They stretch'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton eye,
And sigh'd for ev'ry fool that flutter'd by.
WOMEN. One impertinence expels another.
Oft, when the world imagines women stray,
The sylphs thro' mystic mazes guide their way;
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue.
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving toy-shop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call;
Oh blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it all.
WORDS. Affectation in.
O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words: and I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter.
WORDS. Satire on excessive Study of.
Since man from beast by words is known,
Words are man's province, words we teach alone.
When reason doubtful, like the Samian letter,
Points him two ways, the narrower is the better.
Plac'd at the door of learning, youth to guide,
We never suffer it to stand too wide.
To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence,
As fancy opens the quick springs of sense,
We ply the memory, we load the brain,
Blind rebel wit, and double chain on chain,
Confine the thought, to exercise the breath;
And keep them in the pale of words till death.
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er design'd,
We hang one jingling padlock on the mind;
A poet the first day he dips his quill;
And what the last. a very poet still.
WORLD. False Confidence of.
Retort the charge and let the world be told
She boasts a confidence she does not hold;
That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead
A cold misgiving, and a killing dread:
That while in health the ground of her support
Is madly to forget that life is short;
That sick she trembles, knowing she must die,
Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie;
That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes,
She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives,
Her utmost reach, historical assent,
The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant;
The truth itself is in her head as dull
And useless as a candle in a scull,
And all her love of God a groundless claim,
A trick upon the canvass, painted flame.
The world's infectious; few bring back at eve
Immaculate the manners of the morn.
Something we thought, is blotted; we resolv'd,
Is shaken; we renounc'd, returns again.
Each salutation may slide in a sin
Unthought before, or fix a former flaw.
Nor is it strange, light motion, concourse, noise,
All scatter us abroad; though outward bound,
Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off
In fume and dissipation, quits her charge
And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe.
WORLD. Our Embarking in.
Self-flatter'd, inexperienc'd, high in hope,
When young, with sanguine cheer and streamers gay,
We cut our cable, launch into the world,
And fondly dream each wind and star our friend;
All in some darling enterprise embark'd:
But where is he can fathom its event?
Amid a multitude of artless hands,
Ruin's sure perquisite! her lawful prize!
Some steer aright: but the black blast blows hard,
And puffs them wide of hope; with hearts of proof
Full against wind and tide, some win their way;
And when strong effort has deserv'd the port,
And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won! 'tis lost!
They strike; and when they triumph, they expire.
In stress of weather, most: some sink outright;
O'er them and o'er their names the billows close;
To-morrow knows not they were ever born:
Others a short memorial leave behind;
Like a flag floating, when the bark's ingulf'd,
It floats a moment, and is seen no more;
One Cæsar lives, a thousand are forgot.
How few beneath auspicious planet born,
With swelling sails make good the promis'd port,
With all their wishes freighted! yet even these,
Freighted with all their wishes, soon complain:
They still are men; and when is man secure?
As fatal time as storm! the rush of years
Beats down their strength: their numberless escapes
In ruin end and now their proud success
But plants new terrrors on the victor's brow:
What pain to quit the world just made their own,
Their nest so deeply down'd, and built so high!
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars. Young.
WORLD. Satan's first Discovery of.
Through dark and desert ways with peril gone
All night, at last, by break of cheerful dawn,
Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill
Which to his eye discovers unaware
The goodly prospect of some foreign land
First seen, or some renown'd metropolis
With glitt'ring spires and pinnacles adorn'd,
Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams:
Such wonder seiz'd, though after heaven seen,
The Spirit malign, but much more envy seiz'd
At sight of all this world beheld so fair.
WORTH. Often distress'd.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power
And wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause,
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,
And died, neglected! why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul;
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In starving solitude; while luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,
Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd!
Ye nobler few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd evil, no more:
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded spring encircle all.
WRITING. Little Novelty in.
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread,
Satire has long since done his best; and curst
And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst;
Fancy has sported all her powers away
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play
And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
WRITERS. Mutual Jealousy of.
Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown
Employ their pains to spurn some others down;
And while self-love each jealous writer rules.
Contending wits become the sport of fools;
But still the worst with most regret commend,
For each ill author is as bad a friend.
To what base ends, and by what abject ways,
Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
Ah! ne er so dire a thirst of glory boast,
Nor in the critic let the man be lost.
Good nature and good sense must ever join:
To err is human; to forgive, divine.
WRITINGS. How to be Judged of.
A perfect judge will read each work of writ
With the same spirit that its author wiit;
Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find,
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind;
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight,
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