'Tis certain that the modish passions Descend among the crowd, like fashions. Excuse me, then, if pride, conceit, (The manners of the fair and great) I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,

Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs.

I

say that these are proud, what then?

I never said they equal men.

A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)

Affected singularity:

Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
He roll'd upon the fragrant ground,
And then with fond attention stood,
Fix'd o'er his image in the flood.

"I hate my frowzy beard," he cries,
"My youth is lost in this disguise.
Did not the females know my vigour,
Well might they loath this reverend figure.”
Resolved to smooth his shaggy face,
He sought the barber of the place,
A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
Hard by, profess'd the dapper art.
His pole with pewter basins hung,
Black rotten teeth in order strung,
Ranged cups, that in the window stood,
Lined with red rags, to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,

Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.1
The Goat he welcomes with an air,
And seats him in his wooden chair:
Mouth, nose, and cheek, the lather hides;
Light, smooth, and swift, the razor glides.
"I hope your custom, Sir," says Pug,
"Sure never face was half so smug!"
The Goat, impatient for applause,
Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws;
The shaggy people grinn'd and stared,—
-"Heyday! what's here? without a beard!
Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace?

What envious hand hath robb'd your face?"

(1) This is a graphic description of the ancient signs of the barbers, who, as is well known, formerly joined the art of "chirurgery" to that of shaving and dressing hair. For an account of their "art and mystery," see Knight's London.

When thus the fop with smiles of scorn:
"Are beards by civil nations worn?—
E'en Muscovites have mow'd their chins.
Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
And bear about the hairy load?
Whene'er we through the village stray,
Are we not mock'd along the way,
Insulted with loud shouts of scorn,
By boys, our beards disgraced and torn?"
"Were you no more with Goats to dwell,
Brother, I grant you reason well;"
Replies a bearded chief. "Beside,
If boys can mortify thy pride,
How wilt thou stand the ridicule
Of our whole flock? Affected fool!

Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest,

To all but coxcombs are a jest."

"1

(1) This fable is somewhat akin to that of the Fox without a Tail, in Æsop, although what is there represented as a dexterous subterfuge to conceal a misfortune, is here the voluntary act of self-conceit. La Fontaine has copied Æsop, liv. v. 5.

Eccentricity frequently passes for talent, because it happens sometimes to be associated with it, so that many shallow-witted pretenders voluntarily copy the one, in hopes of obtaining the fame of the other. Hence arise brusquerie and rudeness in quacks and pedants, because Abernethy happened to be uncivilized and Porson and Parr unpresentable. This is a flimsy veil for deficient endowment; as well might the man who had a wart on his nose, like Oliver Cromwell, arrogate the genius of the great Protector: rather let us consider eccentricity as a defect to be avoided, than a virtue to be copied, and deem that the house of the mind, is but a paltry lodging, if it cannot find room for two inmates together, talent and propriety.

WHO friendship with a knave hath made, Is judged a partner in the trade.

The matron who conducts abroad

A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
And if a modest girl is seen

With one who cures a lover's spleen,
We guess her not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
"Tis thus that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.'

(1) "Noscitur a sociis."-Latin proverb.

A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoky flame

Sate hovering, pinch'd with age and frost;
Her shrivell'd hands, with veins emboss'd,
Upon her knees her weight sustains,

While palsy shook her crazy

brains:

She mumbles forth her backward prayers,1
An untamed scold of fourscore years:
About her swarm'd a numerous brood
Of Cats, who, lank with hunger, mew'd.2

Teased with their cries her choler grew,
And thus she sputter'd, "Hence, ye crew!
Fool that I was, to entertain

Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
Had ye been never housed and nursed,
I for a witch had ne'er been cursed.
To you I owe, that crowds of boys
Worry me with eternal noise;
Straws laid across, my pace retard,

The horseshoe's nail'd,-each threshold's guard!3
The stunted broom, the wenches hide,

For fear that I should up and ride;

(1) For an account of witches and the act of James, which, as Gifford says, "decreed death for a variety of impossible crimes," see his note to Massinger's play, "A new Way to pay old Debts: " also the learned notes by Drake, in his work of "Shakspeare and his Times." The following is a description of a witch's abode, by Spenser, (Faerie Queen, b. iii. c. 7.)

"There in a gloomy hollow glen, she found
A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes,
In homely wise, and wal'd with sods around,
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes
And wilful want, all carelesse of her needes.

So choosing solitarie to abide

Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds,
And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
And hurt far off unknowne, whomever she envide."
(3) Vide Drake, supra.

(2) Vide Shakspear: Macbeth, Act iv.
G