This for each humour every shape could take,
Ev'n virtue's own, though not for virtue's fake
At Athens rakish, thoughtless, full of fire,
Severe at Sparta, as a Chartreux fryar;
In Thrace, a bully, drunken, rash, and rude;
In Afia gay, effeminate and lewd;

While the rough Roman, virtue's rigid friend,
Could not to fave the cause he dy'd for bend:
In him 'twas fcarce an honour to be good,
He more indulg'd a paffion than fubdu’d.

See how the skilful lover spreads his toils,
When eager in purfuit of beauty's spoils!
Behold him bending at his idol's feet;
Humble, not mean; difputing, and yet fweet;
In rivalship not fierce, nor yet unmov'd;
Without a rival ftudious to be lov'd;

For ever cheerful, though not always witty,
And never giving caufe for hate or pity:
These are his arts, fuch arts as must prevail,
When riches, birth, and beauty's felf will fail:
And what he does to gain a vulgar end,

Shall we neglect, to make mankind our friend?

Good fenfe and learning may esteem obtain; Humour and wit a laugh, if rightly ta'en:

Fair virtue admiration may impart ;
But 'tis good-nature only wins the heart:
It moulds the body to an eafy grace,

And brightens every feature of the face:

It fmooths th' unpolish'd tongue with eloquence,
And adds perfuafion to the finest fenfe.

Yet this, like every difpofition, has

Fixt bounds, o'er which it never ought to pafs;
When stretch'd too far, its honour dies away,
Its merit finks, and all its charms decay;
Among the good it meets with no applause,
And to its ruin the malicious draws:

A flave to all, who force it, or entice,
It falls by chance in virtue or in vice.
'Tis true, in pity for the poor it bleeds,
It cloaths the naked, and the hungry feeds;
It cheers the ftranger, nay its foes defends,
But then as oft it injures its beft friends.

Study with care Politeness, that must teach
The modish forms of gefture and of speech:
In vain Formality, with matron mien,
And Pertness apes her with familiar grin :
They against nature for applaufes ftrain,
Distort themselves, and give all others pain:

She

She moves with easy, though with measur'd pace,
And fhews no part of study, but the grace.
Yet ev❜n by this man is but half refin❜d,
Unless philofophy fubdues the mind:
'Tis but a varnish that is quickly loft,
Whene'er the foul in paffion's fea is toft.

Would you both please and be inftructed too,
Watch well the rage of fhining to fubdue;
Hear every man upon his fav'rite theme,
And ever be more knowing than you feem.
The lowest genius will afford fome light,
Or give a hint that had escap'd your fight.
Doubt, 'till he thinks you on conviction yield,
And with fit questions let each pause be fill❜d:
And the moft knowing will with pleasure grant,
You're rather much referv'd, than ignorant.

The rays of wit gild wherefoe'er they strike,
But are not therefore fit for all alike;
They charm the lively, but the grave offend,
And raise a foe as often as a friend;

Like the refiftlefs beams of blazing light,
That cheer the strong, and pain the weakly fight.
If a bright fancy therefore be your share,
Let judgment watch it with a guardian's care;

'Tis like a torrent apt to overflow,
Unless by conftant government kept low,
And ne'er inefficacious paffes by,

But overturns or gladdens all that's nigh.

Or elfe, like trees, when suffer'd wild to shoot,
That put forth much, but all unripen'd fruit;
It turns to affectation and grimace,

As like to wit, as dulnefs is to grace.

How hard foe'er it be to bridle wit,
Yet mem❜ry oft no less requires the bit:
How many, hurried by its force away,
For ever in the land of goffips ftray!
Ufurp the province of the nurse to lull,
Without her privilege for being dull!
Tales upon tales they raise ten stories high,
Without regard to ufe or fymmetry:

So R, 'till his deftin'd space is fill'd,
Heaps bricks on bricks, and fancies 'tis to build.
A story should, to please, at least seem true,
Be à propos, well told, concife, and new:

And whenfoe'er it deviates from these rules,

The wife will fleep, and leave applause to fools.
But others, more intolerable yet,

The waggeries, that they've faid, or heard, repeat;

Heavy by mem'ry made, and what's the worst,
At fecond-hand, as often as that first.

And can even patience hear, without disdain,
The maiming register of sense once flain?
While the dull features, big with archnefs, ftrive
In vain, the forc'd half-fmile to keep alive.

Some know no joy like what a word can raise,
Haul'd through a language's perplexing maze;
'Till on a mate, that seems t'agree, they light,
Like man and wife, that still are oppofite;
Not lawyers at the bar play more with sense,
When brought to the last trope of eloquence,
Than they on every subject, great or small,
At clubs, or councils, at a church, or ball;
Then cry we rob them of their tributes due:
Alas! how can we laugh and pity too?

While others to extremes as wild will run,
And with four face anatomize a pun:
When the brisk glass to freedom does intice,
And rigid wisdom is a kind of vice.

But let not fuch grave fops your laughter spoil;
Ne'er frown where fenfe may innocently smile.
Cramp not your language into logic rules,
To roftrums leave the pedantry of schools;