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An honeft but a fimple pair

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(And twenty other I forbear)
May serve to make this thefis clear.
A doctor of great skill and fame,
Paulo Purganti was his name,
Had a good, comely, virtuous wife ;
'No woman led a better life :

She to intrigues was ev'n hard-hearted:
She chuckled when a bawd was carted;
And thought the nation ne'er would thrive,
Till all the whores were burnt alive.

On married men, that dar'd be bad,
She thought no mercy fhould be had;
They should be hang'd, or ftarv'd, or flead,
Or ferv'd like Romish priests in Swede.

In fhort, all lewdnefs the defied:
And ftiff was her parochial pride.

Yet, in an honeft way, the dame

Was a great lover of that fame;
And could from Scripture take her cue,
That husbands fhould give wives their duc
Her prudence did so justly steer
Between the gay and the fevere,
That if in some regards the chofe
To curb poor Paulo in too clofe;
In others the relax'd again,
And govern'd with a loofer rein.

Thus though the ftrictly did confine
"The Doctor from excefs of wine :
With oysters, eggs, and vermicelli,
She let him almost burst his belly:

Thus

Thus drying coffee was denied ;

But chocolate that loss supplied :

And for tobacco (who could bear it?),
Filthy concomitant of claret :

(Bleft revolution !) one might fee
Eringo roots, and Bohea tea.

She often fet the Doctor's band,

And ftroak'd his beard, and fqueez'd his hand :
Kindly complain'd, that after noon

He went to pore on books too foon:
She held it wholefomer by much,
To reft a little on the couch: -
About his waift in bed a-nights
She clung fo close - for fear of fprites.
The Doctor understood the call;
But had not always wherewithal.
The lion's fkin too fhort, you know,
(As Plutarch's Morals finely fhow)
Was lengthen'd by the fox's tail :
And art fupplies, where ftrength may
Unwilling then in arms to meet
The enemy he could not beat;
He ftrove to lengthen the campaign,
And fave his forces by chicane.
Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus
By fair retreat grew Maximus,
Shews us, that all that warrior can do,
With force inferior, is cunctando.

fail.

One day then, as the foe drew near, With love, and joy, and life, and dear;

VOL. I.

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Our Don, who knew this tittle-tattle
Did, fure as trumpet, call to battle,
Thought it extremely à propos,

To ward against the coming blow:

:

To ward but how? Ay, there's the queftion;
Fierce the affault, unarm'd the bastion.

The Doctor feign'd a strange surprize :
He felt her pulfe; he view'd her eyes:
That beat too fast, these roll'd too quick ;
She was, he faid, or would be fick :
He judg'd it abfolutely good,

That the should purge, and cleanse her blood.

Spa waters for that end were got:

If they paft eafily or not,

What matters it? the lady's fever

Continued violent as ever.

For a diffemper of this kind
(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind),
If once it youthful blood infects,
And chiefly of the female fex,

Is fcarce remov'd by pill or potion;
Whate'er might be our Doctor's notion.

One luckless night then, as in bed
The Doctor and the Dame were laid;
Again this cruel fever came,

High pulfe, fhort breath, and blood in flame.

What measures shall poor Paulo keep
With Madam in this piteous taking?
She, like Macbeth, has murder'd fleep,
And won't allow him reft, though waking.

Sad

Sad ftate of matters! when we dare
Nor ask for peace, nor offer war;
Nor Livy nor Comines have fhown
What in this juncture may be done.
Grotius might own, that Paulo's cafe is
Harder, than any which he places,
Amongft his Belli and his Pacis.

He ftrove, alas! but ftrove in vain,
By dint of logick to maintain,
That all the fex was born to grieve,
Down to her Ladyship from Eve.

He rang'd his tropes, and preach'd-up patience,
Back'd his opinion with quotations,
Divines and Moralifts; and run ye on
Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan.
As much in vain he bid her try
To fold her arms, to close her eye;
Telling her, reft would do her good,
If any thing in nature could :

So held the Greeks quite down from Galen,
Mafters and princes of the calling:

So all our modern friends maintain

(Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane. Reduce, my Mufe, the wandering fong:

A tale fhould never be too long.

The more he talk'd, the more fhe burn'd, And figh'd, and toft, and groan'd, and turn'd': At laft, I wish, faid fhe, my dear

(And whifper'd something in his ear).

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You wish! wish on, the Doctor cries:
Lord! when will womankind be wife?
What, in your waters? are you mad ?
Why poison is not half fo bad.

I'll do it - but I give you warning:
You'll die before to-morrow morning.
'Tis kind, my dear, what you
advise;
The lady with a figh replies !
But life, you know, at best is pain;
And death is what we should disdain.
So do it therefore, and adieu :

For I will die for love of you.
Let wanton wives by death be fcar'd:
But, to my comfort, I'm prepar'd.

TH

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HE fceptics think, 'twas long ago,
Since gods came down incognito,

To fee who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rofe :

That, fince they gave things their beginning;
And fet this whirligig a-fpinning;
Supine they in their Heaven remain,
Exempt from paffion and from pain:
And frankly leave us human elves,
To cut and fhuffle for ourselves :
To stand or walk, to rife or tumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.
S

The

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