And, where the is most familiar,
Always peevisher and fillier :

All her fpirits in a tiame,

When the knows the 's moft to blame.
Send me hence ten thousand miles,
From a face that always fimiles:
None could ever a&t that part,
But a Fury in her heart.

Ye who hate fuch inconfiftence,
To be eafy, keep your diftance;
Or in folly still befriend her,

But have no concern to mend her.
Lofe not time to contradict her,
Nor endeavour to convict her.
Never take it in your thought,
That fhe'll own, or cure a fault.
Into contradiction warm her;

Then, perhaps, you may reform her:
Only take this rule along,
Always to advife her wrong;
And reprove her when she's right;
She may then grow wife for fpight.
No-that fcheme will ne'er fucceed,
She has better learnt her creed:
She's too cunning, and too skilful,
When to yield, and when be wilful.
Nature holds her forth two mirrors,
One for truth, and one for errors:
That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful;
This is flattering and delightful :
That the throws away as foul;
Sits by this, to drefs her foul.

Thus you have the case in view,
Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you.
Heaven forbid he should defpife thee!
But will never more advife thee.

THE PHEASANT AND THE LARK.

A ZAELE. BY DR. DELANY. 1739.

"1 - Quis iniquæ

"Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?" Juv.

IN ancient times, as bards indite,

(If clerks have conn'd the records right)
A Peacock reign'd, whofe glorious fway
His fubjects with delight obey:
His tail was beauteous to behold,
Replete with goodly eyes and gold
(Fair emblem of that monarch's guife,
Whofe train at once is rich and wife).
And princely rul'd he many regions,
And ftatesmen wife, and valiant legions.
A Pheafant Lord*, above the reit,
With every grace and talent bleft,
Was fent to fway, with all his skill,
The feeptre of a neighbouring hill.
No fcience was to him unknown,
For all the arts were all his own:
In all the living learned read,
Though more delighted with the dead:
Lord Carteret, lord lieutenant of Ireland,
† Ireland.

For birds, if ancient tales be true,
Had then their Popes and Homers too,
Could read and write in profe and verfe,
And fpeak like ***, and build like Pearce*,
He knew their voices, and their wings;
Who fmootheft foars, who fweeteft fings;
Who toils with ill-fledg'd pens to climb,
And who attain'd the true fublime
Their merits he could well defcry,
He had fo exquite an eye;

And when that fail'd, to fhew them clear,
He had as exquif.te an ear.

It chanc'd, as on a day he stray'd,
Beneath an Academic fhade,

He lik'd, amidst a thousand throats,
The wildness of a Woodlark's notes,

And fearch'd, and fpy'd, and feiz'd his game,
And took him home, and made him tame,;
Found him on trial true and able,

So cheer'd and fed him at his table.

Here fome fhrewd critick finds I'm caught,
And cries out, "Better fed than taught❞—
Then jefts on game and tame, and reads
And jefts; and fo my tale proceeds.

Long had he study'd in the Wood,
Converfing with the wife and good;
His foul with harmony inspir'd,
With love of truth and virtue fir'd:
His Brethren's good and Maker's praise
Were all the ftudy of his lays;
Were all his ftudy in retreat,

And now employ'd him with the Great.
His friendship was the fure refort
Of all the wretched at the Court;
But chiefly merit in diftrefs
His greateft bleifing was to blef.—
This fx'd him in his Patron's breaft,
But fr'd with envy all the reft:
I mean that noify craving crew,
Who round the Court inceffant flew,
And prey'd like rooks, by pairs and dozcas,
To fil the maws of fons and cousins:
"Unmov'd their heart, and chill'd their blood,
"To every thought of common good,
"Confining every hope and care"
To their own low contracted fphere.
These ran him down with ceafelefs cry,
But found it hard to tell you why,
Till his own worth and wit fupply'd
Sufficient matter to deride:
"'Tis Envy's fafeft, funeft rule,
"To hide her rage in ridicule:
"The vulgar eye fhe beft beguiles,

"When all her inakes are deck'd with smiles ;" Sardonic fmiles, by rancour rais'd! "Tormented moft when feeming pleas'd!" Their fpight had more than half expir'd, Had he not wrote what all admir'd; What morfels had their malice wanted, But that he built, and plann'd, and planted!

A famous modern archite&.

† Dr. Delary.

How had his fenfe and learning griev'd them,
But that his charity reliev'd them!

"At highest Worth dull Malice reaches,
"As flugs pollute the fairest peaches:
"Envy defames, as harpies vile
"Devour the food they first defle."

Now afk the fruit of all his favour"He was not hitherto a faver"What then could make their rage run mad? "Why what he hop'd, not what he had.

"What tyrant e'er invented ropes, "Or racks, or rods, to punish hopes? "Th' inheritance of Hope and Fame "Is feldom Earthly Wifdom's aim;

Or, if it were, is not fo fmall,"
"But there is room enough for all."
If he but chance to breathe a fong
(He feldom fang, and never long);
The noify, rude, malignant croud,
Where it was high, pronounc'd it loud:

Plain Truth was Pride; and what was fillier,
Eafy and Friendly was Familiar.

Or, if he tun'd his lofty lays,
With folemn air to Virtue's praife,
Alike abufive and erroneous,

They call'd it hoarfe and unharmonious:
Yet fo it was to fouls like theirs,
Tunclefs as Abel to the Bears!

A Rook with harth malignant caw
Began, was follow'd by a Dawt

(Though fome, who would be thought to know, Are potive it was a Crow);

Jack Daw was feconded by Tit,

Tom Tit could write, and fo he writ; .
A tribe of tunelefs praters follow,
The Jay, the Magpie, and the Swallow;
And twenty more their throats let loose,
Down to the witlefs waddling Goose.
Some pick'd at him, fome flew, fome flutter'd,
Some kits'd, fome fcream'd, and others mutter'd:
The Crow, on carrion wont to feaft,
The Carrion Crow condemn'd his tafte :
The Rook in earnest too, not joking,
Swore all his finging was but creaking.

Some thought they meant to fhew their wit, Might think fo ftill but that they writ❞— Could it be fpight or envy?" No"Who did no ill, could have no foe."---So Wife Simplicity efteem'd, Quite otherwife True Wifdom deem'd; This queftion rightly understood, "What more provokes than doing good? "A foul ennobled and refin'd "Reproaches every bafer mind: "As ftrains exalted and melodious "Make every meaner mufick odious."

At length the Nightingale § was heard,
For voice and wisdom long rever'd,
Efteem'd of all the wife and good,
The Guardian Genius of the wood:
He long in difcontent retir'd,

Yet not obfcur'd, but more admir'd;

Dr. To

+ Dr. Sheridan.

Right Hon. Rich. Tighe. Dear Swift.

His brethren's fervite souls disdaining,
He liv'd indignant and complaining:
They now afresh provoke his choler
(It seems the Lark had been his scholar,
A favourite scholar always near him,
And oft' had wak'd whole nights to hear him):
Enrag'd he canvaffes the matter,

Exposes all their fenfelefs chatter,
Shews him and them in fuch a light,

As more enflames, yet quells their fpight.
They hear his voice, and frighted fly,
For rage had rais'd it very high:
Sham'd by the wifdom of his Notes,
They hide their heads, and hush their throats.

Their tales would always juitly fuit
The characters of every brute.
The afs was dull, the lion brave,
The ftag was fwift, the fox a knave;
The daw a thief, the ape a droll;

The hound would fcent, the wolf would prole 1
A pigeon would, if fhown by Efop,
Fly from the hawk, or pick his pease up.
Far otherwife a great Divine
Has learnt his Fables to refine :

He jumbles men and birds fogether,
As if they all were of a feather:
You fee him first the peacock bring,
Against all rules, to be a kings
That in his tail he wore his eyes,
By which he grew both rich and wife.
Now, pray, obferve the Doctor's choice,
A peacock chofe for fight and voice:
Did ever mortal fee a peacock
Attempt a flight above a haycock?
And for his tinging, Doctor, you know,
Himfelf complain'd of it to Juno.
He fqualls in fuch a hellish noife,
It frightens all the village boys,
This peacock kept a standing force,
In regiments of foot and horfe;
Had ftatefmen teo of every kind,
Who waited on his eyes behind
(And this was thought the highest post;
For, rule the rump, you rule the roaft).
The Doctor names but one at prefent,
And he of all birds was a pheasant.
This pheafant was a man of wit,
Could read all books were ever writ;
And, when among companions privy,
Could quote you Cicero and Livy.
Birds, as he favs, and I allow,
Were scholars then, as we are now;
Could read all volumes up to folies,
And feed on fricaffees and olios.
This Pheafant, by the Peacock's will,
Was Viceroy of a neighbouring bill;

The wedding-day, you take me right,
I promise nothing for the night.
The Bridegroom, dreft to make a figure,
Affumes an artificial vigour;

A flourish'd night-cap on, to grace
His ruddy, wrinkled, fmiling face;
Like the faint red upon a pippin,
Half wither'd by a winter's keeping.

And thus fet out this happy pair,
The Swain is rich, the Nymph is fair;
But, what I gladly would forget,
The Swain is old, the Nymph coquette.
Both from the goal together start,
Scarce run a ftep before they part;
No common ligament that binds
The various textures of their minds;
Their thoughts and actions, hopes and fears,
Lefs correfponding than their years.
Her fpoufe defires his coffee foon,
She rifes to her tea at noon.
While he goes out to cheapen books,
She at her glafs confults her looks;
While Betty's buzzing in her ear,
Lord, what a dress thefe parfons wear!
So odd a choice how could the make!
With'd him a colonel for her fake.
Then, on her fingers' ends, the counts,
Exact, to what his age amounts.
The Dean, the heard her uncle fay,
Is fixty, if he be a day ;
His ruddy cheeks are no difguife;
You fee the crows-feet round his eyes.
At one fhe rambles to the fhops,
To cheapen tea, and talk with fops;
Or calls a council of her maids,
And tradefmen, to compare brocades.
Her weighty morning-business o'er,
Sits down to dinner just at four;
Minds nothing that is done or faid,
Her evening-work fo fills her head.
The Dean, who us'd to dine at one,
Is maukish, and his ftomach gone;

In thread-bare gown, would scarce a louse hold,
Looks like the chaplain of his houfhold;
Beholds her, from the chaplain's place,
In French orocades, and Flanders lace:
He wonders what employs her brain,
But never asks, or afks in vain;
His mind is full of other cares,
And, in the fncaking parfon's airs,
Computes, that half a parish dues
Will hardly find his wife in fhoes.

Canft thou imagine, dull Divinė,
'Twill gain her love, to male her i ne?
Hath fe no other wants behde?
You raise defire, as well as pride,
Enticing coxcombs to adore,
And teach her to defpife thee more,
If in her coach the 'l condefcend
To place him at the hinder end,
Her hoop is hoist above his nose,

His odious gown would foil her cloaths;
And drops him at the church, to pray,
While the drives on to fee the play,

He, like an orderly Divine,
Coines home a quarter after nine,
And meets her hafting to the ball:
Her chairmen push him from the wall.
He enters in, and walks up stairs,
And calls the family to prayers;
Then goes alone to take his reft
In bed, where he can spare her beft.
At five the footmen make a din,
Her Ladyfhip is just come in;
The masquerade began at two,
She ftole away with much ado;
And fhall be chid this afternoon,
For leaving company so foon :
She'll fay, and the may truly fay 't,
She can't abide to ftay out late.

But now, though fcarce a twelve month marry'd,
Poor Lady Jane has thrice mifcarry'd :
The caufe, alas, is quickly guek;
The town has whifper'd round the jest.
Think on fome remedy in time,
You find his Reverence paft his prime,
Already dwindled to a lath;
No other way bút try the Bath.

For Venus, rifing from the ocean,
Infus'd a ftrong prolific potion,
That mix'd with Achelous' fpring,
The horned Hood, as poets fing,
Who, with an English beauty fmitter,
Ran under-ground from Greece to Britain;
The genial virtue with him brought,
And gave the Nymph a plenteous draught;
Then fied, and left his horn behind,
For husbands paft their youth to find:
The Nymph, who ftill with passion burn'd,
Was to a boiling fountain furn'd,
Where childless wives croud every morn,-
To drink in Achelous' horn.
And here the father often gains
That title by another's pains.

Hither, though much against the grain,
The Dean has carry'd Lady Jane.
He, for a while, would not confent,
But vow'd his money all was spent :
His money spent! a clownish reafon!
And muft my Lady flip her feafon?
The Doctor, with a double fee,
Was brib'd to make the De n agree.
Here all diverfions of the place
Are proper in my Lady's cafe:
With which the patiently complies,
Merely becaufe her friends advife;
His money and her time employs
In musick, raffling-rooms, and toys;
Or in the Crofs-bath feeks an heir,
Since others oft' have found one there,
Where if the Dean by chance appears,
It fhames his caffock and his years.
He keeps his diftance in the gallery,
Till banifh'd by fome coxcomb's ra ́llery;
For 'twould his character expofe,
To bathe among the belles and beaux,
So have I feen, within a pen,
Young ducklings fofter'd by a hen;

But, when let out, they run and muddle,
As inftinct leads them, in a puddle :
The fober hen, not born to fwim,
With mournful note clucks round the brim.
The Dean, with all his beft endeavour,
Gete not an heir, but gets a fever.
A victim to the laft effays
Of vigour in declining days,

He dies, and leaves his mourning mate
(What could he lefs?) his whole estate.

The widow goes through all her forms:
New lovers now will come in fwarms.
Oh, may I fee her foon dispensing
Her favours to fome broken enfign!
Him let her marry, for his face,
And only coat of tarnish'd lace;
To turn her naked out of doors,

And spend her jointure on his whores;
But, for a parting prefent, leave her
A rooted pox to last for ever!

ye:

cheap,

Be put to the peril and toil of a rape?
VIII.

If fortune fhould please but to take such a

crotchet

(To thee I apply, great Smedley's fucceffor) To give thee lawn fleeves, a mitre, and rochet, Whom wouldst thou refemble? I leave thee a gueffer.

But I only behold thee in Atherton's shape,
For fed my hang'd; as thou for a rape,

willing:

He long'd for a girl that would struggle and fquall;

He ravind her fairly, and fav'd a good shilling ;
But here was to pay the devil and all.
His trouble and forrows now come in a heap,
And hang'd he must be for committing a rape.
XI.

If maidens are ravish'd, "it is their own choice :
Why are they fo wilful to ftruggle with men?
If they would but lie quiet, and itifle their voice,

No Devil or Dean could ravish them then : Nor would there be need of a strong hempen cape Ty'd round the Dean's neck for committing a

rape.

* A bishop of Waterford, of infamous character. N