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'Tis true the dress’d with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race ;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy night-caps wrap'd her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency fo fine a thing?
In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting ;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy;
The 'squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations ;
Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke
A figh in fuffocating smoke;
While all their hours were pass'd between
Insulting repartee or spleen.
Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown ;
He fancies every vice she shews,
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 ravellid
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower :
Lo! the small pox, whose horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rilling 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 se vainly tries
To bring back luftre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, few off by dozens :
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And ev'n the captain quit the field.
Poor madam now condemn'd to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face furpass the old ;
With modesty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility displaces pride ;
For taudry finery is seen
A Person ever neatly clean :
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day ;
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a prefect beauty.
LONG had I fought in vain to find
G had I
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern fcribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite :
'Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Took's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit 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 just comparison,-proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse,
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 sure it may be juftly said,
His feet are useful as his head.
Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Fill’d with a snake-incircled wand ;
By claffic authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit-most wond'rously endu'd,
poppy water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue's fuch,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens souls to hell.