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That very Cæsar, born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd, like him, by Chastity, at praise.
Lucullus, when Frugality could charm,
Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm.
In vain th' observer eyes the builder's toil,
But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile.

In this ne passion man can strength enjoy,
As Fits give vigour, just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it sticks to our latt land.
Consistent in our follies and our sins,
Here honest Nature ends as the begins.

Old Politicians chew on wisdom paft,
And totter on in business to the last;
As weak, as earneft; and as gravely out,

230 As sober Lanesborow dancing in the gout.

Behold a reverend fire, whom want of grace
Has made the father of a nameless race.
Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely press’d
By his own son, that passes by unbless'd :

235 Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, And envies every sparrow that he sees.

A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; The doctor call’d, declares all help too late : Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my soul !

240 “ Is there no hope ? - Alas!--then bring the jowl."

The frugal Crone, whom praying priests 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.

" O dious!

245

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“ Odious ! in woollen! 'twould a faint provoke, (Were the last words that

poor

Narcissa fpoke) “ No, let a charming Chintz, and Brussels lace, “ Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face: « One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead“ And–Betty-give this Cheek a little Red.”

The Courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd An humble servant to all human-kind, Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir, 6 If-where I'm going I could serve you, Sir!” 255

“ I give and I devise (old Euclio said, And figh'd) “ my lands and tenements to Ned." Your money, Sir?" My money, Sir, what all ? “ Why,--if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul.” The manor, Sir?" The manor ! hold, he cry'd. 260 “ Not that, I cannot part with that”—and dy'd.

And you! brave Cobham, to the latest breath, Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death ; Such in those moments as in all the past, Fr Oh, save my Country, Heaven !" shall be your last,

MORAL

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THERE is nothing in Mr. Pope's works more highly

finished than this Epistle: Yet its success was in no proportion to the pains he took in composing it. Something he chanced to drop in a short advertisement prefixed to it, on its first publication, may perhaps account for the small attention given to it. He faid that no one character in it was drawn from the life. The public believed him on his word, and expressed little curiosity about a Satire, in which there was nothing personal,

NOTH
JOTHING so true as what you once let fall,

“ Moft Women have no Characters at all.”
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.

How many pictures of one Nymph we view, 5 All how unlike each other, all how true ! Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermin'd pride, Is there, Pastora by a fountain fide. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a Swan.

Let

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Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loose hair and lifted eye,
Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,
With simpering Angels, Palms, and Harps divine;
Whether the Charmer finner it, or faint it,

15 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 she change, the Cynthia of this minute. 20

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

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With Sappho fragrant at an evening Mark:
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, Calista prov'd her conduct nice; And good Simplicius alks of her advice. Sudden, she storms ! she raves! You tip the wink, But spare your censure ; Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, 35 All eyes may see- a Pimple on her nose.

Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Sighs for the shades" How charming is a Park !" A Park is purchas’d, but the Fair he sees A'll bath'd in tears~" Oh odious, odious Trees !" 40

Ladies,

30 45

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 Wife ; Strange graces still, and stranger flights fhe had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; 50 Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, As when the touch'd the brink of all we hate.

Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild, To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a Lover's prayer, 55 And paid a Tradesman once to make him ftare ; Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, And made a Widow happy, for a whim. Why then declare Good-nature is her scorn, When 'tís by that alone she can be born ?

60 Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to Pleasure, yet a flave to fame : Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking Citron with his Grace and Chartres; Now Conscience chills her, and now Paffion burns; 65 And Atheism and Religion take their turns ; A very Heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.

See Sin in State, majestically drunk; Proud as a Peeress, prouder as a Punk;

70 Chaste

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