Then please the Beft; and know, for men of sense,
Your strongest charms are native innocence.
Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face,
Fright him, that's worth your love, from your
embrace.

In fimple manners all the fecret lies;

Be kind and virtuous, you'll be bleft and wife.
Vain how and wife intoxicate the brain,
Begin with giddiness, and end in pain.
Affect not empty fame, and idle praife,
Which, all thole wretches I defcribe, betrays.
Your fex's glory 'tis, to fhine unknown;
Of all applaufe, be fondeft of your own.
Beware the fever of the mind! that thirst
With which the age is eminently curft:
To drink of p'eafure, but inflames defire;
And abftinence alone can quench the fire;
Take pain from life, and terror from the tomb;
Give peace in hand; and promise bliss to come.

SATIRE VI.

ON WOMEN.

Inferibed to the Right Honourable

"Detected worth, like beauty difarray'd, "To covert flies, of praife itfelf afraid : "Should be refufe to patronize your lays, "In vengeance write a volume in her praife. "Nor think it hard fo great a length to run; "When fuch the theme, 'twill easily be done."

Ye fair! to draw your excellence at length, Exceeds the narrow bounds of human strength; You, here, in miniature your picture fee; Nor hope from Zinck more juftice than from me. My portraits grace your mind, as his your fide; His portraits will inflame, mine quench, your pride: He's dear, you frugal; choose my cheaper lay; And be your reformation all my pay.

Lavinia is polite, but not profane; To church as conftant as to Drury Jane. She decently, in form, pays heaven its due; And makes a civil vifit to her pew. Her lifted fan, to give a folemn air, Conceals her face, which paffes for a prayer: Curt'fics to curt'fies, then, with grace, fucceed; Not one the fair omits, but at the Creed. Or if the joins the fervice, 'tis to speak i Through dreadful filence the pent heart might break; Untaught to bear it, women talk away To God himself, and fondly think they pray.. But feet their accent, and their air refin'd; For they're before their Maker—and mankind : When ladies once are proud of praying well, Satan himself will toll the parish bell.

Acquainted with the world, and quite well bred
Drufa receives her vifitants in bed;
But, chafte as ice, this Vefta, to defy
The very blackest tongue of calumny.
When from the fheets her lovely form the lifts.
She begs you just would turn you, while the fifts.
Thofe charms are greatest which decline the
fight,

That makes the banquet poignant and polite.
There is no woman, where there's no reserve ;
And 'tis on plenty your poor lovers farve.
But with a modern fair, meridian merit
Is a fierce thing, they call a nymph of Spirit.
Mark well the rollings of her flaming eye;
And tread on tiptoe, if you dare draw nigh,
"Or if you take a lion by the beard",
" Or dare defy the fell Hyrcanian bard,
"Or arm'd rhinoceros, or rough Russian bear;"
First make your will, and then converse with her.
This lady glories in profufe expence;
And thinks diffraction is magnificence.
To beggar her gallant, is fome delight;
To be more fatal ftill, is exquifite;
Had ever nymph such reason to be glad?
In duel fell two lovers; one run mad.
Her foes their honeft execrations pour;
Her lovers only fhould deteft her more.

Flavia is conftant to her old gallant,
And generously supports him in his want.
But marriage is a fetter, is a fnare,
A heil, no lady so polite can bear.
She's faithful, fhe's obfervant, and with pains
Her angel-brood of baftards the maintains.
Nor least advantage has the fair to plead,
But that of guilt, above the marriage-bed.

Amafia hates a prude, and fcorns restraint;
Whate'er the is, he'll not appear a faint:
Her foul fuperior flies formality;
So gay her air, her conduct is fo free,
Some might fufpe&t the nymph not over-good-
Nor would they be mistaken, if they should.
Unmarried Abra puts on formal airs; [ers.
Her cufhion's threadbare with her conftant pray-
Her only grief is, that the cannot be
At once engag'd in prayer and charity.
And this, to do her juftice, must be faid,
"Who would not think that Abra was a maid ?"
Some ladies are too beauteous to be wed;

For where's the man that's worthy of their bed?
If no disease reduce her pride before,
Lavinia will be ravish'd at threescore.
Then the fubmits to venture in the dark;
And nothing now is wanting-but her spark.
Lucia thinks happiness confifts in state;
She weds an idiot, but he eats in plate.

The goods of fortune, which her foul poffefs,
Are but the ground of unmade happiness;
The rude material: wisdom add to this,
Wifdom, the fole artificer of blifs;
She from herself, if fo compell'd by need,
Of thin content can draw the fubtle thread;
But (no detraction to her facred skill)
If the can work in gold, 'tis better fill.

• Shakspears.

Tullia had been bleft with half her sense,
None could too much admire her excellence :
But fince the can make error fhine fo bright,
She thinks it vulgar to defend the right.
With understanding she is quite o'er-run ;
And by too great accomplishments undone :
With fill the vibrates her eternal tongue,
For ever molt divinely in the wrong.

Naked in nothing should a woman be;
But veil her very wit with molefly :
Let man difcover, let not her display,

But yield her charms of mind with (weet delay.
For pleasure form'd, perversely fome believe,
To make themselves important, men must grieve.
Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,
Pretends, the fop the laughs at, is ador'd.
la vain fhe's proud of fecret innocence;
The fact the feigns were scarce a worse offence.
Mira endow'd with every charm to bless,
Has no defign, but on her husband's peace:
He lov'd her much; and greatly was he mov'd
At fall inquietudes in her he lov'd.
"How charming this!"-The pleasure lafted
long;

Now every day the fits come thick and strong:
At haft he found the charmer only feign'd;
And was diverted when he bould be pain'd.
What greater vengeance have the gods in store!
How tedious life, now the can plague no more!
She tries a thousand arts; but none fucceed:
She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed;
Thus ftrictly prov'd this virtuous, loving wife,
Her hufband's pain was dearer than her life.
Anxious Melania rifes to my view,
Who never thinks her lover pays his due:
Visit, prefent, treat, flatter, and adore;
Her majefty, to-morrow, calls for more.
His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,
As anoil'd hinges, querulously fhrill.
"You went last night with Celia to the ball."
You prove it falfe. Not go! that's worst of all."
Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame;
And arrant contradictions are the fame.
Her lover must be fad, to please her spleen;
His mirth is an inexpiable fin:

For of all rivals that can pain her breast,

There's one, that wounds far deeper than the reft; To wreck her quiet, the most dreadful shelf ls if her lover dares enjoy himself.

And this, because the's exquifitely fair: Should I difpute her beauty, how she'd stare? How would Melania be furpris'd to hear She's quite deform'd? And yet the cafe is clear; What's female beauty, but an air divine, Through which the mind's all-gentle graces fhine? They, like the fun, irradiate all between ; The body charms because the foul is feen. Hence, men are often captives of a face, They know not why, of no peculiar grace: [bear; Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can Bume, none refift though not exceeding fair. Arpafia's highly born, and nicely bred, Of tafte refin'd, in life and manners read; Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense, But to be fear'd by her own excellence.

VOL X

"Folks are fo awkward! things fo unpolite!"
She's elegantly pain'd from morn till night.
Her delicacy's fhock'd where'er she goes;
Each creature's imperfections are her woes.
Heaven by its favour has the fair diftreft,
And pour'd fuch bleffings-that she can't be bleft.
Ah! why fo vain, though blooming in thy
fpring?

Thou feining, frail, ador'd, and wretched thing;
Old age will come; disease may come before;
Fifteen is full as mortal as threescore.

Thy fortune, and thy charms, may foon decay:
But grant thefe fugitives prolong their stay,
Their bafis totters, their foundation flakes;
Life, that fupports them, in a moment breaks;
Then wrought into the foul let virtues fhine;
The ground eternal, as the work divine.

Julia's a manager; fhe's born for rule;
And knows her swifer husband is a fool,
Affemblies holds, and spins the fubtle thread
That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed :
For difficult amours can smooth the way,
And tender letters dictate, or convey.
But, if depriv d of fuch important cares,
Her wisdom condefcends to lefs affairs.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme,
Nor take her tea without a fratagem;
Prefides o'er trifles with a ferious face;
Important, by the virtue of grimace.
Ladies fupreme among amusements reign;
By nature born to foothe, and entertain.
Their prudence in a fhare of folly lies:
Why will they be so weak, as to be wife?
Syrena is for ever in extremes.

And with a vengeance the commends, or blames,
Confcious of her difcernment, which is good,
She ftrains too much to make it understood.
Her judgment jult, her fentence is too strong;
Because the's right, he's ever in the wrong.

Brunetta's wife in actions, great, and rare:
But fcorns on trifles to bestow her care.
Thus every hour Brunetta is to blame,
Because th' occasion is beneath her aim.
Think nought a trifle, though it small appear;
Small fands the mountain, moments make the years
And trifles life. Your care to trifles give,
Or you may die, before you truly live.,

Go breakfast with Alicia, there you'll fee, Simblex munditiis, to the laft degree. Unlac'd her stays, her night-gown is unty'd, And what the has of head drefs, is aside. She draws her words, and waddles in her pace; Unwash'd her hands, and nruch befnuff'd her face. A nail uncut, and head uncomb'd she loves; And would draw on jack-boots, as foon as gloves. Gloves by queen Befs's maidens might be mift; Her bleffed eyes ne'er faw a female fift. Lovers, beware! to round how can the fail With fearlet finger, and long jetty nail? For Harvey, the first wit the cannot be, Nor, cruel Richmond, the first toaft, for thee. Since full each other ftation of renown, Who would not be the greatest trapes in town? Women were made to give our eyes delight; A female floven is an odious fight.

Fair Ifabella is fo fond of fame, That her dear felf is her eternal theme ; Through hopes of contradiction, oft she'll say, "Methinks I look fo wretchedly to day!" When moft the world applauds you, moft beware; "Fis often lefs a bleffing than a fnare. Diftruft mankind; with your own beart confer; And dread even there to find a flatterer. The breath of others raifes our renown; Our own as furely blows the pageant down. Take up no more than you by worth can claim, Left foon you prove a bankrupt in your fame.

But own I muft, in this perverted age, Who molt deferve, can't always moft engage. So far is worth from making glory fure, It often hinders what it fould procure. [wife? Whom praife we met? the virtuous, brave, and No; wretches whom in fecret we defpife. And who fo blind, as not to fee the caufe? No rivals rais'd by fuch difereet applaufe; And yet, of credit it lays in a ftore,

[more.

By which our fpleen may wound true worth the
Ladies there are who think one crime is all :
Can women, then, no way but backward fall?
So fweet is that one crime they don't puriue,
To pay its lofs, they think all others few.
Who hold that crime 1ɔ dear, muft never claim
Of injur'd modefy the facred name.

But Clio thus: "What! railing without end? "Mean tafk! how much more generous to com"mend!"

Yes, to commend as you are wont to do,
My kind inftructor, and example too.
"Daphnis," fays Clio, "has a charming eye:
"What pity 'tis her shoulder is awry!

Afpafia's fhape indeed-But then her air"The man has parts who finds deftruction there. "Almeria's wit has fomething that's divine;. "And wit's enough-how few in all things fhine! "Selina ferves her friends, relieves the poor— · "Who was it faid Selina's near threefcore? "At Lucia's match I from my foul rejoice; "The world congratulates fo wile a choice; "His lordship's rent-roll is exceeding greatBut mortgages will fap the best ellate. "In Shirley's form might cherubims appear; "But then--fhe has a freckle on her ear." Without a but, Hortentia the commends, The first of women, and the bell of friends; Owns her in perfon, wit, fame, virtue, bright: But how comes this to pafs?-She dy'd latt night. Thus nymphs commend, who yet at fatire rail: Indeed that's needlefs, if fuch praife prevail. And whence fuch praife? our virulence is thrown On other's fame, through fondnefs for our own. Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns; For are not coronets a-kin to crowns? Her greedy eye, and her fublime addrefs, The height of avarice and pride confefs. You feek perfections worthy of her rank; Go, feek for her perfections at the bank. By wealth unquench'd, by reafon uncontrol'd, For ever burns her facred thirst of gold. As fond of five-pence, as the veriett cit; And quite as much detefted as a wit.

Can gold calm paffion, or make reason shine ?
Can we dig peace, or wiflom, from the mine?
Wildom to gold prefer; for 'tis much less
To make our fortune, than our happiness.
That happiness which great ones often fee.
With rage and wonder, in a low degree:
Themfelves unbleft. The poor are only poor;
But what are they who droop amid their flore?
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of flate;
The bappy only are the truly great.
Peafants enjoy like appetites with kings;
And thofe belt fitisfied with cheapest things.
Could both our Indies buy but one new fense,
Our envy would be due to large expense.
Since not, thofe pomps which to the great belong.
Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng,
See how they beg an aims of flattery!
They languish oh fupport them with a le!
A decent competence we fully taste;

It ftrikes our fenfe, and gives a conftant feast:
More, we perceive by dint of thought alone;
The rich muft labour to possess their own.
To feel their great abundance; and request
Their humble friends to help them to be bleft;
To fee their treasures, bear their glory told,
And aid the wretched impotence of gold. [divine,
But fome, great fouls! and touch'd with warmth
Give gold a price, and teach its beams to fbine.
All boarded ealures they repute a load;
Nor think their wealth their own, till well beftow'd
Grand refervoirs of public happiness,
Through fecret ftreams diffufively they blefs;
And, while their bounties glide, conceal'd from
view,

Relieve our wants, and spare our blues too.
But fatire is my talk; and thefe destroy
Her gloomy province, and malignant joy.
Help me, ye mifers! help me to complain,
And blaft our common enemy, Germain:
But our invectives muft despair fuccefs;
For, next to praife, fhe values nothing lefs.

What picture's yonder, loofen'd from its frame?
Or is 't Afturia, that affected dame?
The brightest forms, through affectation, fade
To frange new things, which naturs never made.
Frown not, ye fair! fo much your fex we prize,
We hate thofe arts that take you from our eyes.
In Albucinda's native grace is seen

What you, who labour at perfection mean.
Short is the rule, and to be learn'd with eafe,
Retain your gentle feives, and you must pleate.
Here might I fing of Memmia's mincing mien,
And all the movements of the soft machine:
How two red lips affected zephyrs blow,
To cocl the bohea, and inflame the beau :
While one white finger and a thumb confpire
To lift the cup, and make the world admire.
Tea! how I tremble at thy fatal stream!
As Lethe, dreadful to the love of fame.
What devastations on thy banks are seen!
What fades of mighty names which once have been
An becatomb of characters fupplies

Thy painted altars daily facrifice.

H—, P——, B-, afpers'd by thee, decay,
As grains of finest fugars melt away,

An I recommend the more to mortal tafte;
Scandal's the fweetner of a female feat.

But this inhuman triumph fhall decline,
And thy revolting haiads call for wine;
Shirit no longer fhall ferve under thee;
Bet reign in thy own cup, exploded tea !
Citronia's nofe declares thy ruin nigh,
An i who dares give Citronia's nofe the lie!
The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd,
And what impair'd both health and virtue, blam'd;
At length, to rescue man, the generous lafs
Stolz from her confort the pernicious glaís.
Aglorious as the British queen renown'd,
Who fuck'd the poifon from her husband's wound.
Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclin'd,
But every bolder vice of bold mankind.

Juvenal! for thy feverer rage,
To lafh the ranker follies of our age.

Are there, among the females of our ifle,
Such faults, at which it is a fault to fmile?
There are. Vice, once by modeł nature chain'd
And lgd ties, expatiates unreftrain'd;
Wither thin decency held up to view,
Naked fhe falks o'er law and gospel too.
Our matrons lead fuch exemplary lives,

Men igh in vain for none but for their wives;
Who arry to be free, to range the more,
And wed one man, to wanton with a score.
Abroad too kind, at home 'tis ftedfaft hate,
And one eternal tempeft of debate.
What foul eruptions, from a look most meek!
What thanders bursting, from a dimpled cheek!
Their paffions bear it with a lofty hand!
But then, their reafon is at due command.
la there whom you deteft, and feek his life?
irat no foul with the fecret-but his wife.
Fra wonder that their conduct I condemn,
Alak, what kindred is a spouse to them?

What fwarms of amorous grandmolbers I fee!
And milles, ancient in iniquity!

What bhiting whispers, and what loud declaiming ! What lying, drinking, bawding, fwearing, gaming!

Friendship fo cold, fuch warm incontinence;
buch griping avarice, fuch profuse expence ;
Such dead devotion, fuch a zeal for crimes;
Such licens'd ill, fuch mafquerading times;
Such venal faith, fuch mifapply'd applaufe;
buch flatter'd guilt, and fuch inverted laws;
Such diffolution through the whole I find,
'Tis not a world, but chaos of mankind.
Since Sundays have no balls, the well-drefs'd belle
Shines in the pew, but fmiles to hear of hell;
And cats an eye of fweet difdain on all,
Who liften lefs to Collins than St. Paul.
Atheists have been but rare; fince nature's birth,
Till now, the-atheifts ne'er appear'd on earth.
Ve men of deep refearches, fay, whence fprings
This daring character, in timorous things?
Whe start at feathers, from an info fly,
A march for nothing-but the Deity.

Ba, not to wrong the fair, the mule muft own,
la this parfait they court not fame alone;

But yoin to that a mure fubftantial view,

hom thinking free, to be free agents too."

They frive with their own hearts, and keep
them down,

In complaifance to all the fools in town.
O, how they tremble at the name of prude!
And die with fhame at thought of being good!
For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,
What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, fay?
They heaven defy, to earth's vile dregs a flave;
Through cowardice, most execrably brave.
With cur own judgments durft we to comply,
In virtue fhould we live, in glory die.
Rife then, my mufe, in honeft fury rife;
They dread a fatire, who defy the fkies.

Atheists are few: moff nymphs a godhead own;
And nothing but his attributes dethrone.
From Atheis far, they ftedfaftly believe
God is, and is Almighty-to forgive.
His other excellence they'll not difpute;
But mercy, lure, is his chief attribute.
Shall pleafures of a fhort duration chain
A lady's foul in everlasting pain?

Will the great author us poor worms destroy,
For now and then a fip of tranfient joy?
No, he's for ever in a fmiling mood;

He's like themfelves; or how could he be good? And they blafpheme, who blacker fchemes fuppufe

Devoutly thus Jehovah they depofe,

The pure! the juft and fet up in his ftead
A deity that's perfectly well bred.

"Dear Tillotson! be fare the best of men; "Nor thought he more, than thought great Origen. "Though once upon a time he misbehav'd;

Poor satan! doubtlefs he'll at length be fav'd. "Let priefs do fomething for their one in ten; "It is their trade; fo far they're honeft men. "Let them cant on, fince they have got the knack, "And drefs their notions, like themfelves, in black; Fright us with terrors of a world unknorun, "Fro: joys of this, to keep them all their own. "Of earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee; "But then they leave our antith'd oirtue free. "Virtue's a pretty thing to make a fiery: "Did ever mortal write like a Rochefoucault?" Thus pleads the devil's fair apologift, And, pleading, fafely enters on his lift.

Let angel-formis angelic truths maintain; Nature disjoins the Leauteous and profane. For what's true beauty, but fair virtue's face? Virtue made vifible in outward grace? She then that's haunted with an impious mind, The more the charms, the more the feocks mankind.

Pat charms decline: the fair long vigils keep: They fleep no more! Quadrille has * murder'd fleep.

"Poor K-p! cries Livia! I have not been there Thefe two nights; the poor creature will defpair. "I hate a crowd--but to do good, you know-"And people of condition fhould bellow." Convinc'd, o'ercome, to K-p's grave natrons run; Now Jet a daughter, and now flake a fon; Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune, fly; And beggar half their race-t -through clarity

Immortal were we, or elfe mortal quite,
I lefs fhould blame this criminal delight:
But fince the gay affembly's gayeft room
Is but an upper ftory to fome tomb,
Methinks, we need not our fort being fhun,
And, thought to fly, contend to be undone.
We need not buy our ruin with our crime,
And give eternity to murder time.

The love of gaming is the worst of ills;
With ceafelefs ftorms the blacken'd foul it fills;
Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood;
Destroys the power and will of doing good;
Kills health, pawns honour, plunges in difgrace,
And what is ftill more dreadful-fpoils your face.
See yonder fer of thieves that live on fpoil,
The fcandal and the ruin of our ifte !

And fee (ftrange fight !), amid that ruffian band,
A form divine high wave her fnowy hand;
That rattles loud a fmall enchanted box,
Which, loud as thunder, on the board fhe knocks.
And as fierce ftorms, which earth's foundation
fhook,

From Æolus's cave impetuous broke,

From this small cavern a mix'd tempeft flies,
Fear, rage, convulfion, tears, oaths, blafphemies!
For men, I mean-the fair discharges none;
She (guiltlefs creature!) fwears to Heaven alone.
See her eyes ftart! checks glow! and mufcles
fwell!

Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell.
Thus that divine one her foft nights employs!
Thus tunes her foul to tender nuptial joys!
And when the cruel morning calls to bed,
And on her pillow lays her aching head,
With the dear images her dreams are crown'd,
The die fpins lovely, or the cards go round;
Imaginary ruin charms her ftill;
Her happy lord is cuckoll'd by padille :
And if he's brought to bed, 'tis ten to one,
He marks the forehead of her darling fon.

O! fcene of horror, and of wild despair,
Why is the rich Atrides' fplendid heir
Conftrain'd to quit his ancient lordly feat,
And hide his glories in a mean retreat?

Why that drawn fword? and whence that dif
mal cry?

Why pale distraction through the family?
See my lord threaten, and my lady weep,
And trembling fervants from the tempefl creep.
Why that gay fon to distant regions fent?
What fiends that daughter's dettin'd match prevent?
Why the whole house in fudden ruin laid?
O nothing, but last night—my lady play'd.

But wanders not my fatire from her theme!
Is this too owing to the love of fame?
Though now your hearts on lucre are bestow'd,
'Twas first a vain devotion to the mode;
Nor ceafe we bere, lince 'tis a vice fo throng;
The torrent fweeps all womankind along.
This may be faid in honour of our times,
That none now ftand diffinguifb'd by their crimes.

If fin you must, take nature for your guide; Love has fome foft excufe to foothe your pride: Ye fair apoitates from love's ancient power! Can nothing ravifo, but a golden fkower ?

Can cards alone your glowing fancy seize;
Muft Cupid learn to punt, e'er he can pleafe!
When you're enamour'd of a lift or caft,
What can the preacher more, to make us chafte
Why muft ftrong youths unmarry'd pine away?
They find no woman difengag'd-from play.
Why pine the marry d?-O feverer fate!
They find from play no difengag'd-eftate.
Flavia, at lovers falfe, untouch d, and hard,
Turns pale, and trembles at a cruel card.
Nor Arria's Bible can fecure her age;
Her Threefcore years are the fling with her page.
While death stands by, but till the game is done,
To fweep that flake, in juftice, long his own;
Like old cards ting'd with fulphur, fhe takes fire;
Or, like fnuffs funk in fockets, blazes higher.
Ye gods! with nero delights infpire the fair;
Or give us fons, and fave us from defpair.

Sons, brothers, fathers, hufbands, trad fmen, clele In my complaint, and brand your fins in preft: Yet I believe, as firmly as my creed,

In spite of all our wifdom, you'll proceed:
Our pride fo great, our paffion is so strong,
Advice to right confirms us in the wrong.
I hear you cry,
This fellow's very odd."
When you chastife, who would not kiss the rod?
But I've a charm your anger fhall controul,
And turn your eyes with coldnefs on the sole.

The charm begins! to yonder flood of light, That burts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your fight. What guardian power o'erwhelms your fouls with awe?

Her deeds are precepts, her example law;
'Midft empire's charms, how Carolina's heart
Glows with the love of virtue, and of art!
Her favour is diffus'd to that degree,
Excefs of goodness' it has dawn'd on me :
When in my page, to balance numerous faults,
Or godlike deeds were fhown, or generous thoughts,
She imil'd, induftrious to be pleas'd, nor knew
From whom my pen the birroro'd luftre drew.

Thus the majestic mother of mankind,
To her own charms mott amiably blind,
On the green margin innocently stood,
And gaz'd indulgent on the crystal flood;
Survey'd the stranger in the painted wave,
And, fmiling, prais'd the beauties which he gave.

SATIRE VII.

TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.

"Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipfe, canemus.” VIRG.

On this last labour, this my clofing ftrain,
Smile, Walpole, or the Nine infpire in vain :
To thee, 'tis due; that verie how juftly thine,
Where Brunfwick's glory crowns the whole defign?
That glory, which thy counfels make so bright;
That glory, which on thee reflects a light.
illuftrious commerce, and bat rarely known;
To give, and take, a luflre from the throne.

Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme; The fountain is not foreign to the fream.

Milton.