There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more
To raise a flame in Cupids of three score.
These in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Deferting fifty, faften on fifteen.
Mifs, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her fampler, and takes up the woman:
The little urchin fmiles, and fpreads her lure,
And tries to kill, ere fhe's got power to cure,
Thus 'tis with all-their chief and conftant care
Is to feem every thing-but what they are.
Yon broad, bold, angry fpark, I fix my eye on,
Who feems t' have robb'd his vizor from the lion;
Who frowns, and talks, and fwears, with round parade,
Looking, as who fhould fay, dam'me! who's afraid?
[Mimicking.
Strip but this vizor off, and fure I am
You'll find his lionship a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous in debate,
Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, beftrides the flate;
Yet, when he deigns his real fhape t' affume,
He turns old woman, and beftrides a broom.
Yon patriot, too, who preffes on your fight,
And feems to every gazer, all in white,
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and whip-the man is black!
Yon critic, too-but whither do I run ?
If I proceed, our bard will be undone !
Well then a truce, fince fhe requests it too:
Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.