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A Judge is jutt, a Chanc'lor juster still;
A Gownman, learn'd; a Bishop, what you will;
Wife, if a Minifer; but, if a King,
More wise, more learn'd, more just, more ev'ry

thing. Court-Virtues bear, like Gems, the highest rate, Born where Heav'n's influence scarce can penetrate.

IBID. p. 118.

JUDGE we by Nature? Habit can efface,
Int'reft o'ercome, or Policy take place :
By Actions ? those Uncertainty divides :
By Passions ? these Dissimulation hides :
Opinions ? they ftill take a wider range :
Find, if you can, in what you cannot change.

Manners with Fortunes, Humours turn with

Tenets with Books, and Principles with Times.

IBID. p. 119


alone, The Wild are constant, and the Cunning known ; The Fool consistent, and the False sincere; Priests, Princes, Women, no dissemblers here. This clue once found, unravels all the rest, The profpe&t elears, and Wharton stands confeft;


Wharton, the-scorn and wonder of our days,
Whose ruling Passion was the Luft of Praise :
Born with whate'er could win it from the Wise,
Women and Fools must like him, or he dies :
Though wond’ring Senates hung on all he spoke,
The Club must hail him master of the joke.
Shall parts fo various aim at nothing new ?
He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too:
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the fame spirit that he drinks and whores ;
Enough if all around him but admire,
And now the Punk applaud, and now the Frier.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart';
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt ;
And most contemptible, to fhun contempt;
His Passion ftill, to covet gen’ral praise ;
His Life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A constant Bounty which no friend has made;
An Angel Tongue, which no man can persuade;
A Fool, with more of wit than half mankind,
Too rash for Thought, for Action too refin'd:
A Tyrant to the wife his heart approves ;
A Rebel to the very king he loves;
He dies, fad outcast of each church and state,
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.
Ak you why Wharton broke through ev'ry rule ?.
'Twas all for fear the Knaves should call him Fool.

IBID. p. 120.

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The frugal Crone, whom praying priefts attend, Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires.

" Odious ! in woollen ! 'twould a faint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcisa spoke) No, let a charming Chintz, and Brufels lace, “ Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face: “ One would not, sure, be frightful when one's

66 dead. “ And-- Betty-give this Cheek a little Red.”

The Courtier smooth, who forty years had shindi An humble servant to all human-kind, Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could

ftir, “ If--where I'm going--I could serve you, Sir?”

" I give and I devise (old Euclio faid, And figh'd) my lands and tenements to Ned.Your money, Sir!" My money, Sir? what all? “ Why--if I muft-(then wept)-- I give it Paul.The manor, Sir?" The manor hold,” he cry'da Not that I cannot part with that”-and dy'd.

And you ! brave Cobham, to the latest breath, Shall feel your ruling passion ftrong in death : Such in those moments as in all the past, Oh, save my Country, Heav'n !" Thall be your laft.

IBID. p. 123

W Ο Μ Α ́ Ν. NOTHING fó true as what you once let fall, " Moft Women have no Characters at all;" Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best diftinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.

How many pictures of one Nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true ! Arcadia's Counters, here, in ermin'd pride, Is, there, Paftora by a fountain side. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a Swan. Let then the fair-one beautifully cry, In Magdalene's loose hair and lifted eye, Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, With fimp’ring Angels, Palms, and Harps divine; Whether the Charmer finner it, or faint it, If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare ! Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air; Chuse a firm Cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere fhe change, the Cynthia of this minute,

Rufa, whose eye quick glancing o'er the Park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa ftudying Locke, As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, With Sappho fragrant at an ev'ning Mak:


So morning Insects, that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting fun.

How soft is Silia! fearful to offend ; The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend. To her, Califta prov'd her conduct nice; And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Sudden, she ftorms ! fhe raves! You tip the wink, But spare your censure; Silia does not drink. All eyes may fee from what the change arose, All eyes may see-a Pimple on her nofe.

Papillia, wedded to her am'rous fpark, Sighs for the shades-" How charming is a Park!” A Park is purchas'd, but the Fair he fees All bath'd in tears" Oh odious, odious Trees !”

Ladies, like variegated Tulips, show, 'Tis to their Changes half their charms we owe; Fine by defect, and delicately weak, Their happy Spots the nice admirer take. 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm’d, Aw'd without Virtue, without Beauty charm'd; Her Tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, Less Wit than Mimic, more a Wit than wise ; Strange graces ftill, and stranger flights fhe had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, As when the touch'd the brink of all we hate.


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