Beauty with early bloom supplies
His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes.
The vain coquette each suit disdains,
And glories in her lovers' pains.
With age she fades, each lover flies;
Contemn'd, forlorn, she pines and dies.1
When Jove the Father's grief survey'd,
And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid,
Thus spoke the God: "By outward show,
Men judge of happiness and woe.
Shall ignorance of good and ill
Dare to direct th' eternal will?
Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd,

To Providence resign the rest.'

"2

(1) Vide dissection of a coquette's heart, Spectator, No. 281.

(2) Whilst the direction of the Christian religion to its professors is "in every thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, to let their requests be made known unto God," we are in no wise authorized to dictate blessings to the Almighty will; for,

"If heaven should always grant what we think best,

We should be ruin'd by our own request."

Like the silly fly, which, walking over the lamp glass, and dazzled with the glare, longs to reach that, which, if attained, would destroy it, so man wildly invokes or madly upbraids heaven for results as unforeseen as illusory.

The Tenth Satire of Juvenal is an admirable exponent of this subject, and Virgil gives advice which may serve as a moral to the fable. We append

Dryden's translation of the part.

"What then remains? are we deprived of will?

Must we not wish, for fear of wishing ill?
Receive my counsel and securely move;
Entrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above;
Leave them to manage for thee and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want.
In goodness, as in greatness, they excel :
Oh! that we loved ourselves but half so well."

THE learned, full of inward pride,
The fops of outward show deride;
The fop, with learning at defiance,
Scoffs at the pedant and the science:
The Don, a formal solemn strutter,
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,

Who looks, and speaks, and walks, by rule.

Britain, a medley of the twain,
As pert as France, as grave as Spain,
In fancy wiser than the rest,
Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Is not the Poet's chiming close,
Censured by all the sons of Prose?
While bards of quick imagination
Despise the sleepy prose narration.
Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
For what are we, but apes to them?1

Two Monkeys went to Southwark fair,
No critics had a sourer air:

They forced their way through draggled folks,
Who gaped to catch Jack Pudding's jokes;
Then took their tickets for the show,
And got by chance, the foremost row.
To see their grave observing face

Provok'd a laugh throughout the place.

'Brother," says Pug, and turn'd his head,
"The rabble's monstrously ill-bred."

Now through the booth loud hisses ran,
Nor ended till the show began.
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With sommersets he shakes the ground;2
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings;
Distorted now, now prone depends,

Now through his twisted arms ascends;

(1) "Criticism is like a shuttlecock, and every one is furnished with a racket to pass it off from himself to his neighbour."-SWIFT.

(2) The word "sommerset' is derived from "soubresaut;" it is sometimes written "summersalt."

The crowd, in wonder and delight,

With clapping hands, applaud the sight.

With smiles, quoth Pug, " If pranks like these
The giant apes of reason please,

How would they wonder at our arts?
They must adore us for our parts.
High on the twig I've seen you cling,
Play, twist, and turn in airy ring:
How can those clumsy things like me
Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
But yet, by this applause, we find
These emulators of our kind
Discern our worth, our parts regard,
Who our mean mimics thus reward."
"Brother," the grinning mate replies,
"In this I grant that man is wise:
While good example they pursue,
We must allow some praise is due;
But when they strain beyond their guide,
I laugh to scorn the mimic pride;
For how fantastic is the sight,
To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we sometimes walk on two!

I hate the imitating crew." 1

(1) This is one of the most finished of Gay's productions if we consider the lively vein of satire so justly levelled at the ignorant and supercilious conceit of mankind, which, wishing to arrogate all excellency, even of physical power, to itself, strives after what may be termed, "brute accomplishments." The observation in the last line is a fac-simile of the indolent pride which characterises the observation of many, and might pass, word for word, for a prim speech of some fine lady, newly raised to a precarious dignity, looking down upon those whose society she has just quitted, but now considers as her inferiors; or for the pedantic arrogance of some inflated scholar, who boasts the knowledge of every language and science, but whom a blacksmith could surpass, in common sense.

AN Owl of grave deport and mien,
Who (like the Turk) was seldom seen,
Within a barn had chose his station,
As fit for prey and contemplation.
Upon a beam aloft he sits,

And nods, and seems to think, by fits.
(So have I seen a man of news,
Or Post-boy or Gazette peruse,