Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, And still, as darker grows the night, THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. A TALE Secluded from domestic strife, Made him the happiest man alive; Such pleasures. unalloy'd with care, To ravage in a country town! Or Flavia been content to stop [To the last moment of his breath, On hope the wretch relies; And e'en the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise. "Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way, &c."] * [Printed in the volume of Essays which appeared in 1765.1 [Here followed, in the first edition: "Without politeness, aim'd at breeding, And laugh'd at peilautry and reading "1 O, had her eyes forgot to blaze! Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze; Her presence banish'd all his peace.* So with decorum all things carried; Miss frown'd and blush'd, and then was-married. Need we expose to vulgar sight The honey-moon like lightning flew; [Here followed, in the first edition: "Our alter'd parson now began Made sonnets, lisp'd his sermons o'er, The allusion to the "bailiffs pump'd" applies to an incident in the Poet's own college career. See Life, ch. iii.] "And though she felt his visage rough."-Orig] Found half the charms that deck'd her face Skill'd in no other arts was she, But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humor rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle. 'Tis true she dress'd with modern grace, But when at home, at board or bed, In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy; 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 pass'd 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: How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! Her face is grown a knowing phiz; Now to perplex the ravell'd noose, As each a different way pursues, While sullen or loquacious strife Promised 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 Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, For tawdry finery is seen A NEW SIMILE. IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.' Long had I sought in vain to find. * [Printed in the Essays, 1765.] |