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THE

DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

A TALE.

SECLUDED from domestic strife,

Jack Bookworm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five,
Made him the happiest man alive;
He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unallay'd with care,
Could any accident impair?
Conld Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain arriv'd at thirty-six ?
O had the archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town,
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triamphs in a Fleet-street shop!
O had her eyes forgot to blaze,
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze!
01-But let exclamation cease,
Her presence banish'd all his peace:
So, with decorum all things carried,
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then wastinarried.

Need we expose to vulgar sight
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains clos'd around?
Let it suffice, that each bad charms;
He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;

And, though she felt his usage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew:
The second brought its transports too.
A third, a fourth, were not amiss,
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss :
But, when a twelvemontly pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worse remain'd behind,
That very face had robb’d her mind,

Skill'd in no other arts was she, But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humour rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle; "Tis true she dress'd with modern grace, Half naked at a ball or race; But when at home, at board or bed, Five greasy night.caps wrapp'd her head. Could so much beauty condescend To be a dull domestic friend? Could any curtain-lectures bring To decency so fine a thing? In short, by night’twas fits or fretting; By day,'twas gadding or coquetting, Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy Of powder'd coxcombs at her levee; The 'squire and captain took their stations, And twenty other near relations; Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke; While all their hours were past between Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown:

He fancies every vice she shows,
Or thins her lip, or points her nose :
Whenever rage or envy rise,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes !
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
And, though her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Thus, to perplex the ravellid noose,
While each a different way pursues,
'While sullen or loquacious strife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire disease whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower,
Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back Instre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city couzins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens:
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And e'en the captain quit the field.

Poor madam now, condemn’d to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old ;
With modesty her cheeks were dy'd,
Humility displaces pride;

E

For tawdry finery, is seen
A person ever neatly clean:
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day:
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

THE GIFT.

TO IRIS,

IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,

Dear mercenary beauty,
Wbat annual off'ring shall I make,

Expressive of my duty ?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,

Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry fair-one prize

The gift, who slights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,

My rivals give-and let 'em. If gems, or gold, impart a joy,

141 give them--wlien I get 'em.
I'll givebut not the full-blown rose,

Or rose-bud more in fashiou ;
Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose

A transitory passion:
I'll give thee something yet unpaid,

Not less sincere than civil:
I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,

I'll give thee-to the devil.

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