How many pictures of one nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermined pride, Is there, Pastora by a fountain side. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a swan. 10 Let then the fair one beautifully cry, In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye, Or dress'd in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine; Whether the charmer sinner it or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. 20
Rufa, whose eye quick glancing o'er the park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, As Sappho's[12] diamonds with her dirty smock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask: So morning insects that in muck begun, Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend: 30 To her, Calista proved her conduct nice; And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, But spare your censure--Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, All eyes may see--a pimple on her nose.
Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Sighs for the shades--'How charming is a park!' A park is purchased, but the fair he sees All bathed in tears--'Oh odious, odious trees!' 40
Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe; Fine by defect, and delicately weak, Their happy spots the nice admirer take. 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd, Awed without virtue, without beauty charm'd; Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise; Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; 50 Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.
Narcissa's[13] nature, tolerably mild, To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; Has even been proved to grant a lover's prayer, And paid a tradesman once, to make him stare; Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, And made a widow happy, for a whim. Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, When 'tis by that alone she can be borne 60 Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns; And atheism and religion take their turns; A very heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.