like an humble slave; And, when indecently I rave, When out my brutish passions break, With gall in every word I speak, She with soft speech my anguish cheers, Or melts my passions down with tears; Although 'tis easy to descry She wants assistance more than I; Yet seems to feel my pains alone, And is a stoic in her own. When, among scholars, can we find So soft and yet so firm a mind? All accidents of life conspire To raise up Stella's virtue higher; Or else to introduce the rest Which had been latent in her breast. Her firmness who could e'er have known, Had she not evils of her own? Her kindness who could ever guess, Had not her friends been in distress? Whatever base returns you find From me, dear Stella, still be kind. In your own heart you'll reap the fruit, Though I continue still a brute. But, when I once am out of pain, I promise to be good again; Meantime, your other juster friends Shall for my follies make amends; So may we long continue thus, Admiring you, you pitying us. 

  

  

       VERSES BY STELLA     

      If it be true, celestial powers, That you have form'd me fair, And yet, in all my vainest hours, My mind has been my care:      Then, in return, I beg this grace, As you were ever kind, What envious Time takes from my face Bestow upon my mind! 

  

  

       A RECEIPT TO RESTORE STELLA'S YOUTH. 1724-5     

      The Scottish hinds, too poor to house In frosty nights their starving cows, While not a blade of grass or hay Appears from Michaelmas to May, Must let their cattle range in vain For food along the barren plain:      Meagre and lank with fasting grown, And nothing left but skin and bone; Exposed to want, and wind, and weather, They just keep life and soul together, Till summer showers and evening's dew Again the verdant glebe renew; And, as the vegetables rise, The famish'd cow her want supplies; Without an ounce of last year's flesh; Whate'er she gains is young and fresh; Grows plump and round, and full of mettle, As rising from Medea's [1] kettle. With youth and beauty to enchant Europa's[2] counterfeit gallant. Why, Stella, should you knit your brow, If I compare 

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