The heat, that makes the summit glow,
Enriching all the vales below.
Those who in warmer climes complain
From Phoebus' rays they suffer pain,
Must own that pain is largely paid
By generous wines beneath a shade.

Yet, when I find your passions rise,
And anger sparkling in your eyes,
I grieve those spirits should be spent,
For nobler ends by nature meant.
One passion, with a different turn,
Makes wit inflame, or anger burn:
So the sun's heat, with different powers,
Ripens the
grape, the liquor sours :
Thus Ajax, when with rage possess'd
By Pallas breath'd into his breast,
His valour would no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer'd Troy;
But, blinded by resentment, seeks

For vengeance on his friends the Greeks.

You think this turbulence of blood
From stagnating preserves the flood,
Which, thus fermenting by degrees,
Exalts the spirits, sinks the lees.

Stella, for once you reason wrong;
For, should this ferment last too long,
By time subsiding, you may find
Nothing but acid left behind;
From passion you may then be freed,
When peevishness and spleen succeed.
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep strictly to the text?
Dare you let these reproaches stand,
And to your failing set your hand?
VOL. X.

K

His similes in order set,

And every crambo he could get,

Had gone through all the common places
Worn out by wits, who rhyme on faces,
Before he could his poem close,

The lovely nymph had lost her nose.
Your virtues safely I commend;
They on no accidents depend:
Let malice look with all her eyes,
She dares not say the poet lies.

Stella, when you these lines transcribe
Lest you should take them for a bribe,
Resolv'd to mortify your pride,
I'll here expose your weaker side:
Your spirits kindle to a flame,
Mov'd with the lightest touch of blame;
And when a friend in kindness tries
To show you where your error lies,
Conviction does but more incense;
Perverseness is your whole defence;
Truth, judgment, wit, give place to spite
Regardless both of wrong and right;
Your virtues all suspended wait
Till time has open'd reason's gate;
And, what is worse, your passion bends
Its force against your nearest friends,
Which manners, decency, and pride,
Have taught you from the world to hide
In vain; for see, your friend has brought
To public light your only fault;
And yet a fault we often find

Mix'd in a noble generous mind:
And may compare to Etna's fire,

Which, though with trembling, all admire

The heat, that makes the summit glow, Enriching all the vales below. Those who in warmer climes complain From Phoebus' rays they suffer pain, Must own that pain is largely paid By generous wines beneath a shade. Yet, when I find your passions rise, And anger sparkling in your eyes, I grieve those spirits should be spent, For nobler ends by nature meant. One passion, with a different turn, Makes wit inflame, or anger burn : So the sun's heat, with different powers, Ripens the grape, the liquor sours: Thus Ajax, when with rage possess'd By Pallas breath'd into his breast, His valour would no more employ, Which might alone have conquer'd Troy ; But, blinded by resentment, seeks

For vengeance on his friends the Greeks.
You think this turbulence of blood
From stagnating preserves the flood,
Which, thus fermenting by degrees,
Exalts the spirits, sinks the lees.

Stella, for once you reason wrong;
For, should this ferment last too long,
By time subsiding, you may find
Nothing but acid left behind;
From passion you may then be freed,
When peevishness and spleen succeed.
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep strictly to the text?
Dare you let these reproaches stand,
And to your failing set your hand?

Or, if these lines your anger fire,
Shall they in baser flames expire?
Whene'er they burn, if burn they must,
They'll prove my accusation just.

TO STELLA.

VISITING ME IN MY SICKNESS. 1720.

PALLAS, observing Stella's wit

Was more than for her sex was fit,
And that her beauty, soon or late,
Might breed confusion in the state,
In high concern for human kind,
Fix'd honour in her infant mind.

But (not in wranglings to engage
With such a stupid vicious age)
If honour I would here define,
It answers faith in things divine.
As natural life the body warms,

And, scholars teach, the soul informs;
So honour animates the whole,

And is the spirit of the soul.

Those numerous virtues, which the tribe

Of tedious moralists describe,

And by such various titles call,
True honour comprehends them all.
Let melancholy rule supreme,
Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm,
It makes no difference in the case,
Nor is complexion honour's place.

But, lest we should for honour take
The drunken quarrels of a rake;

Or think it seated in a scar, Or on a proud triumphal car ; Or in the payment of a debt We lose with sharpers at piquet; Or when a whore, in her vocation, Keeps punctual to an assignation; Or that on which his lordship swears, When vulgar knaves would lose their ears; Let Stella's fair example preach

A lesson she alone can teach.

In points of honour to be tri'd,
All passions must be laid aside:
Ask no advice, but think alone;
Suppose the question not your own.
How shall I act, is not the case;
But how would Brutus in my place?
In such a case would Cato bleed ?
And how would Socrates proceed?
Drive all objections from your min
Else you relapse to human kind:
Ambition, avarice, and lust,

A factious rage, and breach of trust,
And flattery tipp'd with nauseous fleet
And guilty shame, and servile fear,
Envy, and cruelty, and pride,
Will in your tainted heart preside.
Heroes and heroines of old,
By honour only were enroll'd
Among their brethren in the skies,
To which (though late) shall Stella rise.
Ten thousand oaths upon record
Are not so sacred as her word:
The world shall in its atoms end,
Ere Stella can deceive a friend.