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Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow TO A LADY, VERY WELL KNOWN TO THE WHOLE TOWN. - The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

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TO A LADY, VERY WELL KNOWN TO THE WHOLE TOWN. - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems). [1901]

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From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Part of: The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version, in 21 vols.

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TO A LADY, VERY WELL KNOWN TO THE WHOLE TOWN.

  • Phillis, how much the times are changed,
  • Since in a hack the town you ranged,
  • Since without finery or train you shone,
  • Conspicuous for your charms alone;
  • When though you supped on sorry fare,
  • You nectar seemed with gods to share.
  • You foolishly to one consigned
  • Beauty which might charm all mankind:
  • A desperate lover, who for life
  • Engaged you when he made his wife.
  • You then no treasure did inherit,
  • Your beauty was your only merit,
  • Your bosom charms divine displayed;
  • There Cupid still an ambush laid;
  • Your heart was tender, and your mind
  • To youthful frolics much inclined.
  • With so many charms endued,
  • What woman e’er could be a prude?
  • That fault, oh! beauty all divine,
  • Was very far from being thine;
  • Because of favors you were free,
  • You were the better liked by me.
  • How differently you live, grown great,
  • Your life is but the farce of state;
  • The hoary porter, who still plies
  • At your own door, and tells such lies,
  • Is a just emblem of the age,
  • His very looks ill-luck presage;
  • He thinks the duty of his place is
  • To drive away the loves and graces.
  • The tender swain’s abashed, afraid
  • Your pompous palace to invade.
  • When you were young, to my amazement
  • I’ve seen them enter at the casement;
  • I’ve seen them enter every day,
  • And in your chamber nimbly play.
  • Not all your carpets, and your plate,
  • Not all your proud parade of state,
  • Those goblets which so brightly shine,
  • Graved by Germain with art divine;
  • Those closets nobly furnished, where
  • Martin’s exceeds the China ware,
  • Your vases of Japan, and all
  • The brittle wonders of your hall;
  • Your diamond pendants which appear
  • With such bright lustre at each ear;
  • Your solitaires so dazzling bright,
  • Your pomp which strikes the gazer’s sight,
  • Are worth one quarter of that bliss,
  • Which once you imparted by a kiss.