Damn'd ev'ry female bite to Tyburn,
From Mother Eve to Mother Weyburn;
Each youthful vanity abjur'd,

Whores, box and dice, and claps ill-cur'd;

And having lost, by female art,

2:6

This darling idol of his heart,

Those precious locks, that might outvie
The trim-curl'd God who lights the sky,
Resolv'd to grow devout and wise,

Or, what's almost the same, precise;
Canted, and whin'd, and talk'd most oddly,
Was very slovenly and godly,

(For nothing makes devotion keen
Like disappointment and chagrin)
In fine, he set his house in order,
And piously put on a border.

MORAL.

220

To you, gay sparks, who waste your youthful prime, Old Æsop sends this monitory rhyme ;

Leave, leave, for shame, your trulls at Sh---er Hall,
And marry in good time, or not at all.

Of all the monsters Smithfield e'er could show,
There's none so hideous as a batter'd beau.

Trust not the noon of life, but take the morn;
Will. Honeycomb is ev'ry female's scorn.
Let him be rich, high-born, book-learn'd, and wise,
Believe me, friends! in ev'ry woman's eyes
'Tis back, and brawn, and sinew, wins the prize.

230

FABLE XIV.

THE FORTUNE-HUNTER.

IN FIVE CANTOS.

Fortuna saevo saeta negotio, et
Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax
Transmutat incertos honores.

CANTO I.

SOME authors, more abstruse than wise,
Friendship confine to stricter ties,
Require exact conformity

In person, age, and quality;

Their humours, principles, and wit
Must, like Exchequer tallies, hit:
Others, less scrupulous, opine

That hands and hearts in love may join,
Tho' different inclinations sway,
For Nature's more in fault than they.
Whoe'er would sift this point more fully,
May read St. Evremond and Tully;
With me the doctrine shall prevail,
That's a propos to form my tale.

Two brethren (whether twins or no
Imports not very much to know)

HOR.

10

Together bred; as fam'd'their love
As Leda's brats begot by Jove;
As various too their tempers were;
That brisk and frolic, debonair;
This more consid'rate and severe.

While Bob with diligence would pore
And con by heart his battle-dore,

Frank play'd at romps with John the groom,
Or switch'd his hobby round the room.
The striplings now too bulky grown
To make dirt-pies and lounge at home,
With aching hearts to school are sent,
Their humours still of various bent:
The silent, serious, solid, boy
Came on apace, was daddy's joy,
Constru'd, and pars'd, and said his part,
And got Qua-genus all by heart;
While Franky, that unlucky rogue,
Fell in with ev'ry whim in vogue,
Valu'd not Lilly of a straw,

A rook at chuck, a dab at taw.

His bum was often brush'd, you'll say; 'Tis true, now twice, then thrice a day: So leeches at the breech are fed,

To cure vertigo's in the head.

But, by your leave, good Doctor Friend,
Let me this maxim recommend,

"A genius can't be forc'd;" nor can

You make an ape an alderman.

20

40

The patchwork doublet well may suit,
But how would furs become the brute?
In short, the case is very plain,
When maggots once are in the brain,
Whole loads of birch are spent in vain.
Now to pursue this hopeful pair
To Oxford, and the Lord knows where,
Would take more ink than I can spare.
Nor shall I here minutely score
The volumes Bob turn'd o'er and o'er,
The laundresses turn'd up by Frank,
With many a strange diverting prank;
'Twould jade my Muse, tho' better fed,
And kept in body-clothes and bread.

When bristles on each chin began
To sprout, the promise of a man,
The good old gentleman expir'd,
And decently to heav'n retir'd:
The brethren, at their country-seat,
Enjoy'd a pleasant snug retreat;

Their cellars, and their barns well stor'd,
And plenty smoking on their board:
Ale and tobacco for the vicar,
For gentry sometimes better liquor.
Judicious Bob had read all o'er
Each weighty stay'd philosopher,
And therefore rightly understood
The real from th' apparent good;
Volume 11.

I

Substantial bliss, intrinsic joys,
From bustle, vanity, and noise;
Could his own happiness create,
And bring his mind to his estate;
Liv'd in the same calm easy round,
His judgment clear, his body sound;
Good humour, probity, and sense,
Repaid with peace and indolence:
While rakish Frank, whose active soul
No bounds, no principles control,
Flies o'er the world where pleasure calls,
To races, masquerades, and balls;
At random roves, now here, now there,
Drinks with the gay, and toasts the fair.
As when the full-fed rusty steed

Breaks from his groom, he flies with speed,
His high-arch'd neck he proudly rears,
Upon his back his tail he bears,
His main upon his shoulders curls,
O'er every precipice he whirls,
He plunges in the cooling tides,
He laves his shining pamper'd sides,
He snuffs the females on the plain,
And to his joy he springs amain,
To this, to that, impetuous flies,
Nor can the stud his lust suffice,
Till nature flags, his vigour spent,
With drooping tail, and nerves unbent,

The humble beast returns content,