"Tis done. - What's done, you drunken bear?
You've thrust your finger God knows where.
IRE, water, woman, are man's ruin ;
Says wife Professor Vander Brüin.
By flames a house I hir'd was loft
Last year and I must pay the cost.
This fpring the rains o'erflow'd my ground:
And my beft Flanders mare was drown'd.
A flave I am to Clara's eyes:
The gipfy 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.
Eft enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni virtute, "quod deceat: quod cogitatione magis à virtute po"teft quàm re feparari." Cic. de Off. l. i.
EYOND the fix'd and fettled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools,
Beyond the letter of the law,
Which keeps our men and maids in awe,
The better fort should fet before 'em
A grace, a manner, a decorum;
Something, that gives their acts a light;
Makes them not only juft, but bright;
And fets 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 ftroke, the Guido air;
To niceft judgement show the piece,
At beft 'twill only not difpleafe:
It would not gain on Jerfey's eye;
Bradford would frown, and fet it by.
Thus in the picture of our mind
The action may be well defign'd;
Guided by law, and bound by duty;
Yet want this je ne fcai quoi of beauty:
And though its error may be fuch,
As Knags and Burgess cannot hit;
It yet may feel the nicer touch
Of Wicherley'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.
She to intrigues was ev'n 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 fhould be had;
They should be hang'd, or starv'd, or flead,
Or ferv'd like Romish priests in Swede.
In fhort, all lewdnefs fhe defied :
And stiff was her parochial pride.
Yet, in an honest way, the dame
Was a great lover of that fame;
And could from Scripture take her cue,
That husbands fhould give wives their due.
Her prudence did so justly steer
Between the gay and the fevere,
That if in fome regards the chofe
To curb poor Paulo in too close;
In others the relax'd again,
And govern'd. with a loofer rein.
Thus though the ftrictly did confine
The Doctor from exccfs of wine :
With oyfters, eggs, and vermicelli,
She let him almost burft his belly:
Thus drying coffee was denied ;
But chocolate that lofs fupplied:
And for tobacco (who could bear it ?),
Filthy concomitant of claret :
(Bleft revolution !) one might fee Eringo roots, and Bohea tea.
She often fet the Doctor's band,
And ftroak'd his beard, and fqueez'd his hand :
Kindly complain'd, that after noon
He went to pore on books too foon:
She held it wholefomer by much,
To reft a little on the couch :-
About his waift in bed a-nights
She clung so close for fear of fprites.
The Doctor understood the call;
But had not always wherewithal.
The lion's skin too fhort, you know,
(As Plutarch's Morals finely fhow)
Was lengthen'd by the fox's tail :
And art fupplies, where ftrength may fail.
Unwilling then in arms to meet
The enemy he could not beat;
He ftrove to lengthen the campaign,
And fave his forces by chicane.
Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus
By fair retreat grew Maximus,
Shews us, that all that 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 tittle tattle
Did, fure 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 affault, unarm'd the bastion.
The Doctor feign'd a strange surprize :
He felt her pulfe; he view'd her eyes :
That beat too faft, these roll'd too quick;
She was, he faid, or would be fick :
He judg'd it abfolutely good,
That she should purge, and cleanse her blood.
Spa waters for that end were got:
If they paft eafily or not,
What matters it? the lady's fever
Continued violent as ever.
For a diftemper of this kind
(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind),
If once it youthful blood infects, -
And chiefly of the female fex,
Is scarce remov❜d by pill or potion;
Whate'er might be our Doctor's notion.
One luckless night then, as in bed
The Doctor and the Dame were laid 3
Again this cruel fever came,
High pulfe, fhort breath, and blood in flame..
What measures shall poor Paulo keep
With Madam in this piteous taking?
She, like Macbeth, has murder'd fleep,
And won't allow him reft, though waking.
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