair;
Their virtues never ceas'd to fing,

Since first I learn'd to tune a string?

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Methinks I hear the ladies cry,

Will he his character belie?
Muft never our misfortunes end?

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And have we loft our only friend?

Ah, lovely nymphs, remove your fears,
No more let fall thofe precious tears.
Sooner fhall, &c.

[Here feveral verfes are omitted.]

The hound be hunted by the hare,
Than I turn rebel to the fair.

;

"TWAS you engag'd me firft to write,
Then gave the fubject out of fpite:
The journal of a modern dame
Is by my promife what you claim.
My word is paft, I muft fubmit
And yet perhaps you may be bit.
I but transcribe; for not a line
Of all the fatire fhall be mine.
Compell'd by you to tag in rhymes
The common flanders of the times,
Of modern times, the guilt is yours,
And me my innocence fecures.
Unwilling muse, begin thy lay,
The annals of a female day.

By nature turn'd to play the rake well,

(As we shall shew you in the sequel),
The modern dame is wak'd by noon,
(Some authors fay, not quite fo foon),
Because, tho' fore against her will,
She fat all night up at Quadrille.
She ftretches, gapes, unglues her eyes,
And afks if it be time to rife;

Of headach and the fpleen complains ;
And then to cool her heated brains,

Her night-gown and her flippers brought her,
Takes a large dram of citron-water.”
Then to her glass; and, "Betty, pray
"Don't I look frightfully to-day?

་་

"But was it not confounded hard?
"Well, if I ever touch a card!
"Four mattadores, and lofe codill!
'Depend upon't, I never will.
"But run to Tom, and bid him fix
"The ladies here to-night by fix."
Madam, the goldsmith waits below;
He fays, his business is to know

If you'll redeem the filver cup

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He keeps in pawn?" Why, fhew him up."
Your dreffing-plate he'll be content

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To take, for int'reft cent. per cent.

And, Madam, there's my Lady Spade

Hath fent this letter by her maid.

"Well, I remember what she won;

And hath the sent so foon to dun ? "Here, carry down those ten pistoles

"My husband left to pay for coals:
"I thank my stars, they all are light;
"And I may have revenge to-night."
Now, loit'ring o'er her tea and cream,
She enters on her usual theme;
Her laft night's ill fuccefs repeats,
Calls Lady Spade a hundred cheats:
"She flipt Spadillo in her breaft,
"Then thought to turn it to a jest:

There's Mrs Cut and the combine,
"And to each other give the fign."
Thro' ev'ry game pursues her tale,
Like hunters o'er their ev`ning-ale.

Now to another scene give place: Enter the folks with filks and lace:

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