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Who would not praise Patritio's high
desert, His hand unstained, his uncorrupted heart, His comprehensive head! all interests
weighed, All Europe saved, yet Britain not betrayed. He thanks you not, his pride is in piquet, Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet. What made (say, Montagne, ** or more
sage Charron) Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon? A perjured prince a leaden saint revere, tt A godless regent tremble at a star? The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit, $S Faithless through piety, and duped through
wit? Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule, ||||| And just her wisest monarch made a fool?
True, some are open, and to all men
known ; Others so very close, they're hid from (So darkness strikes the sense no less than
light.) Thus gracious Chandos* is beloved at
sight; And every child hates Shylock, though his
soul Still sits at squat, and peeps not from his
hole. At half mankind when generous Manly
raves, t All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them
knaves. When universal homage Umbra pays, I All see 'tis vice and itch of vulgar praise. When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, While one there is who charms us with his
spleen.|| But these plain characters we rarely find. Though strong the bent, yet quick the
turns of mind : Or puzzling contraries confound the whole, Or affectations quite reverse the soul. The dull, flat falsehood serves for policy; And in the cunning, truth itself's a lie: Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise; The fool lies hid in inconsistencies.
See the same man, in vigour, in the gout; Alone, in company; in place or out; Early at business, and at hazard late; Mad at a fox-chase, wise at a debate; Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball ; Friendly at Hackney, faithless at White
Know, God and Nature only are the
In man, the judgment shoots at flying
game, A bird of passage! gone as soon as found, Now in the moon, perhaps, now under
THE RULING PASSION.
Catius is ever moral, ever grave, Thinks who endures a knave is next a
knave; Save just at dinner - then prefers, no
doubt, A rogue with venison to a saint without,
* "Chandos." James Brydges, first Duke of Chandos.
“Manly." The principal character in Wycherly's “ Plain Dealer," a comedy taken from Molière's “Misanthrope.
* "Umbra" was supposed to be Bubb Dod. dington, the favourite adviser of Augusta, Princess of Wales, mother of George III. For political subserviency to Sir Robert Walpole he was created Lord Melcombe-Regis.
§ Meaning Queen Caroline, Consort of George II., whom he disliked.
# Dean Swift.
SEARCH then the Ruling Passion: there,
alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning
known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere; Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers
here. | Lord Godolphin ; "though he was a great gamester," says Warton, “yet he was an able and honest minister."
** Montaigne, the celebrated French essayist -his name was often thus spelt in Pope's time. He lived between 1533 and 1592. Peter Charron was his dearest friend; he permitted Charron to bear the Montaigne arms.
It Louis XI. of France wore in his hat a leaden image of the Virgin Mary, which, when he swore by, he feared to break his oath.Pope.
11 The Regent Duke of Orleans, who, though an infidel, believed in astrology.
$$ Philip V. of Spain, who, after renouncing the throne for religion, resumed it to gratify his Queen; and Victor Amadeus II., King of Sardinia, who resigned the crown, and, trying to resume it, was imprisoned till his death.-Pope.
Í ll The Czarina Catherine II., the King of France, then a child, the Pope, and the King of Sardinia
This clue once found, unravels all the rest, The prospect clears, and Wharton stands
confest. * Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our
days, Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: Born with whate'er could win it from the
wise, Women and fools must him like, or he dies; Though wond'ring senates hung on all he
spoke, The club must hail him master of the joke. Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? He 'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
“No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace
sless face: Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeOne would not, sure, be frightful when
one's dead And-Betty-give this a cheek little red." The courtier smooth, who forty years
had shined An humble servant to all human kind, Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,
(sir?" “If-where I'm going—I could serve you,
“I give and I devise" (old Euclio said, And sighed) "my lands and tenements to
Ned." “Your money, sir?" "My money, sir!
what, all ? Why,—if I must" (then wept) "I give it
Paul." "The manor, sir?"-"The manor! hold," he cried,
(and died. * “ Not that,-I cannot part with that,' And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath
(death: Shall feel your ruling passion strong in Such in those moments as in all the past, "Oh, save my country, Heaven!” shall be
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
made; An angel tongue, which no man can per
suade; A fool, with more of wit than half man
kind; Too rash for thought, for action too refined; A tyrant to the wife his heart approves; A rebel to the very king he loves ; He dies, sad outcast of each church and
state, And, harder still ! flagitious, yet not great. Ask you why Wharton broke through every
rule? 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call
him fool. Nature well known no prodigies remain, Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.
CHARACTERISTICS OF WOMAN.
The frugal crone, whom praying priests
attend, Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires.
Bur grant, in public men sometimes are
shown, A woman's seen in private life alone: Our bolder talents in full light displayed; Your virtues open fairest in the shade. Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide; There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame
or pride, Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, That each may seem a virtue, or a vice.
In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind; Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. That, nature gives; and where the lesson
taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this ; by man's oppression
curst, They seek the second not to lose the first.
Sir William Bateman used those very words on his death-bed.-Warton.
Men, some to bus'ness, some to pleasure
take, But ev'ry woman is at heart a rake: Men, some to quiet, some to public strife; But ev'ry lady would be queen for life. Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens! Pow'r all their end, but beauty all the
In youth they conquer with so wild a rage As leaves them scarce a subject in their age: For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; No thought of peace or happiness at home. But wisdom's triumph is well-timed retreat, As hard a science to the fair as great! Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless
grown, Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone; Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye, Nor leave one sigh behind them when they
Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can Its last best work, but forms a softer man; Picks from each sex, to make the fav'rite
blest, Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest; Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules, Your taste of follies with our scorn of fools: Reserve with frankness, art with truth
allied, Courage with softness, modesty with pride; Fixed principles, with fancy ever new; Shakes all together, and produces-you. Be this a woman's fame: with this unblest,
[jest. Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a This Phoebus promised (I forget the year) When those blue eyes first opened on the
sphere; Ascendent Phoebus watched that hour with
care, Averted half your parents' simple pray'r, And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself. The generous God, who wit and gold re
fines, And ripens spirits as He ripens mines, Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall
know it, To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.
See how the world its veterans rewards! A youth of frolics, an old age of cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without lovers, old without a friend; A fop their passion, but their prize a sot; Alive ridiculous, and dead, forgot!
Ah, friend! to dazzle let the vain design; To raise the thought, and touch the heart
be thine: That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the Ring,
[thing: Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded So when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight,
[light, All mild ascends the moon's more sober Serene in virgin modesty she shines, And unobserved the glaring orb declines,
I LOVED thee, beautiful and kind,
And plighted an eternal vow; So altered are thy face and mind
'Twere perjury to love thee now.
Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded
ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day; She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear; Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms byaccepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most when she obeys; Let fops or fortune fly which way they will; Disdains all loss of tickets or codille; [all, Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them And mistress of herself, though china fall.
And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman's at best a contradiction still.
AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word
From those who spoke her praise.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A
GOOD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor
Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
Unless when she was sinning.
With hoop of monstrous size,
But when she shut her eyes.
By twenty beaux and more;
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say That had she lived a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.
A kind and gentle heart he had
To comfort friends and foes;
When he put on his clothes.
As many dogs there be,
And curs of low degree.
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
To bite so good a man.
To every Christian eye;
They swore the man would die.
That showed the rogues they lied, The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died !
BURLESQUE ELEGY. YE muses, pour the pitying tear
For Pollio snatched away;
He had not died to-day.
In virtuous times of yore,
Whene'er he went before.
And sympathetic sheep : Ev'n pitying hills would drop a tear
If hills could learn to weep. His bounty in exalted strain
Each bard may well display, Since none implored relief in vain
That went relieved away.
His obsequies forbid :
As ever dead man did.
1731–1800. THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF
JOHN GILPIN. Showing how he went farther than he in
tended, and came safe home again. The story of John Gilpin's ride was related to Cowper by his friend, Lady Austen, who had heard it as a child. It caused the poet à sleepless night, we are told, as he was kept
So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the
wheels, Were never folks so glad ! The stones did rattle underneath
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again ;
awake by laughter at it. During these restless hours he turned it into the famous ballad. It appeared in the “Public Advertiser," November 14th, 1782, anonymously.
A celebrated actor named Henderson took it for one of his public recitations at Freemasons' Hall. It became immediately so popular that it was printed everywhere -- in newspapers, magazines, and separately. It was even sung as a common ballad in the streets. It has preserved its popularity to the present date.
The original John Gilpin was, it is said, a Mr. Beyer, a linendraper, who lived at the Cheapside corner of Paternoster Row. He died in 1791, at the age of nearly a hundred years. JOHN GILPIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
Of famous London town.
Though wedded we have been
No holiday have seen. " To-morrow is our wedding day,
And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
Myself, and children three,
On horseback after we.
For saddletree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.
So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.
'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came downstairs
“The wine is left behind !"
He soon replied, "I do admire
Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
"Good lack !" quoth he; "yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,
When I do exercise."
Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.
“I am a linendraper bold,
As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."
And for that wine is dear,
Which is both bright and clear."
Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be
Equipped from top to toe, His long red coat, well brushed and neat,
He manfully did throw.
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
But yet was not allowed
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good hecdl.