That very Cæfar born in Scipio's days, In this one paffion man can ftrength enjoy, grace Behold a rev'rend fire, whom want of 220 225 230 235 VER. 227. Here honeft Nature ends as she begins.] Human nature is here humourously called honeft, as the impulse of the ruling paffion (which the gives and cherishes) makes her more and more impatient of difguife. VER. 231. Lanesb’row.] An ancient Nobleman, who continued this practice long after his legs were disabled by the gout. Upon the death of Prince Greorge of Denmark, he demanded an audience of the Queen, to advise her to preferve her health and difpel her grief by Dancing. Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, 240 A falmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; The doctor call'd, declares all help too late: Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my foul! "Is there no hope?- Alas!-then bring the jowl." The frugal Crone, whom praying priests attend, Still tries to fave the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. "Odious! in woollen! 'twould a Saint provoke. (Were the laft words that poor Narciffa spoke) "No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels lace 66 245 Wrap my cold limbs, and fhade my lifeless face: "One would not, fure, be frightful when one's deadAnd-Betty-give this Cheek a little Red." 66 251 The Courtier smooth, who forty years had fhin'd An humble fervant to all human kind, Juft brought out this, when fcarce his tongue could ftir, "If-where I'm going-I could ferve you, Şir ?" VER. 242. The frugal Crone,] A fact told him, of a Lady at Paris. VER. 247. The last words that poor Narcissa spoke] This ftory, as well as the cthers, is founded on fact, tho' the author had the goodness not to mention the names. Several attribute this in particular to a very celebrated Actress, who, in deteftation of the thought of being buried in woollen, gave these her laft orders with her dying breath. 256 "I give and I devise (old Euclio faid, And figh'd) my lands and tenements to Ned. Your money, Sir?" My money, Sir, what all ? "Why, if I muft-(then wept) I give it Paul. "The Manor, Sir?" The Manor! hold, he cry'd, "Not that, I cannot part with that”—and dy’d. · And you! brave COBHAM, to the latest breath 262 Shall feel your ruling paffion ftrong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past, - "Oh, fave my Country, Heav'n !" shall be your last. |