Their utmost mazes to unravel,
And touch the farthest step they travel.

When ev'ry pleasure 's run aground,
And folly tir'd thro' many a round,
The nymph, conceiving discontent hence,
May ripen to an hour's repentance,
And vapours, shed in pious moisture,
Dismiss her to a church, or cloyster;
Then on I lead her, with devotion
Confpicuous in her dress and motion,
Inspire the heavenly-breathing air,
Roll up the lucid eye e in in prayer,
Soften the voice, and in the face
Look melting harmony and grace.

Thus far extends my friendly pow'r,
Nor quits her in her latest hour;
The couch of decent pain I spread,
In form recline her languid head;
Her thoughts I methodize in death,
And part not with her parting breath;
Then do I fet, in order bright,
A length of fun'ral pomp to fight.
The glitt'ring tapers and attire,
The plumes that whiten o'er the bier;
And last, presenting to her eye
Angelic fineries on high,
To scenes of painted bliss I waft her,
And form the heaven the hopes hereafter.

In truth rejoin'd love's gentle god,
You 've gone a tedious length of road,
And, ftrange, in all the toilsome way
No house of kind refreshment lay;
No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted
To hold her from her sex exempted.

For one we 'll never quarrel, man;
Take her, and keep her, if you can;
And pleas'd I yield to your petition,
Since ev'ry fair, by fuch permiffion,
Will hold herself the one felected;
And fo my system stands protected.

O, deaf to virtue, deaf to glory,
To truths divinely vouch'd in story!
The Godhead in his zeal return'd,
And, kindling at her malice, burn'd:
Then sweetly rais'd his voice, and told
Of heav'nly nymphs, rever'd of old;
Hypfipyle, who fav'd her fire,
And Portia's love, approv'd by fire;
Alike Penelope was quoted,
Nor laurel'd Daphne pass'd unnoted,
Nor Laodamia's fatal garter,
Nor fam'd Lucretia, honour's martyr,
Alceste's voluntary steel,

And Catherine, smiling on the wheel.
But who can hope to plant conviction
Where cavil grows on contradiction?
Some the evades or disavows,
Demurs to all, and none allows-
A kind of ancient thing called fables!
And thus the Goddess turn'd the tables.

Now both in argument grew high,
Ard choler flash'd from either eve;
Nor wonder each refis'd to yield
The conqueft of fo air a field.

When happily arriv'd in view A Goddess whom our grand-dames knew, Of afpect grave, and fober gait, Majestic, awful, and sedate, As heaven's autumnal eve ferene, When not a cloud o'ercasts the fcene; Once Prudence cali'd, a matron fam'd, And in old Rome Cornelia nam'd. Quick at a venture both agree To leave their strife to her deeree.

And now by each the facts were ftated,
In form and manner as related.
The cafe was short. They crav'd opinion,
Which held o'er females chief dominion:
When thus the Goddess, anfw'ring mild,
First shook her gracious head, and smil'd:

Alas, how willing to comply,
Yet how unfit a judge am I !
In times of golden date, 'tis true,
I shar'd the fickle sex with you;
But from their prefence long precluded,
Or held as one whose form intruded,
Full fifty annual tuns can tell,
Prudence has bid the fex farewell.

In this dilemma what to do,
Or who to think of, neither knew;
For both, ftill biafs'd in opinion,
And arrogant of fole dominion,
Were forc'd to hold the cafe compounded,
Or leave the quarrel where they found it.

When in the nick, a rural fair, Of inexperienc'd gait and air, Who ne'er had crofs'd the neighb'ring lak Nor seen the world beyond a wake, With cambric coif, and kerchief clean, Tripp'd lightly by them o'er the green. Now, now! cried Love's triumphant chil And at approaching conquest smil'd, If Vanity will once be guided, Our diffrence foon may be decided; Behold yon wench, a fit occafion To try your force of gay perfuafion. Go you while I retire aloof, Go, put those boafted pow'rs to proof; And if your prevalence of art Tranfcends my yet unerring dart, I give the fav'rite contest o'er, And ne'er will boaft my empire more.

At once, so said, and so consented; And well our Goddess seem'd contented; Nor paufing made a moment's stand, But tripp'd. and took the girl in hand. Meanwhile the Godhead, unalarm'd, As one to each occafion arm'd, Forth from his quiver cull'd a dart, That erst had wounded many a heart; Then bending, drew it to the head; The bowstring twang'd, the arrow fled, And to her fecret foul addreft, Transfix'd the whiteness of her breast.

But here the Dame, whose guardian care Had to a moment watch'd the fair, At once her pocket-mirror drew, And held the wonder full in view;

As quatrang'd in order bright, Athout beauties rush to fight, Awit charms, till now unknown, Awunnd reveal'd to her alone;

Ermatur'd ftands the love-tick maid, sed o'er the dariing thade,

but wly ixes to admire,
A centres ev'ry fond defire.

h. The Young Lady and Looking-Glass. Wilkie.

Yetiofophers, who can Et various creature, Man, there any point fo nice of ci ring an advice? Tatavour friend his errors mend, 1. certain to offend:

You sa fofteft terms advise, wen good, admit him wife; lawat we weeten the difcourse,

1

*s you call him fool, or worse. this character, and try

wown it, and apply; Wizarame reprove and warn; here hurt, and all may learn; fail, the picture shewn, take it for his own.

Tectures treat the cafe,
is honest, that is base;
neration none will bear it;
And the pupil, few come near it.
And there then no other way
An to convey?

lattempt to teach,
ize, or preach?
Ye...ne, an ancient art,
By to reach the heart,
wa dittinctions nice,
Hirtue is, and vice.
I
various names
On the moralist declaims:

A

by fimple tales advise, the hearer by surprise; bus confcience, unprepar'd, Lorce had put it on its guard; Awade him from himself receive Is which they meant to give. sdevice will oft prevail, thits end when others fail, kill pretend to doubt, the which follows makes it out. Pere was a little ftubborn dame,

authority could tame; by long indulgence, grown, fre minded but her own: rides oft the 'd fcold and fret, nacorner take a feat, Jourly moping all the day, axe to work or play. Papa al fofter arts had tried, hat tharper remedies applied; A both were vain; for ev'ry course Arta, fill made her worse and worse.

'Tis strange to think how female wit
So oft should make a luckly hit;
When man, with all his high pretence
To deeper judgment, founder fenfe,
Will err, and measures false purfue-
'Tis very strange, I own, but true.-
Mamma observ'd the rifing lass
By ftealth retiring to the glass,
To practite little airs unseen,
In the true genius of thirteen:
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humour of the Maid;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, againft the feat
Which Jessy us'd for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,
A looking-glafs was straight fufpended,
That it might shew her how deform'd
She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd;
And warn her, as the priz'd her beanty,
To bend her humour to her duty.
All this the looking-glafs achiev'd;
Its threats were minded and believ'd.

The Maid, who spurn'd at all advice,
Grew tame and gentle in a trice.
So, when all other means had fail'd,
The filent monitor prevail'd.

Thus, Fable to the human kind
Presents an image of the mind;
It is a mirror, where we spy
At large our own deformity;
And learn of course those faults to mend,
Which but to mention would offend.

§327. The Boy and the Rainbow. Wilkie.
DECLARE, ye fages, if ye find
'Mongst animals of ev'ry kind,
Of each condition, fort, and fize,
From whales and elephants to flies,
A creature that mistakes his plan,
And errs, fo constantly as Man.
Each kind pursues his proper good,
And feeks for pleasure, rest, and food,
As nature points, and never errs
In what it chooses and prefers;
Man only blunders, though poffeft
Of talents far above the reft.

Defcend to inftances, and try;
An ox will fcarce attempt to fly,
Or leave his pasture in the wood,
With fishes to explore the flood.
Man only acts, of ev'ry creature,
In oppofition to his nature.
The happiness of human-kind
Consists in rectitude of mind;
A will fubdu'd to reason's fway,
And paffions practis'd to obey;
An open and a gen'rous heart,
Refin'd from felfithness and art;
Patience, which mocks at fortune's pow'r,
And wisdom never fad nor four:
In these confifts our proper blifs;
Elfe Plato reasons much amiss:

But foolish mortals still purfue
Falfe happiness in place of true;
Ambition ferves us for a guide,
Or luft, or avarice, or pride;
While Reason no afsent can gain,
And Revelation warns in vain.

Hence through our lives, in ev'ry stage,
From infancy itself to age,
A happiness we toil to find,
Which still avoids us like the wind;
Ev'n when we think the prize our own,
At once 'tis vanish'd, loft and gone.
You 'll ask me why I thus rehearse
All Epictetus in my verse?
And if I fondly hope to please
With dry reflections, fuch as these,
So trite, fo hackney'd, and so stale?
I 'll take the hint, and tell a tale.

One evening, as a timple swain
His flock attended on the plain,
The thining bow he chanc'd to fpy,
Which warns us when a show'r is nigh.
With brightest rays it feem'd to glow:
Its distance eighty yards or fo.

This bumpkin had, it feems, been told
The story of the cup of gold,
Which fame reports is to be found
Juft where the Rainbow meets the ground;
He therefore felt a fudden itch

To feize the goblet, and be rich;
Hoping, yet hopes are oft but vain,
No more to toil thro' wind and rain,
But fit indulging by the fire,
"Midft eafe and plenty, like a 'squire.
He mark'd the very fpot of land
On which the Rainbow feem'd to ftand,
And, stepping forwards at his leifure,
Expected to have found the treasure.
But as he mov'd, the colour'd ray
Still chang'd its place, and flipp'd away,
As feeming his approach to shun.
From walking he began to run;
But all in vain, it still withdrew
As nimbly as he could purfue.
At last, thro' many a bog and lake,
Rough craggy road, and thorny brake,
It led the easy fool, till night
Approach'd, then vanish'd in his fight,
And left him to compute his gains,
With nought but labour for his pains.

§328. The Rake and the Hermit. Wilkie.
A YOUTH, a pupil of the town,
Philofopher and atheist grown,
Benighted once upon the road,
Found out a hermit's lone abode.
Whose hospitality in need

Rehev'd the trav'ller and his steed;
For both fufficiently were tir'd,
Well drench'd in ditches, and bemir'd.
Hunger the firft attention claims;
Upon the coals a rather flames.

Dry crufts, and liquor fomething stale,
Were added to make up a meal;

At which our trav'ller, as he sat, By intervals began to chat.

'Tis odd, quoth he, to think what strains
Of folly govern fome folks' brains:
What makes you choose this wild abode?
You 'll say, 'Tis to converse with God.
Alas, I fear, 'tis all a whim;
You never faw or spoke with him.
They talk of Providence's pow'r,
And say, it rules us ev'ry hour:
To me all nature seems confufion,
And fuch weak fancies mere delusion.
Say, if it rul'd and govern'd right,
Could there be such a thing as night;
Which, when the fun bas left the skies,
Puts all things in a deep disguife?
If then a trav ller chance to stray
The least step from the public way,
He's foon in endleís mazes loft,
As I have found it to my coit.
Bendes, the gloom which naturs wears
Affifts imaginary fears,

Of ghosts and goblins from the waves
Of fulph'rous lakes and yawning graves;
All fprung frem fuperftitious feed,
Like other maxims of the
of the creed.

For my part, I reject the tales
Which faith fuggests when reason fails;
And reason nothing understands,
Unwarranted by eyes and hands.
These subtle effences, like wind,
Which fome bave dreamt of, and call mind,
It ne'er admits; nor joins the lie,
Which fays men rot, but never die.
It holds ali future things in doubt,
And therefore wifely leaves them out:
Suggesting what is worth our care,
To takes things present as they are,
Our wifeft course: the rest is folly,
The fruit of fpleen and melancholy.-

Sir, quoth the Hermit, I agree
That Reason still our guide should be;
And will admit her as the test
Of what is true, and what is beft;
But Reafon fure would blush for shame
At what you mention in her name;
Her dictates are fublime and holy;
Impiety 's the child of Folly;
Reaton with measur'd steps and flow,
To things above from things below
Afcends, and guides us thro' her sphere
With caution, vigilance, and care.
Faith in the utmost frontier stands,
And • afen puts us in her hands;
But not till her commiffion giv'n
Is found authentic, and from Heav'n.
'Tis strange, that man, a reas'ning creature,
Should mits a God in viewing nature;
Whose high perfections are difplay'd
In ev'ry thing his hands have made:
Ev'n when we think their traces loft,
When found again, we fee them moft:
The night itself, which you would blame
As fomething wrong in nature's frame,

I

Your school! I ask your pardon, Fair;
I'm fure you'll find no Sparrow there.

Now to my tale-One fummer's morn
A Bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn;
Studious to husband ev'ry hour,
And make the most of ev'ry flow'r.
Nimble from stalk to stalk the flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artist builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and warm at home:
Or from the cowtlip's golden beils
Sucks honey, to enrich her cells :
Or ev'ry tempting rose pursues,
Or fips the lily's fragrant dews;
Yet never robs the thining bloom
Or of its beauty or perfume.
Thus the difcharg'd in ev'ry way
The various duties of the day.

It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near,
Whose brow was wrinkled o'er by care:
A great economift was the,
Nor less laborious than the Bee;
By penfive parents often taught
What ills arife from want of thought;
That poverty on floth depends;
On poverty the loss of friends;
Hence ev'ry day the Ant is found
With anxious steps to tread the ground;
With curious search to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.
The active Bee with pleasure faw

The Ant fulfil her parent's law.
parent's
Ah! fister labourer, says the,
How very fortunate are we!
Who, taught in infancy to know
The comforts which from labour flow,
Are independant of the great,
Nor know the wants of pride and state.
Why is our food so very sweet?
Because we earn before we eat.

Why are our wants so very few?
Because we nature's calls pursue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts assign'd.
Have we incessant tasks to do?

Is not all nature busy too?

Doth not the fun, with constant pace,
Perfift to run his annual race?

Do not the stars, which shine so bright,
Renew their courses ev'ry night?
Doth not the ox obedient bow

His patient neck, and draw the plough?
Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed
Withhold his labour or his speed?
If you all nature's fystem scan,
The only idle thing is man.

A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear
Their fage discourse, and straight drew near.
The bird was talkative and loud,
And very pert and very proud;
As worthless and as vain a thing,
Perhaps, as ever wore a wing.
She found, a, on a fpray the fat,
The little friends were deep in chat;

That virtue was their fav'rite theme,
And toil and probity their scheme :
Such talk was hateful to her breast;
She thought them arrant prudes at best.
When to display her naughty mind,

Hunger with cruelty combin'd,
She view'd the Ant with favage eyes,
And hopp'd and hopp'd to fnatch her priz
The Bee, who watch'd her op'ning bill,
And guess'd her fell design to kill,
Ask'd her from what her anger rofe,
And why she treated Ants as foes?

The Sparrow her reply began,
And thus the conversation ran:

Whenever I'm difpos'd to dine,
I think the whole creation mine;
That I'm a bird of high degree,
And ev'ry infect made for me.
Hence oft I fearch the emmet-brood
(For emmets are delicious food),
And oft, in wantonness and play,
I flay ten thousand in a day.
For truth it is, without disguise,
That I love mischief as my eyes.

Oh! fie! the honeft Bee replied,
I fear you make base men your guide;
Of ev'ry creature fure the worit,
Though in creation's scale the first!
Ungrateful man! 'tis strange he thrives,
Who burns the Bees to rob their hives !
I hate his vile administration,
And fo do all the emmet nation.
What fatal foes to birds are men,
Quite to the Eagle from the Wren!
O! do not men's example take,
Who mischief do for mischief's fake;
But spare the Ant-her worth demands
Esteem and friendship at your hands.
A mind with ev'ry virtue blest,
Muft raise compaffion in your breast.

Virtue! rejoin'd the sneering bird,
Where did you learn that Gothic word?
Since I was hatch'd, I never heard
That virtue was at all rever'd.
But say it was the ancients' claim,
Yet moderns disavow the name;
Unless, my dear, you read romances,
I cannot reconcile your fancies.
Virtue in fairy tales is seen
To play the goddess or the queen;
But what's a queen without the pow'r
Or beauty, child, without a dow'r?
Yet this is all that virtue brags,
At best 'tis only worth in rags.
Such whims my very heart derides:
Indeed you make me burst my fides.
Trust me, Mifs Bee-to speak the truth,
I've copied men from earliest youth;
The fame our taste, the fame our fchool,
Paflion and appetite our rule;
And call me bird, or call me finner,
I'll ne'er forego my sport or dinner.
A prowling cat the miscreant spies,
And wide cxpands her amber eyes :

N