(All this was only in a dream)

And, thrusting it beyond his joint,

'Tis done, he cried: Iv'e gain'd my point.What point, said she, you ugly beast? You neither give me joy nor rest:

'Tis done.-What's done, you drunken bear? You've thrust your finger G-d knows where.

A DUTCH PROVERB.

FIRE, water, woman, are man's ruin:
Says wise professor Vander Brüin.
By flames a house I hir'd was lost
Last year, and I must pay the cost.
This spring the rains o'erflow'd my ground:
And my best Flanders mare was drown'd.
A slave I am to Clara's eyes:

The gipsy knows her power, and flies.
Fire, water, woman, are my ruin:
And great thy wisdom, Vander Brüin.

PAULO PURGANTI AND HIS WIFE:

AN HONEST, BUT A SIMPLE PAIR.

Est enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni virtute, quod deceat: quod cogitatione magis à virtute potest quàm re separari. Cic. de Off. L. 2.

BEYOND the fix'd and settled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools,
Beyond the letter of the law,

Which keeps our men and maids in awe,
The better sort should set before 'em

A grace, a manner, a decorum ;

Something, that gives their acts a light;
Makes 'em not only just, but bright;
And sets them in that open fame,
Which witty malice cannot blame.

For 'tis in life, as 'tis in painting:

Much may be right, yet much be wanting;
From lines drawn true, our eye may trace
A foot, a knee, a hand, a face:

May justly own the picture wrought
Exact to rule, exempt from fault:
Yet, if the colouring be not there,
The Titian stroke, the Guido air;
To nicest judgment show the piece;
At best 'twill only not displease:

It would not gain on Jersey's eye:
Bradford would frown, and set it by.

Thus in the picture of our mind
The action may be well design'd;
Guided by law, and bound by duty;
Yet want this Je ne sçay quoi of beauty :
And though its error may be such,

As 1Knags and Burgess cannot hit;
It yet may feel the nicer touch

Of Wycherley's or Congreve's wit.
What is this talk? replies a friend,
And where will this dry moral end?
The truth of what you here lay down
By some example should be shown.—
With all my heart, for once; read on.
An honest, but a simple pair
(And twenty other I forbear)
May serve to make this thesis clear.
A doctor of great skill and fame,
Paulo Purganti was his name,
Had a good, comely, virtuous wife;
No woman led a better life:

She to intrigues was e'en hard-hearted:
She chuckled when a bawd was carted;
And thought the nation ne'er would thrive,
Till all the whores were burnt alive.

On married men, that dar'd be bad,
She thought no mercy should be had;

1 Two divines. Knags was Lecturer of St. Giles in the Field; Burgess, a Dissenter.

They should be hang'd, or starv'd or flead,
Or serv'd like Romish priests in Swede.
In short, all lewdness she defied:
And stiff was her parochial pride.

Yet, in an honest way, the dame
Was a great lover of that same;
And could from scripture take her cue,
That husbands should give wives their due.
Her prudence did so justly steer
Between the gay and the severe,
That if in some regards she chose
To curb poor Paulo in too close;
In others she relax'd again,
And govern'd with a looser rein.

Thus though she stricty did confine
The doctor from excess of wine;
With oysters, eggs, and vermicelli,
She let him almost burst his belly:
Thus drying coffee was denied ;
But chocolate that loss supplied:
And for tobacco (who could bear it),
Filthy concomitant of claret!
(Blest revolution!) one might see
Eringo roots, and bohea tea.

She often set the doctor's band,

And strok'd his beard, and squeez'd his hand :
Kindly complain'd, that after noon

He went to pore on books too soon:
She held it wholesomer by much,

To rest a little on the couch :

About his waist in bed a-nights

She clung so close-for fear of sprites.
The Doctor understood the call;
But had not always wherewithal.
The lion's skin too short, you know
(As Plutarch's Morals finely show),
Was lengthen'd by the fox's tail;
And art supplies, where strength may fail.
Unwilling then, in arms to meet
The enemy he could not beat;
He strove to lengthen the campaign,
And save his forces by chicane.
Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus
By fair retreat grew Maximus,
Shows us, that all the warrior can do
With force inferior, is CUNCTANDO.

One day then, as the foe drew near,
With love, and joy, and life, and dear;
Our don, who knew this tittletattle
Did, sure 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 assault, unarm'd the bastion.

The doctor feign'd a strange surprise : He felt her pulse; he view'd her eyes; That beat too fast, these roll'd too quick; She was, he said, or would be sick;

He judg'd it absolutely good,

That she should purge and cleanse her blood.