Who with much pains, exerting all his sense,
Can range aright his shillings, pounds, and pence.
The booby father craves a booby son,

And by Heav'n's blessing thinks himself undone.
Wants of all kinds are made to fame a plea,
One learns to lisp, another not to see;

Miss D----, tottering, catches at your hand;
Was ever thing so pretty bora to stand?

170

Whilst these what Nature gave disown, thro' pride,

Others affect what Nature has deny'd;

What Nature has deny'd fools will pursue,

As apes are ever walking upon two.

Crassus, a grateful sage, our awe and sport! Supports grave forms, for forms the sage support: He hems, and cries, with an important air, "If yonder clouds withdraw it will be fair:" Then quotes the Stagirite to prove it true, And adds, "The learn'd delight in something new.' Is't not enough the blockhead scarce can read, But must he wisely look, and gravely plead? As far a formalist from wisdom sits,

In judging eyes, as libertines from wits.

These subtle wights (so blind are mortal men,
Tho' Satire couch them with her keenest pen)
For ever will hang out a solemn face,
To put off nonsense with a better grace;
As pedlars with some hero's head make bold,
Illustrious mark! where pins are to be sold.

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190

What's the bent brow, or neck in thought reclin'd? The body's wisdom to conceal the mind.

A man of sense can artifice disdain,
As men of wealth may venture to go plain;
And be this truth eternal ne'er forgot,
Solemnity's a cover for a sót.

I find the fool when I behold the skreen,
For 'tis the wise man's interest to be seen.
Hence, ------, that openness of heart,
And just disdain for that poor mimic art;
Hence (manly praise!) that manner, nobly free,
Which all admire, and I commend, in thee.

With gen'rous scorn how oft' hast thou survey'd
Of court and town the noontide masquerade,
Where swarms of knaves the vizor quite disgrace,
And hide secure behind a naked face?
Where Nature's end of language is declin'd,
And men talk only to conceal the mind;
Where gen'rous hearts the greatest hazard run,
And he who trusts a brother is undone ?

These all their care extend on outward show
For wealth and fame; for fame alone the beau.
Of late at White's was young Florello seen,
How blank his look? how discompos'd his mien ?
So hard it proves in grief sincere to feign!
Sunk were his spirits, for his coat was plain.
Next day his breast regain'd its wonted peace;

His health was mended with a silver lace.

210

A curious artist long inur'd to toils

Of gentler sort, with combs, and fragrant oils,
Whether by chance, or by some god inspir'd,
So touch'd his curls, his mighty soul was fir'd.
The well-swoln ties an equal homage claim,
And either shoulder has its share of fame;
His sumptuous watchcase, tho' conceal'd it lies,
Like a good conscience, solid joys supplies.
He only thinks himself (so far from vain!)
St---pe in wit, in breeding D---1---ne.
"Whene'er, by seeming chance, he throws his eye
On mirrors that reflect his Tyrian dye,

220

130

With how sublime a transport leaps his heart?
But Fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
In active measures, brought from France, he wheels,
And triumphs, conscious of his learned heels.

So have I seen, on some bright summer's day,
A calf of genius, debonair and gay,

Dance on the bank, as if inspir'd by Fame,
Fond of the pretty fellow in the stream.

Morose is sunk with shame whene'er surpris'd
In linen clean, or peruke undisguis'd:
No sublunary chance his vestments fear,
Valu'd like leopards, as their spots appear.

A fam'd surtout he wears, which once was blue,
And his foot swims in a capacious shoe:
One day his wife (for who can wives reclaim?)
Levell'd her barb'rous needle at his fame;

240

But open force was vain; by night she went,
And, while he slept, surpris'd the darling rent:
Where yawn'd the frieze is now become a doubt,
"And glory at one entrance, quite shut out."*

He scorns Florello, and Florello him;
This hates the filthy creature, that the prim:
Thus, in each other, both these fools despise
Their own dear selves, with undiscerning eyes;
Their methods various, but alike their aim;
The sloven and the fopling are the same.

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260

Ye Whigs and Tories! thus it fares with you,
When party-rage too warmly you pursue;
Then both club nonsense, and impetuous pride
And folly joins whom sentiments divide.
You vent your spleen, as monkeys, when they pass,
Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glass,
While both are one; and henceforth be it known,
Fools of both sides shall stand for fools alone.
"But what art thou?" methinks Florello cries;
"Of all thy species art thou only wise?"
Since smallest things can give our sins a twich,
As crossing straws retard a passing witch,
Florello! thou my monitor shalt be,

I'll conjure thus some profit out of thee,
O thou myself! abroad our counsels roam,
And, like ill husbands, take no care at home:

* Milton.

270

Thou, too, art wounded with the common dart,
And Love of Fame lies throbbing at thy heart;
And what wise means to gain it hast thou chose?
Know, Fame and Fortune both are made of prose.
Is thy ambition sweating for a rhyme,

Thou unambitious fool! at this late time?
While I a moment name, a moment 's past;
I'm nearer death in this verse than the last:
What then is to be done? be wise with speed:
A fool at forty is a fool indeed.

And what so foolish as the chase of fame?
How vain the prize? how impotent our aim?
For what are men who grasp at praise sublime,
But bubbles on the rapid stream of time,
That rise, and fall, that swell, and are no more,
Born and forgot, ten thousand in an hour?

280

End of Satire Second.