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Irtue and Vice, two mighty Pow'rs,
Who rule this motley World of ours,
Difputed once which govern'd best,
And whofe Dependants most were bleft.
They reason'd, rally'd, crack'd their Jokes,
Succeeding much like other Folks.
Their Logic wafted, and their Wit,
Nor one nor t'other wou'd fubmit;
But both the doubtful Point confent
To clear, by fair Experiment:
For this fome Mortal, they declare,
By Turns fhall both their Bounty fhare,
And either's Pow'r to bless him try'd,
Shall then the long Difpute decide.

On Hodge they fix, a Country Boor,
As yet rough, ign'rant, careless, poor-
Vice firft exerts her Pow'r to blefs,
And gives him Riches in Excefs,
With Gold she taught him to fupply
Each rifing Wish of Luxury:
Hodge grew at length polite and great,
And liv'd like Minifter of State;


He swore with Grace, got nobly drunk, And kept in Pomp his twentieth Punk. One Morning, as in easy Chair Hodge fat, with ruminating Air, Vice, like a Lady, fair and gay, Approach'd, and thus was heard to say(Behind her Virtue, all the while, Stood flily lift'ning with a Smile) • Know, favour'd Mortal, know that I The Pleafures of thy Life fupply; I rais'd thee from the Clay-built Cell, • Where Want, Contempt, and Slav'ry dwell; And, as each Joy on Earth is fold, To purchase all, I gave thee Gold: This made the Charms of Beauty thine, This blefs'd thee with the Joys of Wine; This gave thee, in the rich Repaft, • Whate'er can please the tutor❜d Taste. • Confefs the Bleffings I bestow,

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And pay the grateful Thanks you owe;
My Name is Vice.-Cry'd Hodge (and fneer'd)
Long be your mighty Name rever'd!
Forbid it, Heav'n! thus bleft by you,

• That I fhou'd rob you of your Due-
• To Wealth, 'twas you that made me Heir,
And gave, for which I thank you, Care;.
• Wealth brought me Wine, 'tis past a Doubt,
• And Wine, see here's a Leg! the Gout.
• To Wealth I owe my French Ragou,
• And that each Morn and Night- I fpew..

This Beauty brought, and, with the Dame, The Pox, a bleft Companion! came. And now to fhew how much I prize The Joys, which from your Bounty rise, Each coupled with fo dear a Brother, I'll give you one to take the other. Avaunt, depart from whence you came, And thank your Stars that I am lame.' Enrag'd and griev'd, away fhe flew, And all her Gifts from Hodge withdrew. Now, in his fad repentant Hour, Celestial Virtue try'd her Pow'r; For Wealth, Content the Goddess gave, Th' unenvy'd Treasure of the Slave! From wild Defires she set him free, And fill'd his Breast with Charity; No more loud Tumults Riot breeds, And Temp'rance Gluttony fucceeds. Hodge, in his native Cot at Reft,

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Now Virtue found, and thus addrefs'd:
Say, for 'tis yours by Proof to know,
Can Virtue give thee Blifs below?
• Content my Gift, and Temp'rance mine,
And Charity, tho' meek, divine.'—
With blushing Cheeks, and kindling Eyes,
The Man tranfported, thus replies :
< My Goddess! on this favour'd Head,
The Life of Life thy Bleffings fhed!
My annual Thousands when I told,
Infatiate ftill I figh'd for Gold;

• You

• You gave Content-a boundless Store !
• And, rich indeed! I figh'd no more.—
• With Temp'rance came, delightful Guest!
• Health,-tafteful Food, and balmy Reft;
• With Charity's feraphic Flame
• Each gen'rous focial Pleasure came,
Pleasures which in Poffeffion rife,
• And retrospective Thought supplies!
Long to atteft it may I live,

• That all Vice promises, you give.'

Vice heard, and fwore that Hodge for Hire Had giv❜n his Verdict like a Liar; And Virtue, turning with Difdain, Vow'd ne'er to speak to Vice again.



By Mr. POPE.

N thefe deep Solitudes and awful Cells, Where heav'nly-penfive Contemplation dwells,


* Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth Century; they were two of the most diftinguished Perfons of their Age in Learning and Beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate Paffion. After a long Course of Calamities, they retired each to a feveral Convent, and confecrated the Remainder of their Days to Religion. It was many Years after

And ever-musing Melancholy reigns;
What means this Tumult in a Vestal's Veins ?
Why rove my Thoughts beyond this laftRetreat?
Why feels my Heart its long forgotten Heat?
Yet, yet I love!-From Abelard it came,
And Eloïsa yet must kiss the Name.

Dear fatal Name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these Lips in holy Silence seal'd :
Hide it, my Heart, within that close Disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies:
Oh write it not my Hand-the Name appears
Already written-wash it out my Tears!
In vain loft Eloïfa weeps and prays,

Her Heart ftill dictates, and her Hand obeys, Relentless Walls! whofe darkfome Round contains

Repentent Sighs, and voluntary Pains:
Ye ruggedRocks! which holyKnees have worn;
YeGrots andCaverns fhagg'd with horrid Thorn!
Shrines! where their Vigils pale-ey'd Virgins

And pitying Saints, whofe Statues learn to weep!
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

this Separation, that a Letter of Abelard's to a Friend, which contained the Hiftory of his Misfortune, fell into the Hands of Eloifa. This, awakening all her Tenderness, occafioned thofe celebrated Letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give fo lively a Picture of the Struggles of Grace and Nature, Virtue and Paffion,

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