Charm'd with his eyes, and chin, and snout,
Her pocket glass drew slily out;
And grew enamour'd with her phiz,
As just the counterpart of his.
She darted many a private glance,
And freely made the first advance;
Was of her beauty grown so vain,
She doubted not to win the swain.
Nothing she thought could sooner gain him,
Than with her wit to entertain him.
She ask'd about her friends below;
This meagre fop, that batter'd beau:
Whether some late departed toasts
Had got gallants among the ghosts?
If Chloe were a sharper still
As great as ever at quadrille ?
(The ladies there must needs be rooks,
For cards, we know, are Pluto's books)
If Florimel had found her love,
For whom she hang'd herself above?
How oft a week was kept a ball
By Proserpine at Pluto's hall?
She fancied these Elysian shades
The sweetest place for masquerades:
How pleasant on the banks of Styx,
To troll it in a coach and six!
What pride a female heart inflames!
How endless are ambition's aims!
Cease, haughty nymph; the Fates decree
Death must not be a spouse for thee:
For, when by chance the meagre shade
Upon thy hand his finger laid,
Thy hand as dry and cold as lead,
His matrimonial spirit fled;
He felt about his heart a damp,
That quite extinguish'd Cupid's lamp:
Away the frighted spectre scuds,
And leaves my lady in the suds.
DAPHNE knows, with equal ease,
How to vex and how to please;
But the folly of her sex
Makes her sole delight to vex.
Never woman more devis'd
Surer ways to be despis'd;
Paradoxes weakly wielding,
Always conquer'd, never yielding.
To dispute, her chief delight,
With not one opinion right:
Thick her arguments she lays on,
And with cavils combats reason;
Answers in decisive way,
Never hears what you can say:
Still her odd perverseness shows
Chiefly where she nothing knows;
And, where she is most familiar,
Always peevisher and sillier:
All her spirits in a flame
When she knows she's most to blame.
* Lord Orrery, in his Remarks, has given a singular representa tion of his interview with Daphne. The lady, it seems, was proud of her portrait as drawn by the Dean; his lordship, in his politeness, could not see the least resemblance. She still persisting, that she had rather be Daphne drawn by him, than Sacharissa by any other pencil, lord Orrery had no other way of retrieving bis error, than by whispering in her ear, as he was conducting her down stairs to dinner, that indeed he found her hand as dry, as cold, as lead." I appeal to all the Daphnes in both kingdoms whether his lordship might not very safely have compounded the matter, and told her, that though her hand was cold, he still believed her heart was warm; as the fruitful earth preserves its central heat, while virgin snow adorns its surface. Something of this sort might have been expected from tøm elegans formarum spectator. W. B.
Send me hence ten thousand miles,
From a face that always smiles:
None could ever act that part,
But a Fury in her heart.
Ye who hate such inconsistence,
To be easy, keep your distance:
Or in folly still befriend her,
But have no concern to mend her.
Lose not time to contradict her,
Nor endeavour to convict her.
Never take it in your thought,
That she'll own, or cure a fault.
Into contradiction warm her,
Then, perhaps, you may reform her:
Only take this rule along,
Always to advise her wrong;
And reprove her when she's right;
She may then grow wise for spite.
No-that scheme will ne'er succeed,
She has better learnt her creed:
She's too cunning, and too skilful,
When to yield, and when be wilful.
Nature holds her forth two mirrors,
One for truth, and one for errours:
That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful;
This is flattering and delightful:
That she throws away as foul;
Sits by this, to dress her soul.
Thus you have the case in view, Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you, Heaven forbid he should despise thee! But will never more advise thee.
THE PHEASANT AND THE LARK.
A FABLE. BY DR. DELANY. 1730.
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?"
In ancient times, as bards indite,
(If clerks have conn'd the records right)
A Peacock reign'd, whose glorious sway
His subjects with delight obey:
His tail was beauteous to behold,
Replete with goodly eyes and gold;
Fair emblem of that monarch's guise,
Whose train at once is rich and wise;
And princely rul'd he many regions,
And statesmen wise, and valiant legions.
A Pheasant lord *, above the rest,
With every grace and talent blest,
Was sent to sway, with all his skill,
The sceptre of a neighbouring hill`†.
No science was to him unknown,
For all the arts were all his own:
In all the living learned read,
Though more delighted with the dead;
For birds, if ancient tales say true,
Had then their Popes and Homers too;
Could read and write in prose and verse,
And speak like ***, and build like Pearce .
He knew their voices, and their wings,
Who smoothest soars, who sweetest sings;
* Lord Carteret, lord lieutenant of Ireland. F.
A famous modern architect, who built the parliament house in Dublin. F.
Who toils with ill-fledg'd pens to climb,
And who attain'd the true sublime:
Their merits he could well descry,
He had so exquisite an eye ;
And when that fail'd, to show them clear,
He had as exquisite an ear.
It chanc'd, as on a day he stray'd,
Beneath an academick shade,
He lik'd, amidst a thousand throats,
The wildness of a Woodlark's notes,
And search'd, and spy'd, and seiz'd his game,
And took him home, and made him tame;
Found him on trial true and able,
So cheer'd and fed him at his table.
Here some shrewd critick finds I'm caught,
And cries out, "Better fed than taught"-
Then jests on game and tame, and reads
And jests, and so my tale proceeds.
Long had he study'd in the wood,
Conversing with the wise and good;
His soul with harmony inspir'd,
With love of truth and virtue fir'd:
His brethren's good and Maker's praise
Were all the study of his lays;
Were all his study in retreat,
And now employ'd him with the great.
His friendship was the sure resort
Of all the wretched at the court;
But chiefly merit in distress
His greatest blessing was to bless.-
This fix'd him in his patron's breast,
But fir'd with envy all the rest:
I mean that noisy craving crew,
Who round the court incessant flew,
And prey'd like rooks, by pairs and dozens,
To fill the maws of sons and cousins:
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