The 'fquire and captain took their stations,
And.twenty other near relations.
Jack fuck'd his pipe, and often broke
A figh in fuffocating smoke;

While all their hours were pafs'd between
Infulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarfer grown;
He fancies every vice she shews,
Or thins her lip, or points her nofe:
Whenever rage or envy rife,

How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but fo it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phyz;
And, though her fops are wond'rous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell'd nooze,.
As each a different way pursues,
While fullen or loquacious ftrife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whofe ruthless power
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower :
Lo! the fmall-pox, whofe horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glafs, grown hateful to her fight,
Reflected now a perfect fright;
Each former art the vainly tries
To bring back luftre to her eyes.
In vain the tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her fkin, or hide its feams;
Her country beaux and city coufins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The 'fquire himself was feen 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 pleafing him alone.

G

Jack foon was dazzled to behold
Her prefent face furpass the old;
With modefty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility difplaces pride;
For taudry finery is feen
A perfon ever neatly clean :
No more prefuming on her fway,
She learns good-nature every day:
Serenely gay, and ftrict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

A NEW SIMILE,

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.

LONG had I fought in vain to find

A likeness for the fcribbling kind;
The modern fcribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite;
'Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with fomething there,
To fuit my purpose to a hair:
But let us not proceed too furious;
First please to turn to God Mercurius;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the second, page the tenth:
The ftrefs of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our fimile.
Imprimis, pray obferve his hat;
Wings upon either fide-mark that."
Well! what is it from thence we gather
Why these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right,
With wit that's flighty, learning light;

Such as to modern bard's decreed:
A juft comparison. Proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse,
Wings grow again from both his shoes;
Defign'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air;

And here my fimile unites;
For, in a modern poet's flights,
I'm fure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.

Laftly, vouchfafe t' obferve his hand,
Fill'd with a fnake-incircled-wand;
By claffic authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for feveral ufes.
To wit-most wond'rously endu’d;
No poppy-water half fo good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's fuch,

Though ne'er fo much awake before,
That quickly they begin to fnore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens' foul to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then;
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The ferpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy flaver, venom'd bites;
An equal femblance ftill to keep,
Alike too both conduce to fleep.
This difference only, as the God
Drove fouls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goofequill the fcribbling elf,
Inftead of others, damns himself.

And here my fimile almost tript;
Yet grant a word by way of poftfcript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing:
Well! what of that? out with it-stealing :
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he:
But e'en this deity's existence,
Shall lend my fimile affistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they but fenfelefs ftones and blocks?
G 2

THE

LOGICIANS

REFUTED.

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.*

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd

As rational the human mind:
Reason, they fay, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wife Ariftotle and Smiglefius,
By Ratiocinations fpecious

Have ftrove to prove with great precifion,
With definition and divifion,
Homo eft ratione preditum ;

But for my foul I cannot credit 'em ;
And muft in fpite of them maintain,
That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boafted lord of nature;
Is both a weak and erring creature.
That instinct is a furer guide,
Than reafon boafting mortals' pride;
And that brute beafts are far before 'em,
Deus eft anima brutorum.

Whoever knew an honeft brute,
At law his neighbour profecute,
Bring action for affault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics difturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court:

They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend, a foe:

They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.

This Imitation having originally been adopted by Mr. Faulkner as a genuine Poem by Swift, it has been reprinted in every fubfequent edition of the Dean's Poems; and was not difcovered till it was too late to take it out of the prefent edition.

Fraught with invective, they ne'er go
To folks at Pater-nofter-Row:
No judges, fiddlers, dancing masters,
No pick-pockets, or poetafters,
Are known to honeft quadrupedes;
No fingle brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others throat for pay.
Of beafts, it is confefs'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human fhape;
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling paffion:
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape furpaffes.
Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the minifter of ftate:
View him foon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors:
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators;

At court, the porters, lacquies, waiters,
Their mafter's manners ftill contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape all.

A DESCRIPTION

OF AN AUTHOR'S BED CHAMBER.

WHERE the Red Lion ftaring o'er the way,
Invites each paffing ftranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parfons' black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane:
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs fnug,
The Mufe found Scroggen ftretch'd beneath a rug:
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly fhew'd the date in which he lay;
The fanded floor, that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall, with paltry pictures spread :