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Such images have sometimes shown
A mystic sense, but oftener none.
For who conceives, what bards devise,
That Heaven is plac'd in Celia's eyes;
Or where's the sense, direct and moral,
That teeth are pearl, or lips are coral?
“Your Horace owns, he various writ,
As wild or sober maggots bit:
And, where too much the poet ranted,
The sage philosopher recanted.
His grave Epistles may disprove
The wanton Odes he made to love.
“Lucretius keeps a mighty pother
With Cupid and his fancy'd mother;
Calls her great queen of Earth and Air,
Declares that winds and seas obey her;
And, while her honour he rehearses,
Implores her to inspire his verses.
“Yet, free from this poetic madness,
Next page he says, in sober sadness,
That she and all her fellow-gods
Sit idling in their high abodes,
Regardless of this world below,
Our health or hanging, weal or woe;
Nor once disturb their heavenly spirits
With Scapin's cheats, or Caesar's merits.
“Nor e'er can Latin poets prove
Where lies the real seat of Love.
Jerur they burn, and cor they pierce,
As either best supplies their verse;
And, if folks ask the reason for't,
Say, one was long, and t'other short.
Thus, I presume, the British Muse
May take the freedom strangers use.
In prose our property is greater:
Why should it then be less in metre?
If Cupid throws a single dart,
We make him wound the lover's heart :
But, if he takes his bow and quiver;
'Tis sure he must transfix the liver:
For rhyme with reason may dispense,
And sound has right to govern sense.
“But let your friends in verse suppose,
What ne'er shall be allow'd in prose;
Anatomists can make it clear,
The Liver minds his own affair;
Kindly supplies our public uses,
And parts and strains the vital juices;
Still lays some useful bile aside,
To tinge the chyle's insipid tide:
Else we should want both gibe and satire;
And all be burst with pure good-nature.
Now gall is bitter with a witness,
And love is all delight and sweetness.
My logic then has lost its aim,
If sweet and bitter be the same:
And he, methinks, is no great scholar,
Who can mistake desire for choler.
“The like may of the heart be said;
Courage and terrour there are bred.
All those, whose hearts are loose and low,
Start, if they hear but the tattoo:
And mighty physical their fear is;
For, soon as noise of combat near is,
Their heart, descending to their breeches,
Must give their stomach cruel twitches.
But heroes, who o'ercome or die,
Have their hearts hung extremely high,
The strings of which, in battle's heat,
Against their very corslets beat;

Keep time with their own trumpet's measure,
And yield them most excessive pleasure.
“Now, if 'tis chiefly in the heart
That Courage does itself exert,
'Twill be prodigious hard to prove
That this is eke the throne of Love.
Would Nature make one place the seat
Of fond desire, and fell debate?
Must people only take delight in
Those hours, when they are tir'd of fighting?
And has no man, but who has kill'd
A father, right to get a child?
These notions then I think but idle;
And Love shall still possess the middle.
“This truth more plainly to discover,
Suppose your hero were a lover.
Though he before had gall and rage,
Which death or conquest must assuage,
He grows dispirited and low;
He hates the fight, and shuns the foe.
“In scornful sloth Achilles slept,
And for his wench, like Tall-boy, wept:
Nor would return to war and slaughter,
Till they brought back the parson's daughter.
“ Antonius fled from Actium's coast,
Augustus pressing, Asia lost:
His sails by Cupid's hands unfurl’d,
To keep the fair, he gave the world.
Edward our Fourth, rever'd and crown'd,
Vigorous in youth, in arms renown'd,
While England's voice, and Warwick's care,
Design'd him Gallia's beauteous heir,
Chang'd peace and power for rage and wars,
Only to dry one widow's tears—
“ France's fourth Henry we may see
A servant to the fair d'Estree;
When, quitting Coutras' prosperous field,
And Fortune taught at length to yield,
He from his guards and midnight tent
Disguis'd o'er hills and vallies went,
To wanton with the sprightly dame,
And in his pleasure lost his fame.
“ Bold is the critic who dares prove
These heroes were no friends to love;
And bolder he, who dares aver
That they were enemies to war.
Yet, when their thought should, now or never,
Have rais'd their heart, or fir'd their liver,
Fond Alma to those parts was gone,
Which Love more justly calls his own.
“ Examples I could cite you more;
But be contented with these four:
For when one's proofs are aptly chosen,
Four are as valid as four dozen.
One came from Greece, and one from Rome;
The other two grew nearer home.
For some in ancient books delight;
Others prefer what moderns write:
Now I should be extremely loth,
Not to be thought expert in both.”

CANTo II.

“But shall we take the Muse abroad, To drop her idly on the road 2 And leave our subject in the middle, As Butler did his Bear and Fiddle? Yet he, consummate master, knew, When to recede, and where pursue :

His noble negligences teach
What others toils despair to reach.
He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope,
And balances your fear and hope :
If, after some distinguish'd leap,
He drops his pole, and seems to slip,
Straight gathering all his active strength,
He rises higher half his length.
With wonder you approve his slight,
And owe your pleasure to your fright:
But like poor Andrew I advance,
False mimic of my master's dance.
Around the cord awhile I sprawl,
And thence, though low, in earnest fall.
“My preface tells you, I digress'd :
He's half absolv'd who has confess'd.”
“I like,” quoth Dick, “your simile,
And, in return, take two from me.
As masters in the clare obscure
With various light your eyes allure,
A flaming yellow here they spread,
Draw off in blue, or charge in red;
Yet, from these colours oddly mix’d,
Your sight upon the whole is fix'd :
Or as, again, your courtly dames
(Whose clothes returning birth-day claims)
By arts improve the stuffs they vary,
And things are best as most contrary;
The gown, with stiff embroidery shining,
Looks charming with a slighter lining;
The out-, if Indian figure stain,
The in-side must be rich and plain.
So you great authors have thought fit
To make digression temper wit:
When arguments too fiercely glare,
You calm them with a milder air :
To break their points, you turn their force,
And furbelow the plain discourse.”
“Richard,” quoth Mat, “these words of thine
Speak something sly, and something fine:
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may'st praise or blame.
“As people marry now, and settle,
Fierce Love abates his usual mettle :
Worldly desires, and household cares,
l)isturb the godhead's soft affairs:
So now, as health or temper changes,
In larger compass Alma ranges.
This day below, the next above,
As light or solid whimsies move.
So merchant has his house in town,
And country-seat near Bansted-down:
From one he dates his foreign letters,
Sends out his goods, and duns his debtors:
In tother, at his hours of leisure,
He smokes his pipe, and takes his pleasure.
“And now your matrimonial Cupid,
Lash'd on by Time, grows tir'd and stupid.
For story and experience tell us
That man grows old, and woman jealous.
Both would their little ends secure;
He sighs for freedom, she for power:
His wishes tend abroad to roam,
And hers to domineer at home.
Thus passion flags by slow degrees,
And, ruffled more, delighted less,
The busy mind does seldom go
To those once-charming seats below;
But, in the breast incamp'd, preparcs
For well-bred feints and future wars.

The man suspects his lady's crying
(When he last autumn lay a-dying)
Was but to gain him to appoint her
By codicil a larger jointure.
The woman finds it all a trick,
That he could swoon when she was sick ;
And knows, that in that grief he reckon'd
On black-cy'd Susan for his second.
“Thus having strove some tedious years
With feign'd desires, and real fears;
And, tir'd with answers and replies
Of John affirms, and Martha lies,
Leaving this endless altercation,
The Mind affects a higher station.
“Poltis, that generous king of Thrace,
I think, was in this very case.
All Asia now was by the ears,
And gods beat up for volunteers
To Greece and Troy; while Poltis sat
In quiet governing his state.
“And whence,' said the pacific king. .
“Does all this noise and discord spring?'
“Why, Paris took Atridos' wife.” –
“With case I could compose this strife:
The injur'd hero should not lose,
Nor the young lover want a spouse.
But Helen chang'd her first condition,
Without her husband's just permission.
What from the dame can Paris hope 2
She may as well from him elope.
Again, how can her old good man,
With honour, take her back again?
From hence I logically gather,
The woman cannot live with cither.
Now, I have two right honest wives,
For whose possession no man strives:
One to Atrides I will send,
And t'other to my Trojan friend.
Each prince shall thus with honour have
What both so warmly seem to crave:
The wrath of gods and man shall cease,
And Poltis live and die in peace."
“Dick, if this story pleaseth thee,
Pray thank Dan Pope, who told it me.
“Howe'er swift Alma's flight may vary,
(Take this by way of corollary)
Some limbs she finds the very same,
In place, in dignity, in name:
These dwell at such convenient distance,
That each may give his friend assistance.
Thus he who runs or dances begs
The equal vigour of two legs;
So much to both does Alma trust,
She ne'er regards which goes the first.
Teague could make neither of them stay,
When with himself he ran away.
The man who struggles in the fight,
Fatigues left arm as well as right;
For, whilst one hand exalts the blow,
And on the earth extends the foe,
T'other would take it wondrous ill,
If in your pocket it lay still.
And, when you shoot, and shut one eye,
You cannot think he would deny
To lend the other friendly aid,
Or wink as coward, and afraid.
No, sir; whilst he withdraws his flame,
{His comrade takes the surer aim :
One moment if his beams recede,
As soon as e'er the bird is dead,

Opening again, he lays his claim
To half the profit, half the fame,
And helps to pocket up the game.
'Tis thus one tradesman slips away,
To give his partner fairer play.
“Some limbs again, in bulk or stature
Unlike, and not a-kin by nature,
In concert act, like modern friends,
Because one serves the other's ends.
The arm thus waits upon the heart,
So quick to take the bully's part,
That one, though warm, decides more slow
Than t’other executes the blow.
A stander-by may chance to have it,
Ere Hack himself perceives he gave it.
“The amorous eyes thus always go
A-strolling for their friends below;
For, long before the squire and dame
Have téte-à-téte reliev'd their flame,
Ere visits yet are brought about,
The eye by sympathy looks out,
Knows Florimel, and longs to meet her,
And, if he sees, is sure to greet her,
Though at sash-window, on the stairs,
At court, nay (authors say) at prayers.
“The funeral of some valiant knight
May give this thing its proper light.
View his two gauntlets; these declare
That both his hands were us'd to war.
And from his two gilt spurs 'tis learn'd
His feet were equally concern'd.
But have you not, with thought, beheld
The sword hang dangling o'er the shield?
Which shows the breast, that plate was us’d to,
Had an ally right arm to trust to :
And, by the peep-holes in his crest,
Is it not virtually confest,
That there his eyes took distant aim,
And glanc'd respect to that bright dame,
In whose delight his hope was center'd,
And for whose glove his life he ventur'd?
“Objections to my general system
May rise, perhaps; and I have mist them;
But I can call to my assistance
Proximity (mark that :) and distance;
Can prove, that all things, on occasion,
Love union, and desire adhesion;
That Alma merely is a scale,
And motives, like the weights, prevail.
If neither side turn down nor up,
With loss or gain, with fear or hope,
The balance always would hang even,

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“This, Richard, is a curious case : Suppose your eyes sent equal rays Upon two distant pots of ale, Not knowing which was mild or stale: In this sad state your doubtful choice Would never have the casting voice; Which best or worst you could not think, And die you must for want of drink; Unless some chance inclines your sight, Setting one pot in fairer light; Then you prefer or A, or B, As lines and angles best agree : Your sense resolv’d impels your will She guides your hand—so drink your fill. “Have you not seen a baker's maid Between two equal banniers sway d?

Her tallies useless lie, and idle,
If plac'd exactly in the middle:
But, forc'd from this unactive state
By virtue of some casual weight,
On either side you hear them clatter,
And judge of right and left hand matter.
“Now, Richard, this coercive force,
Without your choice, must take its course;
Great kings to wars are pointed forth,
Like loaded needles to the north.
And thou and I, by power unseen,
Are barely passive, and suck'd-in
To Henault's vaults, or Celia's chamber,
As straw and paper are by amber.
If we sit down to play or set,
(Suppose at ombre or basset,)
Let people call us cheats or fools,
Our cards and we are equal tools.
We sure in vain the cards condemn:
Ourselves both cut and shuffled them.
In vain on Fortune's aid rely :
She only is a stander-by.
Poor men poor papers! we and they
Do some impulsive force obey:
And are but play'd with — do not play.
But space and matter we should blame;
They palm'd the trick that lost the game.
“Thus, to save further contradiction
Against what you may think but fiction,
I for attraction, Dick, declare:
Deny it those bold men that dare.
As well your motion, as your thought,
Is all by hidden impulse wrought:
Ev’n saying that you think or walk,
How like a country squire you talk!
“Mark then; —Where fancy, or desire,
Collects the beams of vital fire;
Into that limb fair Alma slides,
And there, pro tempore, resides.
She dwells in Nicolini's tongue,
When Pyrrhus chants the heavenly song.
When Pedro does the lute command,
She guides the cunning artist's hand.
Through Macer's gullet she runs down,
When the vile glutton dines alone.
And, void of modesty and thought,
She follows Bibo's endless draught.
Through the soft sex again she ranges,
As youth, caprice, or fashion, changes.
Fair Alma, careless and serene,
In Fanny's sprightly eyes is seen ;
While they diffuse their infant beams,
Themselves not conscious of their flames.
Again fair Alma sits confest
On Florimel's experter breast;
When she the rising sigh constrains,
And, by concealing, speaks her pains.
In Cynthia's neck fair Alma glows,
When the vain thing her jewels shows:
When Jenny's stays are newly lac'd,
Fair Alma plays about her waist;
And when the swelling hoop sustains
The rich brocade, fair Alma deigns
Into that lower space to enter,
Of the large round herself the centre.
“Again: that single limb or feature,
(Such is the cogent force of Nature,)
Which most did Alma's passion move
In the first object of her love,

For ever will be found confest, And printed on the amorous breast. “O Abelard ill-fated youth, Thy tale will justify this truth: But well I weet, thy cruel wrong Adorns a nobler poet's song. Dan Pope for thy misfortune griev'd, With kind concern and skill has weav'd A silken web; and ne'er shall fade Its colours; gently has he laid The mantle o'er thy sad distress, And Venus shall the texture bless. He o'er the weeping nun has drawn Such artful folds of sacred lawn, That Love, with equal grief and pride, Shall see the crime he strives to hide, And, softly drawing back the veil, The god shall to his votaries tell Each conscious tear, each blushing grace, That deck'd dear Eloisa's face. Happy the poet, blest the lays, Which Buckingham has deign'd to praise ! “Next, Dick, as youth and habit sways, A hundred gambols Alma plays. If, whilst a boy, Jack ran from school, Fond of his hunting-horn and pole; Though gout and age his speed detain, Old John halloos his hounds again; By his fire-side he starts the hare, And turns her in his wicker-chair; His feet, however lame, you find, Have got the better of his Mind. “If, while the Mind was in her leg, The dance affected nimble Peg; Old Madge, bewitch'd at sixty-one, Calls for Green Sleeves, and Jumping Joan. In public mask, or private ball, From Lincoln’s-inn to Goldsmiths-hall, All Christmas long away she trudges, Trips it with prentices and judges. In vain her children urge her stay, And age or palsy bar the way But, if those images prevail Which whilom did affect the tail, She still renews the ancient scene, Forgets the forty years between : Awkwardly gay, and oddly merry, Her scarf pale pink, her head-knot cherry; O'er-heated with ideal rage, She cheats her son, to wed her page. “If Alma, whilst the man was young, Slipp'd up too soon into his tongue, Pleas'd with his own fantastic skill, He lets that weapon ne'er lie still. On any point if you dispute, Depend upon it, he'll confute: Change sides, and you increase your pain, For he'll confute you back again. For one may speak with Tully's tongue, Yet all the while be in the wrong. And 'tis remarkable, that they Talk most, who have the lcast to say. Your dainty speakers have the curse, To plead bad causes down to worse: As dames, who native beauty want, Still uglier look, the more they paint. “Again: if in the female sex Alma should on this member fix, (A cruel and a desperate case, From which Heaven shield my lovely lass!)

For ever more all care is vain,
That would bring Alma down again.
As, in habitual gout or stone,
The only thing that can be done,
Is to correct your drink and diet,
And keep the inward foe in quiet;
So, if for any sins of ours,
Or our forefathers' higher powers,
Severe, though just, afflict our life
With that prime ill, a talking wife;
Till Death shall bring the kind relief,
We must be patient, or be deaf.
“You know a certain lady, Dick,
Who saw me when I last was sick :
She kindly talk'd, at least three hours,
Of plastic forms, and mental powers;
Describ'd our pre-existing station
Before this vile terrene creation;
And, lest I should be weary'd, madam,
To cut things short, came down to Adam ;
From whence, as fast as she was able,
She drowns the world, and builds up Babel.
Through Syria, Persia, Greece, she goes,
And takes the Romans in the close.
“But we'll descant on general nature:
This is a system, not a satire.
“Turn we this globe, and let us see
How different nations disagree
In what we wear, or eat and drink;
Nay, Dick, perhaps in what we think.
In water as you smell and taste
The soils through which it rose and past,
In Alma's manners you may read
The place where she was born and bred.
“One people from their swaddling bands
Releas'd their infants' feet and hands:
Here Alma to these limbs was brought,
And Sparta's offspring kick'd and fought.
“Another taught their babes to talk,
Ere they could yet in go-carts walk:
There Alma settled in the tongue,
And orators from Athens sprung.
“Observe but in these neighbouring lands
The different use of mouths and hands;
As men repos'd their various hopes,
In battles these, and those in tropes.
“In Britain's isles, as Heylin notes,
The ladies trip in petticoats;
Which, for the honour of their nation,
They quit but on some great occasion.
Men there in breeches clad you view:
They claim that garment as their due.
In Turkey the reverse appears;
Long coats the haughty husband wears,
And greets his wife with angry speeches,
If she be seen without her breeches.
“ In our fantastic climes the fair
With cleanly powder dry their hair:
And round their lovely breast and head
Fresh flowers their mingled odours shed.
Your nicer Hottentots think meet
With guts and tripe to deck their feet:
With down-cast looks on Totta's legs
The ogling youth most humbly begs
She would not from his hopes remove
At once his breakfast and his love:
And, if the skittish nymph should fly,
He in a double sense must die.
“We simple toasters take delight
To see our women's teeth look white,

And every saucy ill-bred fellow Sneers at a mouth profoundly yellow. In China none hold women sweet, Except their snags are black as jet. King Chiliu put nine queens to death, Convict on statute, Ivory Teeth. “At Tonquin, if a prince should die, (As Jesuits write, who never lie,) The wife, and counsellor, and priest, Who serv'd him most, and lov’d him best, Prepare and light his funeral fire, And cheerful on the pile expire. In Europe 'twould be hard to find In each degree one half so kind. “ Now turn we to the farthest east, And there observe the gentry drest. Prince Giolo, and his royal sisters, Scarr'd with ten thousand comely blisters; The marks remaining on the skin, To tell the quality within. Distinguish'd slashes deck the great: As each excels in birth or state, His oylet-holes are more and ampler: The king's own body was a sampler. Happy the climate, where the beau Wears the same suit for use and show : And at a small expense your wife, If once well pink'd, is cloth'd with life. “ Westward again, the Indian fair Is nicely smear'd with fat of bear: Before you see, you smell your toast; And sweetest she who stinks the most. The finest sparks and cleanest beaux Drip from the shoulders to the toes: How sleek their skins! their joints how easy! There slovens only are not greasy “I mention'd different ways of breeding: Begin we in our children's reading. To master John the English maid A horn-book gives of gingerbread; And, that the child may learn the better, As he can name, he eats the letter. Proceeding thus with vast delight, He spells, and gnaws, from left to right. But, show a Hebrew's hopeful son Where we suppose the book begun, The child would thank you for your kindness, And read quite backward from our finis. Devour he learning ne'er so fast, Great A would be reserv'd the last. “An equal instance of this matter Is in the manners of a daughter. In Europe, if a harmless maid, By Nature and by Love betray'd, Should, ere a wife, become a nurse, Her friends would look on her the worse. In China, Dampier's Travels tell ye, (Look in his Index for Pagelli,) Soon as the British ships unmoor, And jolly long-boat rows to shore, Down come the nobles of the land: Each brings his daughter in his hand, Beseeching the imperious tar To make her but one hour his care. The tender mother stands affrighted, Lest her dear daughter should be slighted: And poor miss Yaya dreads the shame Of going back the maid she came. “Observe how custom, Dick, compels The lady that in Europe dwells:

After her tea, she slips away,
And what to do, one need not say.
Now see how great Pomonque's queen
Behav'd herself amongst the men:
Pleas'd with her punch, the gallant soul
First drank, then water'd in the bowl;
And sprinkled in the captain's face
The marks of her peculiar grace. —
“To close this point, we need not roam
For instances so far from home.
What parts gay France from sober Spain?
A little rising rocky chain.
Of men born south or north o'th' hill,
Those seldom move, these ne'er stand still.
Dick, you love maps, and may perceive
Rome not far distant from Geneve.
If the good pope remains at home,
He's the first prince in Christendom.
Choose then, good pope, at home to stay,
Nor westward curious take thy way:
Thy way unhappy should'st thou take
From Tyber's bank to Leman lake,
Thou art an aged priest no more,
But a young flaring painted whore:
Thy sex is lost, thy town is gone;
No longer Rome, but Babylon.
That some few leagues should make this change,
To men unlearn'd seems mighty strange.
“But need we, friend, insist on this?
Since, in the very Canton Swiss,
All your philosophers agree,
And prove it plain, that one may be
A heretic, or true believer,
On this, or t'other side a river.”
“Here,” with an artful smile, quoth Dick,
“Your proofs come mighty full and thick.”
The bard, on this extensive chapter
Wound up into poetic rapture,
Continued: “Richard, cast your eye,
By night, upon a winter-sky:
Cast it by day-light on the strand,
Which compasses fair Albion's land:
If you can count the stars that glow
Above, or sands that lie below,
Into those common places look,
Which from great authors I have took,
And count the proofs I have collected,
To have my writings well protected.
These I lay by for time of need,
And thou may'st at thy leisure read.
For, standing every critic's rage,
I safely will to future age
My system, as a gift, bequeath,
Victorious over Spite and Death.’

CANTo III.

Richard, who now was half asleep,
Rous'd, nor would longer silence keep;
And sense like this, in vocal breath,
Broke from his two-fold hedge of teeth.
Now, if this phrase too harsh be thought,
Pope, tell the world, 'tis not my fault.
Old Homer taught us thus to speak;
If 'tis not sense, at least 'tis Greek. -

“As folks," quoth Richard, “prone to leasing,
Say things at first, because they're pleasing.
Then prove what they have once asserted,
Nor care to have their lie deserted,

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