_On Beau Nash's Picture at full length between the Busts of Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Pope._[312-5]
[312-5] DYCE: _Specimens of British Poetesses._ (This epigram is generally ascribed to Chesterfield. See Campbell, "English Poets," _note_, p. 521.)
First, then, a woman will or won't, depend on 't; If she will do 't, she will; and there 's an end on 't. But if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront, and jealousy injustice.[313-1]
Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.
'T is the same with common natures: Use 'em kindly, they rebel; But be rough as nutmeg-graters, And the rogues obey you well.
_Verses written on a window in Scotland._
[313-1] The following lines are copied from the pillar erected on the mount in the Dane John Field, Canterbury:--
Where is the man who has the power and skill To stem the torrent of a woman's will? For if she will, she will, you may depend on 't; And if she won't, she won't; so there 's an end on 't.
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; And saints who taught and led the way to heaven.
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
There taught us how to live; and (oh, too high The price for knowledge!) taught us how to die.[313-2]
The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.
I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away.
[313-2] He who should teach men to die, would at the same time teach them to live.--MONTAIGNE: _Essays, book i. chap. ix._
I have taught you, my dear flock, for above thirty years how to live; and I will show you in a very short time how to die.--SANDYS: _Anglorum Speculum, p. 903._
Teach him how to live, And, oh still harder lesson! how to die.
He taught them how to live and how to die.--SOMERVILLE: _In Memory of the Rev. Mr. Moore._
Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just, Stoop'd down serene and wrote them in the dust,-- Trod under foot, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind. There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie, And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty eye.
Words are men's daughters, but God's sons are things.[314-1]