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Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely prefs'd By his own fon, that passes by unbless'd : 235 Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, And envies ev'ry fparrow that he sees.
A falmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate ; The doctor call'd, declares all help too late :
Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my soul! 240 “Is there no hope ?—Alas!—then bring the jowl.” The frugal Crone, whom praying priests attend, Still tries to fave the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,
For one puff more, and in that puff expires. 245 "Odious! in woollen ! 'twould a Saint provoké, (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke) No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels lace "Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:
Courtier, the Mifer, and the Patriot; which laft inftance the poet has had the art, under the appearance of Satire, to turn into the nobleft Compliment on the person to whom the Epistle is addreffed.
"One would not, fure, be frightfulwhen one's dead"And-Betty-give this Cheek a little Red.”
The Courtier smooth, who forty years had fhin'd An humble fervant to all human kind,
Juft brought out this, when scarce his tongue could
"If-where I'm going-I could ferve you,
Why,—if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul. The Manor, Sir?" The Manor! hold, he cry'd,
"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, Heav'n!" fhall be your laft
N.Blakey inv. & del
G. Scotin Sculp In Men, we various ruling Passions find, In Women, two almost divide the Kind:
Those only fix'd, they first or last obey, The Love of Pleasure, and the Love of Iway.
Char: of Women.
Of the Characters of Women.
OTHING fo true as what you once let fall,
"Moft Women have no Characters at all."
Matter too foft a lasting mark to bear,
And beft diftinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
tention given to it. He said, 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 personal.
Of the Characters of Wo-haps account for the small atmen.] There is nothing in Mr. Pope's works more highly finifhed 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 first publication, may per
VER. 1. Nothing fo true &c.] The reader perhaps may