Epistle II: Concerning the Nature of Women in Society, as Portrayed in Ms Burney’s Novel, Evelina

Nothing so true as what you once let fall,
“Most women have no characters at all.” – Alexander Pope, Epistle 2. To a Lady

Unhappy woman’s but a slave at large. – Mary Leapor, An Essay on Woman

Exchange! My Muse, I call thee to a trade,
A trade to me well done, to thee, well paid,
That thou mayst help me sing a serious song
About all other muses, strong or wrong.

Of all the ladies’ ridiculous acts,
Poets have sung and recorded the facts:
That she may speak as long as the streams run
Of matters trivial like the sunny sun;
Or she may talk as loud as the winds roar,
Attracting gazes like a concert snore;
Or one may dare in darkness take a walk,
The other swears the rape of her fake lock;
Or all of them in painful envy glare
At one, who was affecting unaware.
These acts (the male) poet has sung and sung
While cutting off the female poet’s tongue.
But many gentlemen have no more worth
Than social ladies’ nonsensical mirth.
Indolent bastards squander excess wealth
To bet on agèd women’s strength and health;
Imbecile captains “prank” on ladies old,
Tying them up, leaving them in the cold.
Vain knights observe theatrical displays –
The ladies, not the operas or the plays.
And men with gallantry to girls assure,
Except the ugly, manly, married or the poor.

Both men and women, famed for worldly games,
Why solely joke with gentle-ladies’ names?
Successful men require a symbol bright
To show their eminence and social height,
And idle women in the upper class
Are perfect choice, choose from the common mass.
A lady should be like a fragile vase,
Put on display in public, open space,
Negotiating status, wealth and name
For her own reputation, beauty, fame.
The reputation, beauty, fame of women
Are categories judged by jury-men:
As vases must be curved to perfect shapes,
With artful painting mask their shameful scrapes
And give the aura of light elegance
(An object still, yet lively like a dance),
So ladies too must please their future buyers,
With blinking eyes and glittering attires.
And fragile vases they are; none can doubt
The risk of unconforming to the route
Society has offered – one may try
To leave the trade and for yourself supply,
But hateful words shall hide in mocking phrases:
A shattered vase swept off the sphere of gazes.
If few have read about the Golden Mean,
And many dreamt to be a mansion’s queen,
Then if the girl o’eract to please their sires,
Can they be faulted for their vain desires?
If talking long may catch a hungry ear,
If talking much may thrill a man that’s near,
If talking silly may draw sympathy,
If talking rude may kill an enemy,
Then why not talk, to lure a man’s fancy?
While men have time, may choose to play the game,
Women must live, must bargain for her name.

Great Pope and Swift! How badly you’ve mistaken
The problem: ladies never have forsaken
Their virtues – they cannot be disinterested
If they desire to survive unmolested.
If suddenly a lady lost her name
By accident, it is futile to blame:
This virtuous vase may have no cracks to hide,
In losing its maker, its value’s tried
And none would purchase such a debasing prize
Unless the men a forcèd tie devise.
Hence marriage! is the solution to all:
A vase now safely hanging on a wall
In a delightful cupboard down the hall.