Poem by Mary Wortley Montagu

Conclusion of a Letter to a Friend

Sent from Italy, 1741

But happy you from the contagion free,
Who, through her veil, can human nature see;
Calm you reflect, amid the frantic scene,
On the low views of those mistaken men,
Who lose the short invaluable hour,
Through dirt-pursuing schemes of distant pow'r:
Whose best enjoyments never pay the chase,
But melt like snow within a warm embrace.
Believe me, friend, for such indeed are you,
Dear to my heart, and to my int'rest true;
Too much already have you thrown away,
Too long sustain'd the labor of the day;
Enjoy the remnant of declining light,
Nor wait for rest till overwhelm'd in night.
By present pleasure balance pain you've past,
Forget all systems, and indulge your taste. 

1. The Fourth Ode of the First Book of Horace Imitated
2. Epigram, 1734
3. Melinda's Complaint
4. Epistle to Lord Hervey on the King's Birthday from the Country
5. Ballad, on a Late Occurrence

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