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Enough if all around him but admire,

And now the Punk applaud, and now the Friar.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honeft heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And moft contemptible, to fhun contempt;
His Paffion ftill, to covet general praise;
His Life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A conftant Bounty, which no friend has made;
An Angel Tongue, which no man can perfuade;
A Fool, with more of Wit than half mankind,
Too rafh for Thought, for Action too refin’d:
A Tyrant to the wife his heart approves;
A Rebel to the very king he loves;

He dies, fad outcaft of each church and ftate,
And, harder ftill! flagitious, yet not great.
Afk you why Wharton broke through every rule?
'Twas all for fear the Knaves fhould call him Fool.

Nature well known, no prodigies remain,

Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.
Yet, in this fearch, the wifeft may mistake,

If fecond qualities for firft they take.
When Catiline by rapine swell'd his flore;
When Cæfar made a noble dame a whore;

In this the Luft, in that the Avarice,'

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210

Were means, not ends; Ambition was the vice.

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VARIATION.

In the former Editions, ver. 208.

Nature well known, no Miracles remain.

Altered, as above, for very obvious reasons.

That

That very Cæfar, born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd like him, by Chastity, at praise.
Lucullus, when Frugality could charm,
Had roafted turnips in the Sabine farm.
In vain th' obferver eyes the builder's toil,
But quite miftakes the fcaffold for the pile.

In this one paffion man can strength enjoy,
As Fits give vigour, just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it fticks to our last fand.
Confiftent in our follies and our fins,
Here honeft Nature ends as fhe begins.
Old Politicians chew on wisdom past,
And totter on in bufinefs to the laft;
As weak, as earneft; and as gravely out,
As fcber Lanesborow dancing in the gout.

Behold a reverend fire, whom want of grace

Has made the father of a nameless race,
Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely prefs'd
By his own fon, that paffes by unbless'd :
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,
And envies every fparrow that he fees.

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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 ftrives to fave the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires.

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"Odious! in woollen! 'twould a faint provoke,. (Were the last words that poor Narciffa fpoke) "No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels lace,

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."

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The Courtier fmooth, who forty years had fhin'd. An humble fervant to all human-kind,

Juft brought out this, when scarce his tongue could ftir, "If-where I'm going-I could ferve you, Sir!" 255 "I give and I devife (old Euclio faid,

And figh'd) "" my lands and tenements to Ned." Your money, Sir?" My money, Sir! what all? "Why,—if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." The manor, Sir?" The manor! hold, he cry'd. 260 "Not that, I cannot part with that”—and dy’d. And you! brave Cobham, to the latest breath,. Shall feel your ruling paffion ftrong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past,

"Oh, fave my Country, Heaven!" fhall be your laft.

MORAL

MORAL ESSAY S

EPISTLE

TO A LADY.

II..

Of the Characters of WOMEN.

THERE is nothing in Mr. Pope's works more highly finished than this Epiftle: Yet its fuccefs was in no proportion to the pains he took in compofing it. Something he chanced to drop in a fhort advertisement prefixed to it, on its firft publication, may perhaps account for the small attention given to it. He faid that no one character in it was drawn from the life. The public believed him on his word, and expreffed little curiofity about a Satire, in which there was nothing perfonal.

YOTHING fo true as what you once let fall,

NOTHING

"Moft Women have no Characters at all." Matter too foft a lasting mark to bear,

And beft diftinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
How many pictures of one Nymph we view,.
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countefs, here, in ermin'd pride,
Is there, Paftora by a fountain fide.
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a Swan.

5.

10

Let

Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loose hair, and lifted eye,
Or dreft in fmiles of fweet Cecilia shine,

With fimpering Angels, Palms, and Harps divine;
Whether the Charmer finner it, or faint it,
If Folly grow romantic, I muft paint it.

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare!
Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air;
Chufe a firm Cloud, before it fall, and in it

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Catch, ere the change, the Cynthia of this minute. 20
Rufa, whose eye, quick glancing o'er the Park,
Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa ftudying Locke,
As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty fmock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greafy tak,
With Sappho fragrant at an evening Mask:
So morning Infects, that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the fetting-fun.

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How foft is Silia! fearful to offend;

The frail-one's advocate, the weak-one's friend.

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To her Califta prov'd her conduct nice;

And good Simplicius afks of her advice.

Sudden, fhe ftorms! fhe raves! You tip the wink,
But fpare your cenfure; Silia does not drink.

All eyes may fee from what the change arose,
All eyes may fee-a Pimple on her nofe.

Papillia, wedded to her amorous fpark,

Sighs for the fhades-"How charming is a Park!" A Park is purchas'd, but the Fair he fees

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All bath'd in tears" Oh odious, odious Trees!" 40

Ladies,

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