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O! -But let exclamation cease,
Her presence banith'd all his peace.
So with decorum all things carry'd ;
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was---married. 20

Need we expose to vulgar light,
The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains clos'd around ?
Let it suffice, that each had charms ;

25 He clasp'd a Goddess in his arms ; And, though she felt his usage rough, Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew, The second brought in transports too.

A third, a fourth, were not amiss,
The firth was friendship mixed with bliss :
But, when a twelvemonth pass' away,
Jack found his Goddess made of clay ;
Found half the charms that decked her face, 35
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind,

face had robbed her mind.
Skill'd in no other arts was she,
But dressing, patching, repartee ;
And, just as humour role or feel,
By turns a llattern or a belle :
'Tis true she dressed with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race ;
But when at home, at board or bed,

45 Five greafy night-caps wrap'd her head.

Could so much beauty condescend • To be a dull domestic friend?

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Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing?
In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting ;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy,
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy ;
The 'squire and captain took their flations,
And twenty other near relations ;
Jack fuck'd his pipe, and often broke
A sigh in suffocating smoke ;
While all their hours were pass'd between
Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown ;
He fancies ev'ry vice the shews
Or thins her lip, or points her nose :
Whenever rage or envy rise,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes !
He knows not how, but so 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 ravelld nooze,
As each a different way pursues,
While fullen or loquacious strife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power,
Withers the beauty's transient flower :
Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair ;
And, rifing 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 she rainly tries
To bring back luftre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creanis,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The squire 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 pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face furpass the old ;
With modesty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility displaces pride;
For taudry finery is seen
A person ever neatly clean :
No more presuming on her sway
She learns good nature ev'ry day;
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.



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LONG had I foughe in vain to find

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A likeness for the scribbling kind ;
The modern scribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and sense, and nature's (pite :
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 please to turn to God Mercurius;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the second, page the tenth :
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our Simile.

Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
Wings upon either side-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 just comparison, -proceed.

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In the next place, his feet perufe,
Wings grow again from both his fhoes;
Design'd no doubt, their part to bear,
And wast his godship through the air ;
And here my fimile unites,
For in a modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.

Lastly, vouch safe t'observe his hand,
Filld with a snake-incircled wand
By classic authors, term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit-most wondrously endu'd,

poppy water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its foporific virtue's such,
Tho' ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives mens souls to hell.

Now to apply, begin we then ;
His wand's a modern author's pen ;
The serpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy Naver, venom'd bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike too, both conduce to sleep.
This diff'rence only, as the God
Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goosequill the scribbling elf
astead of others, damns himself.




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