O had the archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop.
O had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze ;
O!--But let exclamations cease,
Her presence banish'd all his peace.
So with decorum all things carry'd;

Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was-married.

Need we expose to vulgar sight The raptures of the bridal night? Need we intrude on hallow'd ground, Or draw the curtains clos'd around? Let it suffice, that each had charms; He clasp'd a goddess in his arms; And, though she felt his usage rough, Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew;
The second brought its transports too;
A third, a fourth, were not amiss;
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss:
But, when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind.
Skill'd in no other arts was she,
But dressing, patching, repartee;
And, just as humor rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle;

"Tis true she dress'd with modern grace;
Half naked at a ball or race;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy night-caps wrapp'd her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain-lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing?

In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levee ;

The 'squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations;
Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke
A sigh in suffocating smoke;

While all their hours were pass'd between
Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown ;
He fancies every vice she shows
Or thins her lip, or points her nose:
Whenever rage or envy rise,

How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;
And, though her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell'd noose,
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,

That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower,
Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright:
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And ev'n the captain quit the field.

Poor madam now condem'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present, face surpass the old; With modesty her cheeks are dy'd, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery, is seen A person ever neatly clean: No more presuming on her sway, She learns good-nature every day; Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

The Progress of Discontent -1746.
T. WARTON

WHEN now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred-in Anna's reign,
And thus, in form of humble suitor,
Bowing, accosts a reverend tutor.
"Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine,
And this my eldest son of nine;
My wife's ambition and my own -
Was that this child should wear a gown
I'll warrant that his good behaviour
Will justify your future favour;
And, for his parts, to tell the truth,
My son's a very forward youth;

Has Horace all by heart-you'd wonder-
And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder
If you'd examine-and admit him,

A scholarship would nicely fit him;
That he succeeds 'tis ten to one;

Your vote and interest, sir !"-"Tis done.
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
Are with a scholarship completed:
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college-rules are heavy chains:
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
A prey to discipline and duns;
And now,
intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship-and fines.
When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last :
But the rich prize no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot:

"These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings:
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,
Debarr'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss-a loving wife!
O! what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head?
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all!
To offices I'd bid adieu,

Of dean, vice pres.-of bursar too;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
Come, tithes, and house, and fruitful fields!"
Too fond of freedom and of ease
A patron's vanity to please,

Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops-two hundred clear!
With breast elate beyond expression,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat-
"What a convenient house! how neat!
For fuel here's sufficient wood:
Pray God the cellars may be good!
The garden-that must be new-plann'd-
Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand?
O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes :-
Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay :
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream:
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,
We'll alter to a modern privy:
Up yon green slope, of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim,
Shall to an arbour at the end,
In spite of gout, entice a friend.
My predecessor lov'd devotion-
But of a garden had no notion."

Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds-a cousin of the 'squire;
Not over-weighty in the purse,
But many doctors have done worse:
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve, and make birch wine.

Thus fix'd, content he taps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
Finds his church-wardens have discerning
Both in good liquor and good learning;
With tithes his barns replete he sees,
And chuckles o'er his surplice fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews;
Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing;
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And-but on Sundays-hears no bells;

Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;
Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Builds in his copse a fav'rite bench,

And stores the pond with carp and tench.-
But, ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
By cares domestic is oppress'd;
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten inevitable ruin :

For children fresh expenses yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.

Why did I sell my college life,"
He cries," for benefice and wife?
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure!
When calm around the common room
I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume!
Rode for a stomach, and inspected,
At annual bottlings, corks selected :
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under
The portrait of our pious founder!
When impositions were supply'd
To light my pipe-or soothe my pride→→
No cares were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please;
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost,
No children cry'd for butter'd toast;
An ev'ry night I went to bed,
Without a modus in my head!"

Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart!
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art ;
A dupe to follies yet untry'd,

And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd!
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases.

Description of Hudibras. BUTLER. His tawny beard was th' equal grace Both of his wisdom and his face; In cut and die so like a tile, A sudden view it would beguile; The upper part whereof was whey, The nether orange, mix'd with gray. This hairy meteor did denounce The fall of sceptres and of crowns; With grisly type did represent Declining age of government, And tell, with hieroglyphic spade, It's own grave and the state's were made: Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew In time to make a nation rue; Though it contributed its own fall To wait upon the public downfall; It was monastic, and did grow In holy orders by strict vow; Of rule as sullen and severe, As that of rigid Cordelier: "Twas bound to suffer persecution, And martyrdom, with resolution; T'oppose itself against the hate And vengeance of th' incensed state,

In whose defiance it was worn,
Still ready to be pull'd and torn,
With red-hot irons to be tortur'd,
Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd;
Maugre all which 'twas to stand fast
As long as monarchy should last :
But when the state should hap to reel,
'Twas to submit to fatal steel,
And fall, as it was consecrate,
A sacrifice to fall of state,

Whose thread of life the Fatal Sisters
Did twist together with its whiskers,
And twine so close, that Time should never,
In life or death, their fortunes sever,
But with his rusty sickle mow
Both down together at a blow.
So learned Taliacotius, from
The brawny part of Porter's bum,
Cut supplemental noses, which
Would last as long as parent breech,
But, when the date of Nock was out,
Off dropp'd the sympathetic snout.

His back, or rather burthen, show'd
As if it stoop'd with its own load:
For as Eneas bore his sire
Upon his shoulders through the fire,
Our knight did bear no less a pack
Of his own buttocks on his back;
Which now had almost got the upper-
Hand of his head for want of crupper:
To poise this equally, he bore
A paunch of the same bulk before,
Which still he had a special care
To keep well cramm'd with thrifty fare;
As white-pot, butter-milk, and curds,
Such as a country house affords ;
With other victual, which anon
We farther shall dilate upon,
When of his hose we come to treat,
The cupboard where he kept his meat.
His doublet was of sturdy buff,
And though not sword, yet cudgel-proof,
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,
Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise.
His breeches were of rugged woollen,
And had been at the siege of Bullen ;
To old King Harry so well known,
Some writers held they were his own:
Through they were lined with many a piece
Of ammunition bread and cheese,
And fat black puddings, proper food
For warriors that delight in blood:
For, as we said, he always chose
To carry victual in his hose,
That often tempted rats and mice
The ammunition to surprise;
And when he put a hand but in
The one or t' other magazine,
They stoutly on defence on't stood,
And from the wounded foe drew blood,
And till they were storm'd and beaten out,
Ne'er left the fortify'd redoubt :

And though knights errant, as some think, Of old did neither eat nor drink,

Because when thorough deserts vast,
And regions desolate, they pass'd,
Where belly-timber above ground,
Or under, was not to be found,
Unless they grazed, there's not one word
Of their provision on record;
Which made some confidently write,
They had no stomachs but to fight.
'Tis false; for Arthur wore in hall
Round table like a farthingale,

On which, with shirt pull'd out behind,
And eke before, his good knights dined;
Though 'twas no table some suppose,
But a huge pair of round trunk hose,
In which he carry'd as much meat
As he and all the knights could eat,
When laying by their swords and truncheons,
They took their breakfasts, or their luncheons.
But let that pass at present, lest
We should forget where we digress'd,
As learned authors use, to whom
We leave it, and to the purpose come,

His puissant sword unto his side,
Near his undaunted heart, was ty'd,
With basket hilt that would hold broth,
And served for fight and dinner both;
In it he melted lead for bullets
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets,
To whom he bore so fell a grutch,
He ne'er gave quarter to any such.
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of somebody to hew and hack:
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt,
The rancor of its edge had felt;
For of the lower end two handful
It had devour'd, 'twas so manful,
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
In many desperate attempts
Of warrants, exigents, contempts,
It had appear'd with courage bolder
Than Sergeant Bum invading shoulder:
Oft had it ta'en possession,
And pris'ners too, or made them run.

This sword a dagger had, his page,
That was but little for his age,
And therefore waited on him so,
As dwarfs upon knights errant do:
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging:
When it had stabb'd, or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread;
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care;
'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth:
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,
Where this and more it did endure,
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.
In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Two aged pistols he did stow,