Heroes and heroines of old, By honour only were enroll'd Among their brethren in the skies, To which (though late) shall Stella rise. Ten thousand oaths upon record Are not so sacred as her word:      The world shall in its atoms end, Ere Stella can deceive a friend. By honour seated in her breast She still determines what is best:      What indignation in her mind Against enslavers of mankind! Base kings, and ministers of state, Eternal objects of her hate! She thinks that nature ne'er design'd Courage to man alone confined. Can cowardice her sex adorn, Which most exposes ours to scorn? She wonders where the charm appears In Florimel's affected fears; For Stella never learn'd the art At proper times to scream and start; Nor calls up all the house at night, And swears she saw a thing in white. Doll never flies to cut her lace, Or throw cold water in her face, Because she heard a sudden drum, Or found an earwig in a plum. Her hearers are amazed from whence Proceeds that fund of wit and sense; Which, though her modesty would shroud, Breaks like the sun behind a cloud; While gracefulness its art conceals, And yet through every motion steals. Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind, And, forming you, mistook your kind?      No; 'twas for you alone he stole The fire that forms a manly soul; Then, to complete it every way, He moulded it with female clay:      To that you owe the nobler flame, To this the beauty of your frame. How would Ingratitude delight, And how would Censure glut her spite, If I should Stella's kindness hide In silence, or forget with pride! When on my sickly couch I lay, Impatient both of night and day, Lamenting in unmanly strains, Call'd every power to ease my pains; Then Stella ran to my relief, With cheerful face and inward grief; And, though by Heaven's severe decree She suffers hourly more than me,      No cruel master could require, From slaves employ'd for daily hire, What Stella, by her friendship warm'd With vigour and delight perform'd:      My sinking spirits now supplies With cordials in her hands and eyes:      Now with a soft and silent tread Unheard she moves about my bed. I see her taste each nauseous draught, And so obligingly am caught; I bless the hand from whence they came, Nor dare distort my face for shame. Best pattern of true friends! beware; You pay too dearly for your care, If, while your tenderness secures My life, it must endanger yours; For such a fool was never found, Who pull'd a palace 

 Prev. P 36/284 next