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You may expect, perhaps, I now fhould teach
What rules to treats and entertainments reach.
Come not the first, invited to a feast;
Rather come last, as a more grateful guest.
For that, of which we fear to be depriv'd,
Meets with the fureft welcome when arriv'd.
Befides, complexions of a coarfer kind,
From candle-light no small advantage find.
During the time you eat, observe some grace,
Nor let your unwip'd hands besmear your face,
Nor yet too fqueamishly your meat avoid,
Left we fufpect you were in private cloy'd.
Of all extremes in either kind beware,
And still before your belly's full forbear.
No glutton-nymph, however fair, can wound,
Though more than Helen fhe in charms abound.

I own, I think, of wine the moderate use
More fuits the fex, and fooner finds excufe;
It warms the blood, adds luftre to the eyes,
And wine and love have always been allies.
But carefully from all intemperance keep,
Nor drink till you fee'double, lifp, or fleep.
For in fuch fleeps brutalities are done,

Which, though you loathe, you have no power to shu
And now th' inftructed nymph from table led,
Should next be taught how to behave in bed.
But modefty forbids: nor more, my Mufe
With weary wings the labour'd flight purfues;
Her purple fwans unyok'd the chariot leave,
And needful reft (their journey done) receive,

Thus,

Thus, with impartial care, my art I fhow,
And equal.arms on either fex beftow:

While men and maids, who by my rules improve,
Ovid muft own their mafter is in love.

OF PLEASING

AN

EPISTLE

TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE.

"T

'IS ftrange, dear Temple, how it comes to pass,
That no one man is pleas'd with what he has.
So Horace fings---and fure, as ftrange is this:
That no one man 's difpleas'd with what he is.
The foolish,, ugly, dull, impertinent,

Are with their perfons and their parts content.
Nor is that all, fo odd a thing is man,
He moft would be what leaft he fhould or can.
Hence, homely faces ftill are foremost seen,
And cross-fhap'd fops affect the nicest mien ;
Cowards extol true courage to the skies,
And fools are ftill moft forward to advife;
Th' untrufted wretch to fecrecy pretends,
Whispering his nothing round to all as friends.
Dull rogues affect the politicians part,

And learn to nod, and fmile, and shrug with art;
Who nothing has to lofe, the war bewails;
And he who nothing pays, at taxes rails.

Thus

nofe

Thus map perverse against plain nature fives,
And to be artfully abfurd contrives.
Plautus will dance, Lufcus at ogling aims,
Old Tritus keeps, and undone Probus games.
Noifome Curculio, whofe envenom'd breath,
Though at a distance utter'd, threatens death,
Full in your teeth his itinking whifper throws;
Nor mends his manners, though you hold your
Therfites, who feems born to give offence,
From uncouth form, and frontlefs impudence,
Affumes foft airs, and with a flur comes in,
Attempts a fimile, and fhocks you with a grin.
Raucus harangues with a diffuafive grace,
And Helluo invites with a forbidding face.
Nature to each allots his proper sphere,
But, that forfaken, we like comets err :
Tofs'd through the void, by fome rude shock we're broke,
And all her boafted fire is loft in smoke.

Next to obtaining wealth, or power, or ease,
Men most affect in general to please:
Of this affection vanity's the fource,
And vanity alone obstructs its course ;

That telescope of fools, through which they fpy
Merit remote, and think the object nigh.
The glafs remoy'd, would each himself survey,
And in just scales his ftrength and weakness weigh
Pursue the path for which he was design'd,

And to his proper force adapt his mind;
Scarce one, but to fome merit might pretend,
Perhaps might please, at least would not offend..

Who

Who would reprove us while he makes us laugh,
Must be no Bavius, but a Bickerstaff.

If Garth, or Black more, friendly potions give,
We bid the dying patient drink and live :

When Murus comes, we cry, "Beware the pill;"
And with the tradefman were a tradesman ftill.
If Addison, or Rowe, or Piior write,

We study them with profit and delight :

But when vile Macor and Mundungus rhyme,
We grieve we 've learnt to read, ay, curfe the time.
All rules of pleasing in this one unite,
"Affect not any thing in Nature's fpite."
Baboons and apes ridiculous we find ;

For what? For ill-refembling human-kind.
"None are, for being what they are, in fault,
"But for not being what they would be thought.”
Thus I, dear friend, to you my thoughts impart,
As to one perfect in the pleasing art;

If art it may be call'd in you, who feem,
By Nature form'd for Love, and for Esteem.
Affecting none, all virtues you poffefs,
And really are what others but profess.
I'll not offend you, while myself I please ;
I loathe to flatter, though I love to praise.
But when fuch early worth fo bright appears,
And antedates the fame which waits on years;
I can't fo ftupidly affected prove,

Not to confefs it in the man I love.

Though now I aim not at that known applaufe
You've won in arms, and in your country's caufe;

Nor

Nor patriot now, nor hero I commend,
But the companion praife, and boaft the friend.

But you may think, and fome, lefs partial, fay,
That I presume too much in this effay.

How fhould I fhow what pleases? How explain
A rule, to which I never could attain ?
To this objection I'll make no reply,
But tell a tale, which, after, we'll apply.
I've read, or heard, a learned perfon, once
(Concern'd to find his only fon a dunce)
Compos'd a book in favour of the lad,
Whofe memory, its seems, was very bad.
This work contain'd a world of wholesome rules,
To help the frailty of forgetful fools.

The careful parent laid the treatise by,
Till Time should make it proper to apply.
Simon at length the look'd-for age attains,
To read and profit by his father's pains ;
And now the fire prepare the books t'impart,
Which was yclept of memory and art.
But ah! how oft is human care in vain!
For now, he could not find his book again,
The place where he had laid it he forgot,
Nor could himself remember what he wrote,
Now to apply the story that I tell,
Which, if not true, is yet invented well,
Such is my cafe: Like most of theirs who teach;
I ill may practife, what I well may preach.
Myself not trying, or not turn'd to please,
May lay the line, and measure out the ways.

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