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O!

Her prefence banish'd all his peace.

So with decorum all things carry'd;

But let exclamation cease,

But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greafy night-caps wrap'd her head.
Could fo much beauty condefcend
To be a dull domeftic friend?

Mifs frown'd, and blush'd, and then was married. 20
Need we expofe to vulgar fight,
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains clos'd around?
Let it fuffice, that each had charms;
He clafp'd a Goddess in his arms;
And, though she felt his ufage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew,
The fecond brought in transports too.
A third, a fourth, were not amifs,
The fifth was friendship mixed with blifs:
But, when a twelvemonth pafs' away,
Jack found his Goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that decked her face,
Arofe from powder, fhreds, or lace;
But ftill the worft remain'd behind,
That very
face had robbed her mind.
Skill'd in no other arts was fhe,
But dreffing, patching, repartee;
And, juft as humour rofe or feel,
By turns a flattern or a belle :
'Tis true she dreffed with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race;

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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 feen, fhe kept a bevy,
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy;
The 'fquire and captain took their flations,
And twenty other near relations;
Jack fuck'd his pipe, and often broke
A figh in fuffocating fmoke;
While all their hours were pafs'd between
Infulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown ;
He fancies ev'ry vice the fhews

Or thins her lip, or points her nose :
Whenever rage or envy rife,

How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but fo it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phyz;
And, tho' her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell'd nooze,
As each a different way pursues,
While fullen or loquacious ftrife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power,
Withers the beauty's tranfient flower
Lo! the fmall-pox, whofe horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

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The glass, grown hateful to her fight,
Reflected now a perfect fright;
Each former art fhe 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 coufins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The fquire himself was seen to yield,
And ev❜n the captain quit the field.
Poor Madam now condemn'd to hack
The reft of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleafing him alone.
Jack foon was dazzled to behold
Her prefent face furpass the old ;
With modefty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility difplaces pride
For taudry finery is feen
A perfon ever neatly clean :
No more prefuming on her fway
She learns good nature ev'ry day ;
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

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A

NEW SIMILE:

IN THE

MANNER OF SWIFT.

LONG

ONG had I fought in vain to find
A likeness for the fcribbling 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 fomething there,
To fuit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious,
First pleafe to turn to God Mercurius ;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the fecond, page the tenth :
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our Simile.
Imprimis, pray obferve 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 juft comparifon,-

-proceed.

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In the next place, his feet perufe,
Wings grow again from both his fhoes;
Defign'd no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air;
And here my fimile unites,
For in a modern poet's flights,

I'm fure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.

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Laftly, vouchsafe t'obferve his hand,
Fill'd with a fnake-incircled wand.
By claffic authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for feveral ufes.
To wit-most wondroufly endu'd,
No poppy water half fo good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's fuch,
Tho' ne'er fo much awake before,
That quickly they begin to fnore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens fouls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then ;
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The ferpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy flaver, venom'd bites
An equal femblance ftill to keep,
Alike too, both conduce to fleep.
This diff'rence only, as the God
Drove fouls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goofequill the fcribbling elf
nftead of others, damns himfelf.

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