Need we expofe to vulgar fight
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains, clos'd around?
Let it fuffice, that each had charms:
He clafp'd a goddefs in his arms;
And though fhe felt his ufage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.
The honey-moon like light'ning few:
The fecond brought its tranfports too.
A third, a fourth, was not amifs;
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss;
But, when a twelvemonth pafs'd away,
Jack found his goddefs made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arofe from powder, fhreds, or lace;
But ftill the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind;
Skill'd in no other arts was she,
But dreffing, patching, repartee;
And just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a flattern or a belle.
'Tis true fhe drefs'd with modern grace,
Half-naked at a ball or race;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greafy night-caps wrap'd her head.
Could fo much beauty condefcend
To be a dull domeftic friend?
any curtain lectures bring
To decency fo fine a thing?
In fhort, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy:
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 fhe fhews,
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 so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
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, whose ruthless
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower:
Lo! the small-pox, whofe 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 fight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art fhe vainly tries To bring back luftre to her eyes. In vain she tries her paste and creams, To smooth her skin, or hide its feams; Her country beaux and city coufins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens: The 'fquire himfelf was feen to yield, And ev❜n 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. Jack foon was dazzled to behold Her prefent face furpafs the old; With modesty 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.
LONG had I fought in vain to find
A likeness for the fcribbling kind:
The modern fcribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and fenfe, and nature's fpite:
'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 fecond, page the tenth:
The ftrefs of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our Simile.
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 bards decreed:
A juft comparison-proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse,
Wings grow again from both his fhoes;
Design'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 sure it might be justly faid,
His feet are useful as his head.
Laftly, vouchfafe t'obferve his hand,
Fill'd with a snake-incircled wand;
By claffick authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit-most wond'roufly endu'd,
No poppy water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's fuch,
Tho' ne'er fo much awake before,
That quickly they begin to fnore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens fouls 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;
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