That ever I was fo abfurd
To take a man upon his word!
Quoth Frances, Child, I wonder much
You cou'd expect him to keep touch;
'Tis fo, my dear, with all mankind;
When out of fight you're out of mind,
Think you he'd to his fifters write?
Was ever girl fo unpolite!
Some fair Italian ftands poffefs'd,
And reigns fole mistress in his breast;
To her he dedicates his time,
And fawns in profe, or fighs in rhyme,
She'll give him tokens of her love,
Perhaps not eafy to remove;
Such as will make him large amends
For lofs of fifters, and of friends,
Cries Harriot, when he comes to France,
I hope in God he'll learn to dance,
And leave his aukward habits there,
I'm fure he has enough to fpare,
O cou'd he leave his faults, faith Fanny,
And bring the good alone, if any,
Poor brother Tom, he'd grow fo light,
The wind might rob us of him quite !
Of habits he may well get clear ;
Ill humours are the faults I fear,
For in my life I ne'er faw yet
A creature half fo paffionate.
Good heav'ns! how did he rave and tear,
On my not going you know where;
I fcarcely yet have got my dread off:
I thought he'd bite my sister's head off.
"Tween him and Jenny what a clatter
About a fig, a mighty matter!
I cou'd recount a thousand more,
But fcandal's what I most abhor.
Molly, who long had patient fate,
And heard in filence all their chat,
Obferving how they spoke with rancour
Took up my cause, for which I thank her.
What eloquence was then difplay'd,
The charming things that Molly said,
Perhaps it fuits not me to tell;
But faith! fhe spoke extremely well.
She firft, with much ado, put on
A prudish face, then thus begun.
Heyday! quoth she, you let your tongue
Run on most strangely, right or wrong.
"Tis what I never can connive at;
- Befides, confider whom you drive at ;
A person of establish'd credit,
Nobody better, tho' I faid it.
In all, that's good, fo tried and known,
Why, girls, he's quite a proverb grown,
His worth no mortal dares difpute:
Then he's your brother too to boot.
At this she made a moment's paufe,
Then with a figh resum'd the cause.
Alas! my dears, you little know
A failor's toil, a trav❜ler's woe ;
Perhaps this very hour he ftrays
A lonely wretch thro' defart ways;
Or fhipwreck'd on a foreign ftrand,
He falls beneath some ruffian's hand
Or on the naked rock he lies,
And pinch'd by famine waftes and dies.
Can you this hated brother see
Floating, the sport of wind and sea ?
Can you his feeble accents hear,
Tho' but in thought, nor drop a tear?
He faintly strives, his hopes are fled,
The billows booming o'er his head;
He mounts upon the waves again,
He calls on us, but calls in vain;
To death preserves his friendship true,
And mutters out a kind adieu.
See now he rifes to our fight,
Now finks in everlafting night.
Here Fanny's colour rofe and fell,
And Harriot's throat began to fwell;
One fidled to the window quite,
Pretending fome unufual fight,
The other left the room outright;
While Molly laugh'd, her ends obtain❜d,
To think how artfully fhe feign'd.
Ruffia's frozen clime fome ages fince
INT Rue d'élt, historians, fay, a worthy prince,
Who to his people's good confin'd his care,
And fix'd the basis of his empire there;
Inlarg'd their trade, the lib'ral arts improv'd,
Made nations happy, and himself belov'd ;
To all the neighb'ring states a terror grown,
The dear delight, and glory of his own.
Not like those kings who vainly seek renown
From countries ruin'd, and from battles won;
Those mighty Nimrods, who mean laws defpife,
Call murder but a princely exercise,
And if one bloodless fun fhou'd fteal away,
Cry out with Titus, they have loft a day ;
Who, to be more than men, themselves debase
Beneath the brute, their Maker's form deface,
Raifing their titles by their God's disgrace.
Like fame to bold Eroftratus we give,
Who fcorn'd by less than facrilege to live;
On holy ruins rais'd a lafting name,
And in the temple's fire diffus'd his shame.
Far diff'rent praises, and a brighter fame,
The virtues of the young Porfenna claim;
For by that name the Ruffian king was known,
And fure a nobler ne'er adorn'd the throne.
In war he knew the deathful sword to wield,
And fought the thickest dangers of the field,
A bold commander; but, the ftorm o'erblown,
He feem'd as he were made for peace alone;
Then was the golden age again reftor'd,
Nor less his justice honour'd than his fword.
All needlefs pomp, and outward grandeur fpar'd,
The deeds that grac'd him were his only guard ;
No private views beneath a borrow'd name;
His and the publick intereft were the fame.
In wealth and pleasure let the fubject live,
But virtue is the king's prerogative;
Porfenna there without a rival stood,
And wou'd maintain his right of doing good.
Nor did his perfon lefs attraction wear,
Such majesty and sweetnefs mingled there;
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