But she'll plague you, and vex you,
Distract and perplex you;
False-hearted and ranging,
Unsettled and changing,

What then do you think, she is like?
Like a sand? like a rock?

Like a wheel? like a clock?

Ay, a clock that is always at strike.
Her head's like the island folks tell on,
Which nothing but monkeys can dwell on ;
Her heart's like a lemon-so nice
She carves for each lover a slice;
In truth she's to me,

Like the wind, like the sea,

Whose raging will hearken to no man;
Like a mill, like a pill,

Like a flail, like a whale,

Like an ass, like a glass

Whose image is constant to no man;

Like a shower, like a flower,

Like a fly, like a pie,

Like a pea, like a flea,

Like a thief, like-in brief,

She's like nothing on earth-but a woman!

Unknown.

CXXXVI.

THE TOWN AND COUNTRY MOUSE.

A Fragment.

ONCE on a time, so runs the fable,
A country mouse, right hospitable,
Received a town mouse at his board,
Just as a farmer might a lord.
A frugal mouse, upon the whole,
Yet loved his friend, and had a soul,
Knew what was handsome, and could do't,
On just occasion, "coûte qui coûte."
He brought him bacon, nothing lean,
Pudding, that might have pleased a Dean;
Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make,
But wish'd it Stilton for his sake;

Yet, to his guest though no ways sparing,
He ate himself the rind and paring.
Our courtier scarce could touch a bit,
But show'd his breeding and his wit;
He did his best to seem to eat,

And cried, "I vow, you're mighty neat.
"But Lord, my friend, this savage scene!
"For God's sake, come and live with men :
"Consider, mice, like men, must die,
"Both small and great, both you and I;
"Then spend your life in joy and sport,
"(This doctrine, friend, I learnt at court)."
The veriest hermit in the nation

May yield, God knows, to strong temptation.
Away they came, through thick and thin,
To a tall house near Lincoln's-Inn:
('Twas on the night of a debate,
When all their Lordships had sat late).
Behold the place, where if a poet
Shined in description, he might show it;
Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls,
And tips with silver all the walls;
Palladian walls, Venetian doors,
Grotesco roofs, and stucco floors:
But let it, in a word, be said,
The moon was up, and men a-bed,
The napkins white, the carpet red :
The guests withdrawn had left the treat,
And down the mice sat, tête-à-tête.

Our courtier walks from dish to dish,
Tastes for his friend of fowl and fish ;
Tells all their names, lays down the law,
Que ça est bon! Ah goutez ça!

66

66

"That jelly's rich, this Malmsey's healing, Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in." Was ever such a happy swain?

He stuffs, and swills, and stuffs again. "I'm quite asham'd-'tis mighty rude "To eat so much-but all's so good. "I have a thousand thanks to give

'My Lord alone knows how to live." No sooner said, than from the hall Rush chaplain, butler, dogs and all: "A rat, a rat! clap to the door"

The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
O for the heart of Homer's mice,

Or gods to save them in a trice!

"An't please your honour," quoth the peasant, "This same dessert is not so pleasant:

"Give me again my hollow tree,

"A crust of bread, and liberty!"

Alexander Pope.

CXXXVII.

THE ENTAIL.

IN a fair summer's radiant morn
A Butterfly, divinely born,

Whose lineage dated from the mud
Of Noah's or Deucalion's flood,
Long hovering round a perfumed lawn,
By various gusts of odour drawn,
At last establish'd his repose
On the rich bosom of a Rose.

The palace pleased the lordly guest;
What insect owned a prouder nest?
The dewy leaves luxurious shed
Their balmy odours o'er his head,
And with their silken tap'stry fold
His limbs enthroned on central gold,
He thinks the thorns embattled round
To guard his lovely castle's mound,
And all the bushes' wide domain
Subservient to his fancied reign.

Such ample blessings swell'd the Fly,
Yet in his mind's capacious eye,
He roll'd the change of mortal things;
The common fate of Flies and Kings.
With grief he saw how lands and honours
Are apt to slide to various owners;
Where Mowbrays dwelt, now grocers dwell,
And how Cits buy what Barons sell.
"Great Phoebus, Patriarch of my line,
Avert such shame from sons of thine!
To them confirm these roofs," he said;
And then he swore an oath so dread,

The stoutest wasp that wears a sword
Had trembled to have heard the word!

'If Law can rivet down Entails,

These manors ne'er shall pass to Snails,
I swear "-and then he smote his ermine-
"These towers were never built for vermin."

A Caterpillar grovell'd near,

A subtle slow Conveyancer,

Who, summoned, waddles with his quill
To draw the haughty Insect's will.
None but his heirs must own the spot,
Begotten, or to be begot;

Each leaf he binds, each bud he ties
To eggs of eggs of Butterflies.

When lo! how Fortune loves to tease
Those who would dictate her decrees!
A wanton boy was passing by;
The wanton child beheld the Fly,
And eager ran to seize the prey—
But, too impetuous in his play,
Crush'd the proud tenant of an hour,
And swept away the Mansion-flower.

Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford.

CXXXVIII.

ON A HALFPENNY WHICH A YOUNG LADY
GAVE A BEGGAR, AND WHICH THE AUTHOR
REDEEMED FOR HALF-A-CROWN.

DEAR little, pretty, favourite ore,
That once increased Gloriana's store;
That lay within her bosom blest,
Gods might have envied thee thy rest!

I've read, imperial Jove of old

For love transform'd himself to gold:
And why for a more lovely lass
May he not now have lurk'd in brass?
O, rather than from her he'd part
He'd shut that charitable heart,
That heart whose goodness nothing less
Than his vast power could dispossess.

From Gloriana's gentle touch
Thy mighty value now is such,
That thou to me art worth alone
More than his medals are to Sloane.

Henry Fielding.

CXXXIX.

I LATELY Vow'd, but 'twas in haste,
That I no more would court

The joys that seem when they are past
As dull as they are short.

I oft to hate my mistress swear,
But soon my weakness find;

I make my oaths when she's severe,

But break them when she's kind.

John Oldmixon.

CXL.

ON BEAU NASH'S PICTURE AT BATH, WHICH ONCE STOOD BETWEEN THE BUSTS OF NEWTON AND POPE.

THIS picture placed these busts between,

Gives satire its full strength;

Wisdom and wit are seldom seen,

But folly at full length.

Mrs. Jane Brereton.

CXLI.

ON THE ABOVE LINES.

IMMORTAL Newton never spoke
More truth than here you'll find;
Nor Pope himself ere penn'd a joke,
Severer on mankind.

Philip Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield.