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 condemn'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.

A NEW SIMILE.

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.(')

Long had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite:
"Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious;
First please to turn to God Mercurius!
You'll find him pictur'd at full length,
In book the second, page the tenth :
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our simile.

Imprimis; pray observe his hat,

Wings upon either side-mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather?
Why, these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right,

With wit that's flighty, learning light;
Such as to modern bard's decreed;
A just comparison,―proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air :

(1) [Printed in the Essays, 1765.]

And here my simile unites;
For in the modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.

Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Fill'd with a snake-encircled wand:
By classic authors term'd Caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit-most wond'rously endu'd,
No poppy-water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue 's such,

Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives men's souls to Hell.

Now to apply, begin we then :— His wand 's a modern author's pen; The serpents round about it twin'd, Denote him of the reptile kind; Denote the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venom❜d bites; An equal semblance still to keep, Alike, too, both conduce to sleep. This difference only, as the god

Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod, With his goose-quill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript; Yet grant a word by way of postscript.

Moreover Merc'ry had a failing:

Well! what of that? out with it-stealing;

In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as great a thief as he :

But ev❜n this deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance.

Our modern bards! why, what a pox

Are they-but senseless stones and blocks.

STANZAS

ON WOMAN.(1)

When lovely Woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray;
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is to die.(2)

ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. (2)

Good people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;

And if you find it wond'rous short,—
It cannot hold you long.

(1) First printed in the "Vicar of Wakefield," in 1766.]

(2) ["This specimen of Goldsmith's poetical powers is wonderfully pathetic. It is sweet as music, and polished like a gem."—Mrs. BARBAULD.] (3) First printed in the "Vicar of Wakefield," 1766, though probably

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,—
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,—
When he put on his clothes,

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends ;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad

To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

written at an earlier period; perhaps in 1760, as we find in the "Citizen of the World," (see vol. ii. p. 277), an amusing paper in which Goldsmith ridicules the fear of mad dogs as one of those epidemic terrors to which the people of England are occasionally prone.]