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Irtue and Vice, two mighty Pow'rs,

Who rule this motley World of ours,
Disputed once which govern'd best,
And whose Dependants most were blest.
They reason'd, rally'd, crack'd their Jokes,
Succeeding much like other Folks.
Their Logic wasted, and their Wit,
Nor one nor t’other wou'd submit;
But both the doubtful Point confent
To clear, by fair Experiment:
For this fome Mortal, they declare,
By Turns shall both their Bounty share,
And either's Pow'r to bless him try'd,
Shall then the long Dispute decide.

On Hodge they fix, a Country Boor,
As yet rough, ign'rant, careless, poor
Vice first exerts her Pow'r to bless,
And gives him Riches in Excefs,
With Gold she taught him to supply
Each rifing Wish of Luxury :
Hodge grew at length polite and great,
And liv'd like Minister of State ;

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He swore with Grace, got nobly drunk,
And kept in Pomp his twentieth Punk.

One Morning, as in eafy Chair
Hodge sat, with ruminating Air,
Vice, like a Lady, fair and gay,
Approach’d, and thus was heard to say-
(Behind her Virtue, all the while,
Stood Nily list’ning with a Smile)
• Know, favour'd Mortal, know that I
• The Pleasures of thy Life fupply;

I rais'd thee from the Clay-built Cell, · Where Want, Contempt, and Slav'ry dwell ; 6. And, as each Joy on Earth is sold, • To purchase all, I gave thee Gold:

This made the Charms of Beauty thine, • This bless'd thee with the Joys of Wine; • This gave thee, in the rich Repast, • Whate'er can please the tutor’d Taste. « Confess the Blessings I bestow, • And pay the grateful Thanks you owe ; My Name is Vice.'-Cry'd Hodge (and sneerd)

Long be your mighty Name rever'd! - Forbid it, Heav'n! thus bleft by you, · That I shou'd rob you of your Due To Wealth, 'twas you that made me Heir, « And gave, for which I thank you, Care; « Wealth brought me Wine, 'tis past a Doubt, • And Wine, see here's a Leg! the Gout, « To Wealth I owe my French Ragou, And that each Morn and Night~ I spew..

* This Beauty brought, and, with the Dame, « The Pox, a blest Companion! came. . And now to fhew how much I prize • The Joys, which from your Bounty rise,

Each coupled with so dear a Brother, " I'll give you one to take the other.« Avaunt, depart from whence you came, . And thank your Stars that I am lame.'

Enrag'd and griev'd, away she flew,
And all her Gifts from Hodge withdrew.

Now, in his fad repentant Hour,
Celestial Virtue try'd her Pow'r;
For Wealth, Content the Goddess gave,

Th' unenvy'd Treasure of the Slave!
From wild Desires the set him free,
And fill'd his Breast with Charity;
No more loud Tumults Riot breeds,
And Temp'rance Gluttony succeeds.

Hodge, in his native Cot at Rest, Now Virtue found, and thus address'd : • Say, for 'tis yours by Proof to know, · Can Virtue give thee Bliss below?

Content my Gift, and Temp'rance mine,
And Charity, tho' meek, divine.'-

With blushing Cheeks, and kindling Eyes, The Man transported, thus replies :

My Goddess ! on this favour'd Head, « The Life of Life thy Blessings shed ! • My annual Thousands when I told, - Insatiate ftill I figh’d for Gold ;

• You gave Content--a boundless Store ! . And, rich indeed! I figh’d no more.. « With Temp'rance came, delightful Guest! Health,--tasteful Food, and balmy Reft; « With Charity's seraphic Flame • Each gen'rous social Pleasure came, « Pleasures which in Poffeffion rise, « And retrospective Thought supplies ! · Long to atteft it may I live, « That all Vice promises, you give.'

Vice heard, and swore that Hodge for Hire Had giv'n his Verdict like a Liar; And Virtue, turning with Disdain, Vow'd ne'er to speak to Vice again.


By Mr. POPE.


N these deep Solitudes and awful Cells, Where heav'nly-pensive Contemplation dwells,


* Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth Century; they were two of the most distinguished Persons of their Age in Learning and Beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate Passion. After a long Course of Calamities, they retired each to a several Convent, and consecrated the Remainder of their Days to Religion. It was many Years after

And ever-musing Melancholy reigns ;
What means this Tumult in a Vestal's Veins ?
Why rovemy Thoughts beyond this lastRetreat?
Why feels my Heart its long forgotten Heat ?
Yet, yet I love From Abelard it came,
And Eloïsa yet must kiss the Name.

Dear fatal Name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these Lips in holy Silence seald :
Hide it, my Heart, within that close Disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies :
Oh write it not my Hand—the Name appears
Already written-wash it out my Tears !
In vain loft Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her Heart still dictates, and her Hand obeys,
Relentless Walls ! whose darksome Round

Repentent Sighs, and voluntary Pains :
Ye rugged Rocks! which holy Knees haveworn;
YeGrots andCaverns shagg’d with horrid Thorn!
Shrines! where their Vigils pale-ey'd Virgins

And pitying Saints, whose Statues learn to weep!
Tho'cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

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this Separation, that a Letter of Abelard's to a Friend, which contained the History of his Misfortune, fell into the Hands of Eloisa. This, awakening all her Tenderness, occafioned those celebrated Letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively a Picture of the Struggles of Grace and Nature, Virtue and Pallion,

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