Then mark, my loofer hand may fit
The lines, too coarfe for Love to hit.

'Tis faid that woman, prone to changing,
Thro' all the rounds of folly ranging,
On life's uncertain ocean riding,
No reason, rule, nor rudder guiding,
Is like the comet's wand'ring light,
Eccentric, ominous, and bright;
Trackless, and shifting as the wind;
A fea, whose fathom none can find;
A moon, still changing and revolving;
A riddle, past all human folving;
A biifs, a plague, a heaven, a hell;
A-fomething that no man can tell.
Now learn a fecret from a friend,
But keep your counsel, and attend.

Tho' in their tempers thought fo diftant,
Nor with their sex nor felves confiftent,
'Tis but the difference of a name,
And ev'ry woman is the fame;
For as the world, however varied,
And through unnumber'd changes carried,
Of elemental modes and forms,
Clouds, meteors, colours, calms and storms,
Tho' in a thousand fuits array'd,
Is of one fubject matter made;
So, Sir, a woman's conftitution,
The world's enigma, finds folution;
And let her form be what you will,
I am the subject effence still.

With the first spark of female sense,
The fpeck of being, I commence,
Within the womb make fresh advances,
And dictate future qualms and fancies;
Thence in the growing form expand,
With childhood travel hand in hand,
And give a taste for all their joys
In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noife.

And now, familiar and unaw'd,
I fend the flutt'ring foul abroad.
Prais'd for her shape, her air, her mien,
The little goddefs, and the queen,
Takes at her infant thrine oblation,
And drinks sweet draughts of adulation.

Now blooming, tall, erect, and fair,
To dress becomes her darling care;
The realms of beauty then I bound;
I fwell the hoop's enchanted round,
Shrink in the waift's defcending fize,
Heav'd in the snowy bosom, rife,
High on the flowing lappet fail,
Or, curl'd in treffes, kiss the gale.
Then to her glass I lead the fair,
And shew the lovely idol there;
Where, ftruck as by divine emotion,
She bows with most sincere devotion,
And, numb'ring ev'ry beauty o'er,
In fecret bids the world adore.

Then all for parking and parading, Coquetting, dancing, masquerading: For balls, plays, courts, and crowds what paffion! And churches, fometimes-if the fashion; For woman's fenfe of right and wrong Is rul'd by the almighty throng;

Still turns to each meander tame,
And fwims the straw of ev'ry stream.
Her foul intrinfic worth rejects,
Accomplish'd only in defects;
Such excellence is her ambition,
Folly her wifeft acquifition;
And even from pity and difdain
She 'll cull fome reason to be vain.

Thus, Sir, from ev'ry form and feature,
The wealth and wants of female nature,
And even from vice, which you 'd admire,
I gather fuel to my fire;
And on the very base of shame
Erect my monument of fame.

Let me another truth attempt,
Of which your godship has not dreamt.
Those shining virtues, which you muster,
Whence think you they derive their luftre?
From native honour and devotion?

O yes, a mighty likely notion!
Trust me, from titled dames to spinners,
'Tis I make faints, whoe'er makes finners;
'Tis I instruct them to withdraw,
And hold prefumptuous man in awe;
For female worth, as I inspire,
In just degrees, still mounts the higher,
And virtue, so extremely nice,
Demands long toil and mighty price.
Like Samfon's pillars, fix'd elate,
I bear the sex's tott'ring state;
Sap these, and in a moment's space
Down finks the fabric to its bafe.

Alike from titles and from toys
I fpring, the fount of female joys;
In ev'ry widow, wife, and mifs,
The fole artificer of blifs;

For them each tropic I explore,
I cleave the fand of ev'ry shore;
To them uniting Indias fail,
Sabæa breathes her fartheft gale:
For them the bullion I refinc,
Dig fenfe and virtue from the mine,
And from the bowels of invention
Spin out the various arts you mention.

Nor blifs alone my pow'rs beftow,
They hold the fov'reign balm of woe
Beyond the stoic's boafted art
I footh the heavings of the heart;
To pain give fplendor and relief,
And gild the pallid face of grief.

Alike the palace and the plain
Admit the glories of my reign!
Thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry nation,
Taste, talents, tempers, state, and station,
Whate'er a woman fays, I say;
Whate'er a woman spends, I pay;
Alike I fill and empty bags,
Flutter in finery and rags,
With light coquettes thro' folly range,
And with the prude disdain to change.

And now you 'd think, 'twixt you and I,
That things were ripe for a reply-
But foft, and while I'm in the mood,
Kindly permit me to conclude,

N3

Their

Their utmost mazes to unravel,
And touch the farthest step they travel.

When ev'ry pleasure 's run aground,
And folly tir'd thro' many a round,
The nymph, conceiving difcontent hence,
May ripen to an hour's repentance,
And vapours, shed in pious moisture,
Dismiss her to a church, or cloyster;
Then on I lead her, with devotion
Confpicuous in her dress and motion,
Infpire the heavenly-breathing air,
Roll up the lucid eye in pray'r,
Soften the voice, and in the face
Look melting harmony and grace.
Thus far extends my friendly pow'r,
Nor quits her in her latest hour;
The couch of decent pain I spread,
In form recline her languid head;
Her thoughts I methodize in death,
And part not with her parting breath;
Then do I fet, in order bright,
A length of fun'ral pomp to fight,
The glitt'ring tapers and attire,
The plumes that whiten o'er the bier;
And last, presenting to her eye
Angelic fineries on high,
To scenes of painted bliss I waft her,
And form the heaven the hopes hereafter.

In truth, rejoin'd love's gentle God,
You 've gone a tedious length of road,
And, strange, in all the toilsome way
No house of kind refreshment lay;
No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted
To hold her from her fex exempted.

For one we 'll never quarrel, man;
Take her, and keep her, if you can;
And pleas'd I yield to your petition,
Since ev'ry fair, by fuch permiffion,
Will hold herself the one selected;
And fo my fysten stands protected.

O, deaf to virtue, deaf to glory,
To truths divinely vouch'd in story!
The Godhead in his zeal return'd,
And, kindling at her malice, burn'd :
Then sweetly rais'd his voice, and told
Of heavenly nymphs, rever'd of old;
Hypfipyle, who fav'd her fire,
And Portia's love, approv'd by fire;
Alike Penelope was quoted,
Nor laurel'd Daphne pass'd unnoted,
Nor Laodamia's fatal garter,
Nor fam'd Lucretia, honour's martyr,
Alceste's voluntary steel,

And Catherine, fmiling on the wheel.
But who can hope to plant conviction
Where cavil grows on contradiction?
Some the evades or disavows,
Demurs to all, and none allows-
A kind of ancient thing call'd fables !
And thus the Goddess turn'd the tables.

Now both in argument grew high,
And choler flash'd from either eye;
Nor wonder each refus'd to yield
The conquest of fo fair a field.

When happily arriv'd in view
A Goddess whom our grandames knew,
Of afpect grave, and fober gait,
Majestic, awful, and sedate,
As heaven's autumnal eve ferene,
When not a cloud o'ercafts the scene;
Once Prudence call'd, a matron fam'd,
And in old Rome Cornelia nam'd.
Quick at a venture both agree
To leave their strife to her decree.

And now by each the facts were stated,
In form and manner as related.
The cafe was short. They crav'd opinion,
Which held o'er females chief dominion :
When thus the Goddess, anfw'ring mild,
First shook her gracious head, and smil'd;
Alas, how willing to comply,

Yet how unfit a judge am I!
In times of golden date, 'tis true,
I shar'd the fickle sex with you;
But from their prefence long precluded,
Or held as one whose form intruded,
Full fifty annual funs can tell,
Prudence has bid the sex farewell.

In this dilemma what to do,
Or who to think of, neither knew;
For both, ftill biafs'd in opinion,
And arrogant of fole dominion,
Were forc'd to hold the cafe compounded,
Or leave the quarrel where they found it.

When in the nick, a rural fair,

Of inexperienc'd gait and air,
Who ne'er had cross'd the neighb'ring lake,
Nor feen the world beyond a wake,
With cambric coif, and kerchief clean,
Tripp'd lightly by them o'er the green.
Now, now I cried love's triumphant child,
And at approaching conquest smil'd,
If Vanity will once be guided,
Our diffrence foon may be decided;
Behold yon wench, a fit occafion
To try your force of gay perfuafion.
Go you, while I retire aloof,
Go, put those boafted pow'rs to proof;
And if your prevalence of art
Tranfcends my yet unerring dart,
I give the fav'rite conteft o'er,
And ne'er will boast my empire more.

At once, fo faid, and so confented;
And well our Goddess seem'd contented.
Nor pausing made a moment's stand,
But tripp'd, and took the girl in hand.
Meanwhile the Godhead, unalarm'd,
As one to each occafion arm'd,
Forth from his quiver cull'd a dart,
That erst had wounded many a heart;
Then, bending, drew it to the head;
The bow-string twang'd, the arrow fled,
And, to her fecret foul addrest,
Transfix'd the whiteness of her breast.

But here the Dame, whose guardian care
Had to a moment watch'd the fair,.
At once her pocket-mirror drew,
And held the wonder full in view;

As quickly rang'd in order bright,
A thousand beauties rush to fight,
A world of charms, till now unknown,
A world revcal'd to her alone;
Enraptur'd stands the love-fick maid,
Suspended o'er the darling shade,
Here only fixes to admire,
And centres ev'ry fond defire.

§326. The Young Lady and Looking-Glass.

YE deep philosophers, who can

WILKIE.

Explain that various creature, Man,
Say, is there any point so nice
As that of off ring an advice?
To bid your friend his errors mend,
Is almost certain to offend:

Tho' you in foftest terms advise,
Confefs him good, admit him wife;
In vain you sweeten the discourse,
He thinks you call him fool, or worse.
You paint his character, and try
If he will own it, and apply;
Without a name reprove and warn ;
Here none are hurt, and all may learn:
This too must fail; the picture fhewn,
No man will take it for his own.
In moral lectures treat the cafe,
Say this is honest, that is bafe;
In converfation none will bear it;
And for the pulpit, few come near it.
And is there then no other way
A moral lesson to convey?
Must all that shall attempt to teach,
Admonish, fatirize, or preach?
Yes, there is one, an ancient art,
By fages found to reach the heart,
Ere science, with diftinctions nice,
Had fix'd what virtue is, and vice,
Inventing all the various names
On which the moralift declaims:
They would by funple tales advife,
Which took the heater by surprise;
Alarm'd his confcience, unprepar'd,
Ere pride had put it on its guard;
And made him from himself receive
The leffons which they meant to give.
That this device will oft prevail,
And gain its end when others fail,
If any shall pretend to doubt,
The tale which follows makes it out.

There was a little stubborn dame,
Whom no authority could tame;
Reftive, by long indulgence, grown,
No will the minded but her own;
At rifles oft she'd fcold and fret,
Then in a corner take a feat,
And, fourly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.

Papa all fofter arts had tried,
And sharper remedies applied;
But both were vain; for ev'ry course
He took, ftill made her worse and worse.

'Tis strange to think how female wit
So oft should make a lucky hit;
When man, with all his high pretence
To deeper judgment, founder fenfe,
Will err, and measures false purfue-
'Tis very trange, I own, but true.-
Mamma obferv'd the rifing lafs
By ftealth retiring to the glass,
To practise little airs unfeen,
In the true genius of thirteen:
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humour of the Maid;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, against the feat
Which Jeffy us'd for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,
A looking-glafs was straight fufpended,
That it might shew her how deform'd
She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd;
And warn her, as the priz'd her beauty,
To bend her humour to her duty.
All this the looking-glafs achiev'd;
Its threats were minded and believ'd.

The Maid, who spurn'd at all advice.
Grew tame and gentle in a trice:
So, when all other means had fail'd,
The filent monitor prevail'd.

Thus, Fable to the human kind
Prefents an image of the mind;
It is a mirror, where we fpy
At large our own deformity;
And learn of course those faults to mend,
Which but to mention would offend.

§327.

The Boy and the Rainbow. WILKIE.

DECLARE, ye fages, if ye find
'Mongst animals of ev'ry kind,

Of each condition, fort, and fize,
From whales and elephants to tlies,
A creature that mistakes his plan,
And errs, fo conftantly as man.
Each kind pursues his proper good,
And feeks for pleasfure, rest, and food,
As nature points, and never errs
In what it chooses and prefers;
Man only blunders, though poffeft
Of talents far above the reft.

Defcend to instances, and try;
An ox will scarce attempt to fly,
Or leave his patture in the wood,
With fithes to explore the flood.
Man only acts, of ev'ry creature,
In oppofition to his nature.
The happiness of human-kind
Confifts in rectitude of mind;
A will fubdu'd to reason's fway,
And passions practis'd to obey;
An open and a gen'rous heart,
Refin'd from selfisiness and art;
Patience, which mocks at fortune's pow'r,
And wifdom never fad nor four:
In these confifts our proper blifs;
Elfe Plato reasons much amifs :

But foolish mortals still pursue
False happiness in place of true;
Ambition ferves us for a guide,
Or luft, or avarice, or pride;
While Reafon no affent can gain,
And Revelation warns in vain.

Hence through our lives, in ev'ry stage,
From infancy itself to age,
A happiness we toil to find,
Which ftill avoids us like the wind;
Ev'n when we think the prize our own,
At once 'tis vanish'd, loft and gone.
You 'll ask me why I thus rehearse
All Epictetus in my verfe?
And if I fondly hope to please
With dry reflections, fuch as these,
So trite, fo hackney'd, and fo ftale?
I'll take the hint, and tell a tale.

One evening, as a fimple fwain
His flock attended on the plain,
The shining bow he chanc'd to spy,
Which warns us when a show'r is nigh.
With brightest rays it feem'd to glow:
Its distance eighty yards or fo.
This bumpkin had, it feems, been told
The story of the cup of gold,
Which fame reports is to be found
Just where the Rainbow meets the ground;
He therefore felt a fudden itch

To feize the goblet, and be rich;
Hoping, yet hopes are oft but vain,
No more to toil thro' wind and rain,
But fit indulging by the fire,
'Midst ease and plenty, like a 'squire.
He mark'd the very fpot of land
On which the Rainbow seem'd to stand,
And, stepping forwards at his leifure,
Expected to have found the treafure.
But as he mov'd, the colour'd ray
Still chang'd its place, and flipp'd away,
As feeming his approach to shun.
From walking he began to run;
But all in vain, it ftill withdrew
As nimbly as he could purfue.
At last, thro' many a bog and lake,
Rough craggy road, and thorny brake,
It led the eafy fool, till night
Approach'd, then vanish'd in his fight,
And left him to compute his gains,
With nought but labour for his pains.

At which our trav'ller, as he sat, By intervals began to chat.

'Tis odd, quoth he, to think what strains
Of folly govern fome folks' brains :
What makes you choose this wild abode?
You 'll fay, 'Tis to converfe with God.
Alas, I fear, 'tis all a whim;

You never faw or fpoke with him.
They talk of Providence's pow'r,
And fay, it rules us ev'ry hour:
To me all nature fecms confufion,
And fuch weak fancies mere delufion.
Say, if it rul'd and govern'd right,
Could there be fuch a thing as night;
Which, when the fun has left the skies,
Puts all things in a deep disguife?
If then a trav'ller chance to ftray
The leaft ftep from the public way,
He's foon in endless mazes lost,
As I have found it to my coft.
Befides, the gloom which nature wears
Affifts imaginary fears,

Of ghosts and goblins from the waves
Of fulph'rous lakes and yawning graves;
All fprung from fuperftitious feed,
Like other maxims of the creed.

For my part, I reject the tales
Which faith suggests when reason fails;
And reason nothing understands,
Unwarranted by eyes and hands.
These fubtile effences, like wind,
Which fome have dreamt of, and call mind,
It ne'er admits; nor joins the lye,
Which fays men rot, but never die.
It holds all future things in doubt,
And therefore wifely leaves them out:
Suggesting what is worth our care,
To take things present as they are,
Our wifeft course the rest is folly,
The fruit of fpleen and melancholy.-

Sir, quoth the Hermit, I agree
That Reason still our guide hould be;
And will admit her as the teft
Of what is true, and what is beft:
But Reafon fare would blush for shame
At what you mention in her name;
Her dictates are fublime and holy;
Impiety 's the child of Folly;
Reafon, with measur'd steps and flow,
To things above from things below
Afcends, and guides us thro' her sphere

A YOUTH, a pupil of the town,
Philosopher and atheift grown,

Benighted once upon the road,
Found out a hermit's lone abode,
Whose hofpitality in need
Reliey'd the trav'ller and his steed;
For both fufficiently were tir'd,
Well drench'd in' ditches, and bemir'd.
Hunger the first attention claims;
Upon the coals a rafher flames.
Dry crufts, and liquor fomething ftale,
Were added to make up a meal;

Faith in the utmost frontier stands,
And Reafon puts us in her hands;
But not till her commiffion giv'n
Is found authentic, and from Heav'n.
'Tis strange, that man, a reas'ning creature,
Should miss a God in viewing nature;
Whose high perfections are difplay'd
In ev'ry thing his hands have made:
Ev'n when we think their traces loft,
When found again, we fee them most:
The night itself, which you would blame
As fomething wrong in nature's frame,

Is but a curtain to invest

Her weary children, when at rest:
Like that which mothers draw to keep
The light off from a child afleep.
Befide, the fears which darkneis breeds
(At least augments) in vulgar heads,
Are far from ufclefs, when the mind
Is narrow, and to earth confin'd;
They make the worldling think with pain
On frauds, and oaths, and ill-got gain;
Force from the ruffian's hand the knife
Just rais'd against his neighbour's life;
And in defence of virtue's caufe,
Affist each fanction of the laws.
But fouls ferene, where wisdom dwells,
And fuperftitious dread expels,
The filent majesty of night
Excites to take a nobler flight;
With faints and angels to explore
The wonders of creating pow'r;
And lifts on contemplation's wings
Above the sphere of mortal things.
Walk forth, and tread those dewy plains
Where night in awful filence reigns;
The sky 's ferene, the air is still,
The woods stand lift ning on each hill,
To catch the founds that sink and fwell,
Wide-floating from the ev'ning bell,
While foxes howl, and beetles hum,
Sounds which make filence still more dumb;

And try if folly, rash and rude,
Dare on the facred hour intrude.

Then turn your eyes to heav'n's broad frame,
Attempt to quote those lights by name
Which shine so thick, and spread fo far;
Conceive a fun in ev'ry star,
Round which unnumber'd planets roll,
While comets shoot athwart the whole;
From system still to system ranging,
Their various benefits exchanging,
And shaking from their flaming hair
The things moft needed ev'rywhere-
Explore this glorious scene, and fay
That night discovers lefs than day;
That 'tis quite useless, and a fign
That chance difposes, not defign:
Whoe'er maintains it, I'll pronounce
Him either mad, or elfe a dunce;
For reason, tho' 'tis far from strong,
Will foon find out that nothing's wrong,
From figns and evidences clear
Of wife contrivance ev'rywhere.

The Hermit ended, and the youth
Became a convert to the truth;
At least he yielded, and confefs'd
That all was order'd for the best.

A GRECIAN youth, of talents rare, Whom Plato's philofophic care Had form'd for virtue's nobler view, By precept and example too,

Would often boast his matchless skill
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he pass'd the gazing throng
With graceful cafe, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they express'd
Was praise and transport to his breaft.

At length, quite vain, he needs would shew
His master what his art could do;
And bade his flaves the chariot lead
To Academus' facred shade..

The trembling grove confefs'd its fright,
The wood-nyinphs started at the fight;
The Mufes drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.

Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the fage, and mounts the car;
The lash resounds, the courfers fpring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, purfue him as he flics.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain
The felf-fame track he marks again;
Purfues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd; The youths with emulation glow'd; Ev'n bearded fages hail'd the boy, And all but Plato gaz'd with joy. For he, deep-judging fage, beheld With pain the triump triumphs of the field: And when the charioteer drew nigh, And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye, Alas! unhappy youth, he cried, Expect no praise from me (and sigh'd). With indignation I survey Such skill and judgment thrown away. The time profusely squander'd there On vulgar arts, beneath thy care, If well employ'd, at less expence, Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense, And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate To govern men, and guide the state.

MY dears, 'tis faid, in days of old

That beafts could talk, and birds could fcold:
But now, it feems, the human race
Alone engross the speaker's place.
Yet lately, if report be true,
(And much the tale relates to you)
There met a Sparrow, Ant, and Bce,
Which reafon'd and convers'd as we.

Who reads my page will doubtless grant
That Phe's the wife industrious Ant;
And all with half an eye may fee
That Kitty is the busy Bee.

Here then are two-but where 's the third?
Go search the school, you'll find the bird.

Your