And, juft as humour rofe or fell,
By turns a flattern or a belle;
'Tis true the dress'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 so much beauty condefcend
To be a dull domeftic friend?
Could 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, fhe 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 finoke;'
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 the fhews,
Or thins her lip, or points her nose :
Whenever rage or envy rise,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes;
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phyz;
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
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whofe ruthless power
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower :
Lo! the fmall 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 himself was feen to yield,
And ev❜n the captain quit the field.
Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
The reft of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleafing him alone,
Jack foon was dazzled to behold
Her prefent face furpass the old;
With modefty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility difplaces pride;
For taudry finery is feen
A perfon ever neatly clean:
No more prefuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day;
Serenely gay, and strict 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 forgot what day on,
A chapter out of Took'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 second, page the tenth :
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our fimile.
Imprimis, pray observe 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 bard's decreed;
A juft comparison,-proceed.
In the next place, his feet perufe,
Wings grow again from both his shoes;
Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air;
And here my fimile unites,
For in modern poet's flights,
I'm fure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.
Laftly, vouchfafe t'obferve his hand,
Fill'd with a fnake-incircled wand;
By claffic authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit-most wond'roufly endu'd,
No poppy water half fo good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's fuch,
Though ne'er fo much awake before,
That quickly they begin to fnore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives men's fouls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then;
His wand's a modern author's pen;
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