Such often like the tube they fo admire,
Important trifles! have more fmoke than fire.
Pernicious weed! whofe fcent the fair annoys
Unfriendly to fociety's chief joys,
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The fex whofe prefence civilizes ours:
Thou art indeed the drug a gard'ner wants,
To poifon vermin that infeft his plants,
But are we fo to wit and beauty blind,
As to defpife the glory of our kind,
And fhow the fofteft minds and faireft forms
As little mercy, as he, grubs and worms?
They dare not wait the riotous abufe,
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce,
When wine has giv'n indecent language birth,
And forced the flood-gates of licentious mirth;
For fea-born Venus her attachment fhows
Still to that element from which she rose,
And with a quiet which no fumes difturb,
Sips meek infufions of a milder herb.
Th' emphatic fpeaker dearly loves t' oppose
In contact inconvenient, nose to nofe,
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz,
Touched with a magnet had attracted his.
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large,
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge,
An extract of his diary-no more,
A tasteless journal of the day before.
He walked abroad, o'ertaken in the rain
Called on a friend, drank tea, ftept home again,
Refumed his purpose, had a world of talk
With one he stumbled on, and loft his walk.
I interrupt him with a fudden bow,
Adieu dear Sir! left you fhould lofe it now.
I cannot talk with civet in the room,
A fine pufs-gentleman that's all perfume;
The fight's enough-no need to fmell a beau-
Who thrufts his nofe into a raree-fhow?
His odoriferous attempts to please,
Perhaps might profper with a fwarm of bees,
But we that make no honey though we sting, Poets, are fometimes apt to mawl the thing. 'Tis wrong to bring into a mixt refort, What makes fome fick, and others a la-mort, An argument of cogence, we may fay,
Why fuch an one should keep himself away.
A graver coxcomb we may fometimes fee,
Quite as abfurd though not fo light as he:
A fhallow brain behind a ferious mask,
An oracle within an empty cafk,
The folemn fop; fignificant and budge;
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge.
He fays but little, and that little faid
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock it never is at home:
'Tis like a parcel fent you by the stage,
Some handsome prefent, as your hopes prefage,
'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove
An absent friend's fidelity and love,
But when unpack'd your difappointment groans To find it ftuff'd with brickbats, earth and itones.
Some men employ their health, an ugly trick,
Irmaking known how oft they have been sick,
And give us in recitals of difeafe
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees:
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed,
How an emetic or cathartic fped,
Nothing is flightly touched, much less forgot,
Nofe, ears, and eyes feem prefent on the spot.
Now the distemper fpight of draught or pill
Victorious feem'd, and now the doctor's skill;
And now-alas for unforeseen mishaps!
They put on a damp night-cap and relapfe;
They thought they must have died they were fo bad,
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had.
Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch,
You always do too little or too much :
You speak with life in hopes to entertain,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain;
You fall at once into a lower key,
That's worfe—the drone-pipe of an humble bee.
The fouthern fash admits too ftrong a light,
You rife and drop the curtain-now its night.
He shakes with cold-you ftir the fire and strive
To make a blaze-that's roafting him alive.
Serve him with ven'fon and he chufes fish,
With foal that's juft the fort he would not wifh,
He takes what he at firft profefs'd to loath,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;
Yet ftill o'erclouded with a conftant frown,
He does not swallow but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him, vain on ev'ry plan,
Himfelf fhould work that wonder if he can
Alas! his efforts double his diftrefs,
He likes yours little and his own ftill lefs,
Thus always teazing others, always teazed,
His only pleasure is to be difpleas'd.
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied fcorn and undeferv'd difdain,
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