Thus drying coffee was denied ;

But chocolate that lofs fupplied:

And for tobacco (who could bear it?)

Filthy concomitant of claret:

(Bleft revolution !) one might fee Eringo roots, and Bohea tea.

She often fet the Doctor's band,

And ftrok'd his beard, and fqueez'd his hand.
Kindly complain'd, that after noon

He went to pore on books too foon:
She held it wholesomer by much,
To reft a little on the couch:
About his waift in bed a-nights
She clung fo close-for fear of fprites.
'The Doctor understood the call;
But had not always wherewithal.

The lion's fkin too fhort, you know,
(As Plutarch's Morals finely fhow)
Was lengthen'd by the fox's tail:
And art fupplies, where ftrength may fail
Unwilling then in arms to meet
The enemy he could not beat;
He ftrove to lengthen the campaign,
And fave his forces by chicane.
Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus
By fair retreat grew Maximus,
Shews us, that all that warrior can do,
With force inferior, is cundando.

One day then, as the foe drew near,
With love, and joy, and life, and dear;
T 2

Our

Our Don, who knew this tittle-tattle
Did, fure as trumpet, call to battle,
Thought it extremely à propos,

To ward against the coming blow:

To ward but how? Ay, there's the question;
Fierce the affault, unarm'd the bastion..
The Doctor feign'd a ftrange surprise :
He felt her pulse; he view'd her eyes:
That beat too faft, these roll'd too quick;
She was, he said, or would be fick :
He judg'd it abfolutely good,

That she should purge, and cleanse her blood.
Spa waters for that end were got:

If they past easily or not,

What matters it? the lady's fever

Continued violent as ever.

For a distemper of this kind
(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind),
If once it youthful blood infects,
And chiefly of the female fex,

Is fcarce remov'd by pill or potion;
Whate'er might be our Doctor's notion.
One luckless night then, as in bed
The Doctor and the Dame were laid;
Again this cruel fever came,

High pulfe, fhort breath, and blood in flame,

What measures shall poor Paulo keep

With Madam in this piteous taking?

She, like Macbeth, has murder'd sleep,
And won't allow him reft, though waking.

Sad

Sad ftate of matters! when we dare
Nor ask for peace, nor offer war;
Nor Livy nor Comines have shown
What in this juncture may be done.
Grotius might own, that Paulo's cafe is
Harder than any which he places
Amongst his Belli and his Pacis.

He ftrove, alas! but ftrove in vain,
By dint of logick to maintain
That all the sex was born to grieve,
Down to her Ladyfhip from Eve.

He rang'd his tropes, and preach'd up patience,
Back'd his opinion with quotations,

Divines and Moralifts; and run ye on
Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan.
As much in vain he bid her try
To fold her arms, to clofe her eye;
Telling her, reft would do her good,
If any thing in nature could:

So held the Greeks quite down from Galen,
Mafters and princes of the calling :

So all our modern friends maintain
(Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane.
Reduce, my Mufe, the wandering song:

A tale fhould never be too long.

The more he talk'd, the more she burn'd, And figh'd, and toft, and groan'd, and turn'd: At laft, I wish, faid fhe, my dear

(And whifper'd fomething in his ear)

T 3

}

You

You wish! wish on, the Doctor cries:
Lord! when will womankind be wife?
What, in your waters ? are you mad?
Why poifon is not half fo bad.
I'll do it but I give you warning:
You'll die before to-morrow morning.
'Tis kind, my dear, what you advise;
The lady with a figh replies !
But life, you know, at beft is pain;
And death is what we fhould difdain.
So do it therefore, and adieu :

For I will die for love of

you.

Let wanton wives by death be fcar'd :
But, to my comfort, I'm prepar'd.

THE LAD LÉ

HE fceptics think, 'twas long ago,
Since gods came down incognito,
To fee who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rofe:
That fince they gave things their beginning,
And fet this whirligig a-spinning,
Supine they in their heaven remain,
Exempt from paffion and from pain:
And frankly leave us human elves,
To cut and shuffle for ourselves;
To stand or walk, to rife or tumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.

The

The Poets now and Painters hold
This thefis both abfurd and bold:
And your good-natur'd gods, they fay,
Defcend fome twice or thrice a-day :
Elfe all these things we toil so hard in
Would not avail one fingle farthing :
For, when the hero we rehearse,

To grace
his actions and our verfe;
"Tis not by dint of human thought,
That to his Latium he is brought;
Iris defcends by Fate's commands,
To guide his steps through foreign lands:
And Amphitrite clears the way
From rocks and quickfands in the fea.
And if you fee him in a sketch
(Though drawn by Paulo or Carache),
He fhews not half his force and strength,,
Strutting in armour, and at length:
That he may make his proper figure,
The piece muft yet be four yards bigger ::
The nymphs conduct him to the field;
One holds his fword, and one his fhield;
Mars, ftanding by, afferts his quarrel;
And Fame flies after with a laurel.

These points, I fay, of fpeculation
(As 'twere to fave or fink the nation) ↓
Men idly-learned will difpute,
Affert, object, confirm, refute ::
Each mighty angry, mighty right,
With equal arms fuftains the fight;