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Where all that passes inter nos
Might be proclaimed at Charing Cross.

Yet some I know with envy swell
Because they see me used so well.

"How think you of our friend the Dean?
I wonder what some people mean!
My lord and he are grown so great
Always together tête-à-tête ;
What! they admire him for his jokes !
See but the fortune of some folks!"

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There flies about a strange report Of some express arrived at court ! I'm stopped by all the fools I meet, And catechised in every street.

“You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great ; Inform us, will the Emperor treat?

Or do the prints and papers lie?" "Faith, sir, you know as much as I.".

'Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest ! 'Tis now no secret."-"I protest 'Tis one to me.

“Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?" And though I solemnly declare I know no more than my lord mayor, They stand amazed, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known.

Our friend Dan Prior told (you know) A tale extremely à propos : Name a town life, and in a trice He had a story of Two Mice. Once on a time (so runs the fable) A country mouse right hospitable, Received a town mouse at his board, Just as a farmer might a lord. A frugal mouse upon the whole, Yet loved his friend, and had a soul, Knew what was handsome, and would do't, On just occasion coûte qui coate. He brought him bacon (nothing lean), Pudding that might have pleased a dean; Cheese such as men in Suffolk make, But wished it Stilton for his sake; Yet, to his guest though no way sparing, He ate himself the rind and paring. Our courtier scarce could touch a bit, But showed his breeding and his wit ; He did his best to seem to eat, And cried, "I vow you're mighty neat, But lord ! my friend, this savage scene! For God's sake, come, and live with men. Consider, mice, like men, must die ! Both small and great, both you and I; Then spend your life in joy and sport, (This doctrine, friend, I learnt at court.") The veriest hermit in the nation May yield, God knows, to strong tempta

tion." Away they came, through thick and thin, To a tall house near Lincoln's Inn: ('Twas on the night of a debate, When all their lordships had sat late.)

Behold the place, where, if a poet Shined in description, he might show it; Tell how the moonbeam trembling falls, And tips with silver all the walls; Palladian walls, Venetian doors, Grotesco roofs, and stucco floors; But let it (in a word) be said, The moon was up, and men abed, The napkins white, the carpet red; The guests withdrawn, had left the treat, And down the mice sat, tête-ui-tête.

Thus in a sea of folly tost, My choicest hours of life are lost, Yet always wishing to retreat. Oh, could I see my country seat ! There leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book ! And there in sweet oblivion drown Those cares that haunt the court and town. O charming noons and nights divine ! Or when I sup or when I dine, My friends above, my folks below, Chatting and laughing all a-row, The beans and bacon set before 'em, The grace-cup served with all decorum : Each willing to be pleased and please, And even the very dogs at ease ! Here no man prates of idle things, How this or that Italian sings, A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's, Or what's in either of the Houses ; But something much more our concern, And quite a scandal not to learn : Which is the happier or the wiser, A man of merit or a miser ? Whether we ought to choose our friends For their own worth or our own ends? What good or better we may call, And what the very best of all?

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I have a thousand thanks to give-
My lord alone knows how to live."
No sooner said, but from the hall
Rush chaplain, butler, dogs and all:
A rat, a rat! clap to the door!".
The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
Oh for the heart of Homer's mice,
Or gods to save them in a trice!
(It was by Providence they think,
For
your

d-d stucco has no chink.) "An't please your honour," quoth the

peasant, "This same desert is not so pleasant: Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread and liberty!"

*

*

*

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When black ambition stains a public

cause, A monarch's sword when mad vainglory

draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's

scar, Nor Boileau turn the feather to a star,

Not so, when diademed with rays divine, Touched with the flame that breaks from

Virtue's shrine, Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die, And opes the temple of eternity. Let envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus

sings, And bark at honour not conferred by kings; Let flatt'ry sickening see the incense rise, Sweet to the world, and grateful to the

skies : Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line, And makes immortal, verse as mean as

mine.
Yes, the last pen

freedom me draw, When truth stands trembling on the edge

of law; Here, last of Britons! let your names be

read; Are none, none living ?_let me praise the

dead, And for that cause which made your fathers

shine, Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line. F. Alas! alas! pray end what you be

gan, And write next winter more Essays on Man.

ALEXANDER POPE.

1688–1744.

POWER OF SATIRE.

CONTRARIETIES OF HUMAN

CHARACTER.

F. You're strangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no slave; So impudent, I own myself no knave; So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God, afraid of me: Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the

throne, Yet touched and shamed by ridicule alone. O sacred weapon ! left for Truth's de

fence, Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence ! To all but Heaven-directed hands denied, The Muse may give thee, but the gods

must guide. Rev'rent I touch thee! but with honest

zeal, To rouse the watchmen of the public weal; To virtue's work provoke the tardy Hall, And goad the prelate slumbering in his

stall. Ye tinsel insects! whom a court maintains, That counts your beauties only by your

stains, Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day! The Muse's wing shall brush you all away: All his grace preaches, all his lordship

sings, All that makes saints of queens, and gods

of kings, All, all but truth, drops dead-born from Like the last gàzette, or the last address.

IN vain sedate reflections we would make, When half our knowledge we must snatch,

not take. Oft, in the passions' wild rotation tost, Our spring of action to ourselves is lost: Tired, not determined, to the last we yield, And what comes then is master of the field, As the last image of that troubled heap, When sense subsides, and fancy sports in

sleep (Though past the recollection of the

thought), Becomes the stuff of which our dream is

wrought : Something as dim to our internal view, Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do.

the press,

True, some are open, and to all men

known ; Others so very close, they're hid from

none.

(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, All see 'tis vice and itch of vulgar praise. When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, s While one there is who charms us with his

spleen.ll 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.

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, $8 Faithless through piety, and duped through

wit? Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule, |||| And just her wisest monarch made a fool?

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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

hall.

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Catius is ever moral, ever grave, Thinks who endures a knave is next à

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 Char:

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.

it 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 gratisy his Queen; and Victor Amadeus II., King of Sardinia, who resigned the crown, and, trying to resume it, was imprisoned till his death. -Pope.

Úll 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

[less 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 2 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,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And most contemptible, to shun contempt:
His passion still, to covet general praise,
His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A constant bounty which no friend has

made; An angel tongue, which no man can per

suade; A fool, with more of wit than half man

kind; Toorash 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.

your last.

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.

But 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 ; Tbose, 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 uced those very words on his death-bed.-Warton.

Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint

provoke," Were the last words that poor Narcissa

spoke). * Philip, Duke of Wharton, born 1698; died 2 monk in Spain, 1731.

His eccentric and wissipated career rendered him remarkable. He was, towards the end of his life, attached o the Court of the Pretender.

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

means : 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

die.

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.

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MATTHEW PRIOR.

1664-1721.

EPIGRAM.

I LOVED thee, beautiful and kind,

And plighted an eternal vow; So altered are thy face and mind

'Twere perjury to love thee now.

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. 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.

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