Now as a nymph I need not fue, nor try
The force of any lightning but the eye.
Beauty and youth more than a God command;
No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand.
'Tis here that fov'reign power admits difpute;
Beauty fometimes is juftly abfolute.
Our fullen Cato's, whatfoe'er they fay,
Even while they frown and dictate laws, obey.
You, mighty fir, our bonds more eafy make,
And gracefully, what all must suffer, take :
Above thofe forms the grave affect to wear;
For 'tis not to be wife to be fevere.
True wisdom may fome gallantry admit,
And foften bufinefs with the charms of wit.
These peaceful triumphs with your cares you
bought,
And from the midst of fighting nations brought.
You only hear it thunder from afar,
And fit in peace the arbiter of war:
Peace, the loath'd manna, which hot brains defpife.
You knew its worth, and made it early prize:
And in its happy leisure fit and fee
The promises of more felicity:
Two glorious nymphs of your own godlike line,
Whofe morning rays like noontide ftrike and shine:
Whom you to fupplant monarchs shall dispose, To bind your friends, and to difarm your foes.
They feem not of heaven's making, but their own,
Thofe naufeous harlequins in farce may pass;
But there goes more to a fubftantial afs:
Something of man must be expos'd to view,
That, gallants, they may more refemble you.
Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ,
The ladies would miftake him for a wit;
And, when he fings, talks loud, and cocks, would cry,
I vow, methinks, he's pretty company:
So brifk, fo gay, fo travell'd, fo refin'd,
As he took pains to graff upon his kind.
True fops help nature's work, and go to school,
To file and finish God Almighty's fool.
Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him can call
He's knight o'th'fhire, and represents ye
From each he meets he culls whate'er he can;
Legion's his name, a people in a man.
His bulky folly gathers as it goes,
His various modes from various fathers follow; One taught the tofs, and one the new French wallow: His fword-knot this, his cravat that defign'd; And this, the yard-long fnake he twirls behind. From one the facred periwig he gain'd,
Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat prophan'd.
Another's diving bow he did adore,
Which with a fhog cafts all the hair before,
Till he with full decorum brings it back,
And rises with a water-spaniel shake.
As for his fongs, the ladies dear delight,
These fure he took from most of you who write.
Yet ev'ry man is fafe from what he fear'd;
For no one fool is hunted from the herd.
MITHRIDATES, King of PONTUS.
'OU'VE feen a pair of faithful lovers die :
you care; for most of you will
'Twas a juft judgment on their conftancy.
For, heaven be thank'd, we live in such an age,
When no man dies for love, but on the stage:
And e'en those martyrs are but rare in plays;
A curfed fign how much true faith decays.
Love is no more a violent defire;
'Tis a meer metaphor, a painted fire.
In all our fex, the name examin'd well,
*Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell.
In woman, 'tis of fubtle int'rest made :
Curfe on the punk that made it first a trade!
She firft did wit's prerogative remove,
And made a fool prefume to prate of love.
Let honor and preferment go for gold;
But glorious beauty is not to be fold;
Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate fo high,
That nothing but adoring it should buy.
Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare;
They purchase but fophifticated ware.
'Tis prodigality that buys deceit,
Where both the giver and the taker cheat.
Men but refine on the old half-crown way;
And women fight, like Swiffers, for their
Eaven fave ye, gallants, and this hopeful age;
Heaven five ye, downfal popeful
Η
Y'are welcome to the downfal of the stage:
The fools have labor'd long in their vocation;
And vice, the manufacture of the nation,
O'erftocks the town fo much, and thrives fo well,
That fops and knaves grow drugs, and will not fell.
In vain our wares on theatres are fhown,
When each has a plantation of his own.
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