Made slaves to serve their luxury and pride, and with innumerable hardships tried, till pitying Heaven release us from our pain, kind Heaven to whom alone we dare complain. The' ill-natured world will no compassion show, such as are wretched, it would still have so, it gratifies its envy and its spite, the most in others miseries take delight. While we are present they some Pity spare,
and feast us on a thin repast of air, look grave and sigh, when we our wrongs relate, and in a complement accuse our fate blame those to whom we our misfortunes owe, and all the signs of real friendship show, but when we're absent, we their sport are made, they fan the flame, and our oppressors aid,
join with the stronger, the victorious side, and all our sufferings, all our griefs deride.

Those generous few, whom kinder thoughts inspire, and who the happiness of all desire, who wish we were from barbarous usage free, exempt from toils, and shameful slavery, yet let us unproved, misspend our hours, and to mean purposes employ our nobler powers. They think if we our thoughts can but express, and know but how to work, to dance and dress, it is enough, as much as we should mind, as if we were for nothing else designed, but made, like puppets, to divert mankind. O that my sex would all such toys despise, and only study to be good, and wise, inspect themselves, and every blemish find, search all the close recesses of the mind, and leave no vice, no ruling passion there, nothing to raise a blush, or cause a fear,their memories with solid notions fill, and let their reason dictate to their will. Instead of novels, histories peruse, and for their guides the wiser ancients chose,