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Now let some whimsy, or that i Dev'l within Which guides all those who know not what they

mean, But give the Knight (or give his Lady) spleen ;

Away, away! take all your fcaffolds down, 146 For Snug's the word: My dear! we'll live in Town,";

At am'rous Flavio is the k stocken thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone.

The Fool, whose Wife elopes fome thrice a quarter, For matrimonial folace dies a martyr,

151 Did m Proteus, Merlin, any witch, Transform themselves fo ftrangely as the Rich? Well, but the n Poor--The Poor have the same itch; They change their weekly Barber, weekly News,155 Prefer a new Japanner, to their shoes, Discharge their Garrets, move their beds, and run (They know not whither) in a Chaise and one ; They P hire their sculler, and when once aboard, Grow fick, and damn the climatelike a Lord. 160

9 You laugh, half Beau, half Sloven if I stand, My wig all powder, and all snuff my band;

ever

VER. 155. They change their weekly Barber, etc.] These fix lines much more spirited than the original. in Horace, the people's inconstancy of temper is satirized only in a simple exposure of the case.

Here the ridicule on the folly is heightened by an humourous picture of the various objects of that inconstancy.

Occurro; rides. fi forte subucula

pexae
Trita fubeft tunicae, vel fi toga diffidet impar;
Rides. quid, ' mea cum pugnat fententia fecum ;
Quod petiit, fpernit ; repetit quod nuper omisit;
• Aeftuat, et vitae disconvenit ordine toto ;
• Diruit, aedificat, mutat quadrata rotundis ?
u Insanire
putas folennia

me, neque rides,
Nec w medici credis, nec curatoris egere
A praetore dati ; rerum * tutela mearum
Cum fis, et prave sectum ftomacheris ob

unguem, De te pendentis, te refpicientis amici.

Ad fummam, fapiens uno y minor est Jove, dives, z Liber, a honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum; Praecipue fanus, e nisi cum pituita molesta est.

VIR. 182. when plunder'd,] i. e. By the public; which has rarely her revenge on her plunderers ; and when she has, more rarely knows how to use it.

You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary,
White gloves, and linen worthy Lady Mary!
But when ' no Prelate's Lawn with hair-shirt lin'd,
Is half fo incoherent as my Mind,

166 When (each opinion with the next at strife, One s ebb and flow of Follies all my life) I plant root up; I build, and then confound; Torn round to square, and square again to round; " You never change one muscle of your

face, 171 You think this Madness but a common case, Nor w once to Chanc'ry, nor to Haie apply; Yet hang your lip, to see a Seam awry! Careless how ill I with myself agree,

175 my dress, my figure, root to Me. Is this my * Guide, Philosopher, and Friend? This he, who loves me, and who ought to mend ; Who ought to make me (what he can, or none,) That Man divine whom Wisdom calls her own; 180 Great without Title, without Fortune bless'd ; Rich y ev'n when plunder’d, 2 honour'd while op

press’d; Lov'd a without youth, and follow'd without power ; At home, tho' exil'd; b frce, tho' in the Tower; In short, that reas’ning, high, immortal Thing ; 185 Just « less than Jove, and d much above a King, Nay, half in heav'n- except (what's mighty odd) A fit of Vapours clouds this Demy-God?

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