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Still importunate and vain,
And turning all the past to pain : Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe; And he who wants each other blessing,
Io thee must ever find a foe.
Still, still on Hope relies;
every pang that rends the heart,
Adorns and cheers the way;
Emits a brighter ray.
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.
Secluded from domestic strife,
Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Or Flavia been content to stop
Need we expose to vulgar sight
The honey-moon like lightning flew;
Skill'd iu no other arts was she,
Could any curtain lectures bring
Thus as her faults each day were known,
Now to perplex the ravellid nooze, 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 condemo'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 TER MANNER OP SWIFT.
Long had I sought in vain to find
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis; pray observe his bat, Wings upon either side - mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why, these denote a braio of feather, A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty, learning light; Such as lo 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 wast his godship through the air: 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 bis 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 pe'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;