Then mark, my looser hand may fit
The lines, too coarse for love to hit.

'Tis said that woman, prone to changing,
Through all the rounds of folly ranging,
On life's uncertain ocean riding,
Nor reason, rule, nor rudder guiding,
Is like the comet's wand'ring light,
Eccentric, ominous, and bright;
Trackless, and shifting as the wind;
A sea, whose fathom none can find;
A moon, still changing and revolving;
A riddle, past all human solving;
A bliss, a plague, a heaven, a hell;
Asomething that no man can tell.
Now learn a secret from a friend,
But keep your counsel, and attend.

Though in their tempers thought so distant,
Nor with their sex nor selves consistent,
"Tis but the difference of a name,
And ev'ry woman is the same;
For as the world, however varied,
And through unnumber'd changes carried,
Of elemental modes and forms,

Clouds, meteors, colors, calms, and storms,
Though in a thousand suits array'd,
Is of one subject matter made;
So, Sir, a woman's constitution,
The world's enigma finds solution
And let her form be what you will,
I am the subject essence still.

With the first spark of female sense,
The speck of being, I commence,
Within the womb make fresh advances,
And dictate future qualms and fancies;
Thence in the growing form expand,
With childhood travel hand in hand,
And give a taste for all their joys
In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noise.
And now, familiar and unaw'd,
I send the flutt'ring soul abroad,
Prais'd for her shape, her air, her mien,
The little goddess, and the queen,
Takes at her infant shrine oblation,
And drinks sweet draughts of adulation.
Now blooming, tall, erect, and fair,
To dress becomes her darling care;
The realins of beauty then I bound;
I swell the hoop's enchanted round,
Shrink in the waist's descending size,
Heav'd in the snowy bosom rise,
High on the flowing lappet sail,
Or, curl'd in tresses, kiss the gale.
Then to her glass I lead the fair,
And show the lovely idol there;
Where struck, as by divine emotion,
She bows with most sincere devotion,
And, numb'ring ev'ry beauty o'er,
In secret bids the world adore.

Then all her parking and parading,
Coquetting, dancing, masquerading;

For balls, plays, courts, and crowds what passion,
And churches, sometimes,-if the fashion;
For woman's sense of right and wrong
Is rul'd by the almighty throng;

Still turns to each meander tame,
And swims the straw of ev'ry stream;
Her soul intrinsic worth rejects,
Accomplish'd only in defects;
Such excellence is her ambition,
Folly her wisest acquisition;
And e'en from pity and disdain
She'll cull some reason to be vain.

Thus, Sir, from ev'ry form and feature, The wealth and wants of female nature, And ev'n from vice, which you'd admire, I gather fuel to my fire;

And on the very base of shame
Erect my monument of fame.

Let me another truth attempt,
Of which your godship has not dreamt.

Those shining virtues which you muster,
Whence think you they derive their lustre ?
From native honor and devotion?
O yes, a mighty likely notion !

Trust me, from titled dames to spinners,
'Tis I make saints, whoe'er make sinners;
"Tis I instruct them to withdraw,
And hold presumptuous man in awe;
For female worth, as I inspire,
In just degrees, still mounts the higher;
And virtue, so extremely nice,
Demands long toil and mighty price.
Like Samson's pillars, fix'd elate,
I bear the sex's tott'ring state;
Sap these, and in a moment's space,
Down sinks the fabric to its base.

Alike from titles and from toys
I spring the fount of female joys;
In ev'ry widow, wife, and miss,
The sole artificer of bliss;

For them each topic I explore,
I cleave the sand of ev'ry shore,
To them uniting Indias sail,
Sabaa breathes her farthest gale ;
For them the bullion I refine,
Dig sense and virtue from the mine,
And from the bowels of invention
Spin out the various arts you mention.

Nor bliss alone my pow'rs bestow,
They hold the sov'reign balm of woe.
Beyond the stoic's boasted art
I soothe the heavings of the heart;
To pain give splendor and relief,
And gild the pallid face of grief.

Alike the palace and the plain
Admit the glories of my reign;
Through ev'ry age, in ev'ry nation,
Taste, talents, tempers, state, and station.
Whate'er a woman says, I say;
Whate'er a woman spends, I pay;
Alike I fill and empty bags,
Flutter in finery and rags;

With light coquettes through folly range,
And with the proud disdain to change.

And now you'd think, 'twixt you and I,
That things were ripe for a reply-
But soft, and while I'm in the mood,
Kindly permit me, to conclude,

Their utmost mazes to unravel,

And touch the farthest step they travel.
When ev'ry pleasure's run aground,
And folly tir'd through many a round,
The nymph, conceiving discontent hence,
May ripen to an hour's repentance,
And vapors, shed in pious moisture,
Dismiss her to a church or cloister;
Then on I lead her, with devotion
Conspicuous in her dress and motion,
Inspire the heavenly-breathing air,
Roll up the lucid eye in pray'r,
Soften the voice, and in the face
Look melting harmony and grace.
Thus far extends my friendly pow‍r,
Nor quits her in her latest hour;
The couch of decent pain I spread,
In form recline her languid head;
Her thoughts I methodise in death,
And part not with her parting breath;
Then do I set, in order bright,
A length of fun'ral pomp to sight,
The glitt'ring tapers and attire,
The plumes that whiten o'er the bier ;
And last, presenting to her eye
Angelic fineries on high,

To scenes of painted bliss I waft her,
And form the heav'n she hopes hereafter.
In truth, rejoin'd love's gentle god,
You've gone a tedious length of road,
And, strange, in all the toilsome way
No house of kind refreshment lay;

No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted
To hold her from her sex exempted.

For one we'll never quarrel, man;
Take her, and keep her, if you can;
And pleas'd I yield to your petition,
Since ev'ry fair, by such permission,
Will hold herself the one selected;
And so my system stands protected.

O! deaf to virtue, deaf to glory,
To truths divinely vouch'd in story!
The godhead in his zeal return'd,
And, kindling at her malice, burn'd:
Then sweetly rais'd his voice, and told
Of heav'nly nymphs, rever'd of old;
Hypsipyle, who sav'd her sire,
And Portia's love, approv'd by fire;
Alike Penelope was quoted,
Nor laurell'd Daphne pass'd unnoted,
Nor Laodamia's fatal garter,
Nor fam'd Lucretia, honor's martyr,
Alceste's voluntary steel,

And Catharine, smiling on the wheel.
But who can hope to plant conviction
Where cavil grows on contradiction?
Some she evades or disavows,
Demurs to all, and none allows
A kind of ancient thing call'd fables!
And thus the goddess turn'd the tables.
Now both in argument grew high,
And choler flash'd from either eye;
Nor wonder each refus'd to yield
The conquest of so fair a field.

When happily arriv'd in view

A goddess whom our grand-dames knew,
Of aspect grave, and sober gait,
Majestic, awful, and sedate,

As heaven's autumnal eve serene
When not a cloud o'ercasts the scene;
Once Prudence call'd, a matron fam'd,
And in old Rome Cornelia nam'd.
Quick at a venture both agree
To leave their strife to her decree.

And now by each the facts were stated,
In form and manner as related.
The case was short. They crav'd opinion,
Which held o'er females chief dominion :
When thus the goddess, answ'ring mild,
First shook her gracious head, and smil'd:
Alas, how willing to comply,
Yet how unfit a judge am I
In times of golden date, 'tis true,
I shar'd the fickle sex with you;
But from their presence long precluded,
Or held as one whose form intruded,
Full fifty annual suns can tell,
Prudence has bid the sex farewell.

In this dilemma what to do,
Or who to think of, neither knew;
For both, still biass'd in opinion,
And arrogant of sole dominion,
Were forc'd to hold the case compounded,
Or leave the quarrel where they found it.
When in the nick, a rural fair,
Of inexperienc'd gait and air,
Who ne'er had cross'd the neighb'ring lake,
Nor seen the world beyond a wake,
With cambric coif, and kerchief clean,
Tripp'd lightly by them o'er the green.
Now, now! cried love's triumphant child,
And at approaching conquest smil'd,
If Vanity will once be guided,
Our diff'rence soon may be decided;
Behold yon wench, a fit occasion
To try your force of gay persuasion.
Go you while I retire aloof,

Go, put those boasted pow'rs to proof;
And if your prevalence of art
Transcends my yet unerring dart,
I give the fav'rite contest o'er,
And ne'er will boast my empire more.

At once, so said, and so consented;
And well our goddess seem'd contented;
Nor pausing made a moment's stand,
But tripp'd, and took the girl in hand.

Meanwhile the godhead, unalarm'd,
As one to each occasion arm'd,
Forth from his quiver cull'd a dart,
That erst had wounded many a heart;
Then, bending, drew it to the head:
The bowstring twang'd, the arrow fled,
And to her secret soul addrest,
Transfix'd the whiteness of her breast.

But here the dame, whose guardian care
Had to a moment watch'd the fair,
At once her pocket-mirror drew,
And held the wonder full in view;

As quickly rang'd in order bright,
A thousand beauties rush to sight,
A world of charms, till now unknown,,
A world reveal'd to her alone;
Enraptur'd stands the love-sick maid,
Suspended o'er the darling shade,
Here only fixes to admire,
And centres ev'ry fond desire.

$283. The Young Lady and Looking-Glass.

YE deep philosophers, who can
Explain that various creature, Man,
Say, is there any point so nice
As that of off ring an advice?
To bid your friend his errors mend,
Is almost certain to offend :
Though you in softest terms advise,
Confess him good, admit him wise,
In vain you sweeten the discourse,
He thinks you call him fool, or worse.
You paint his character, and try
If he will own it, and apply;
Without a name reprove and warn;
Here none are hurt, and all may learn:
This too must fail; the picture shown,
No man will take it for his own.
In moral lectures treat the case,
Say this is honest, that is base;
In conversation none will bear it ;
And for the pupil, few come near it.
And is there then no other way
A moral lesson to convey?
Must all that shall attempt to teach,
Admonish, satirize, or preach?
Yes, there is one, an ancient art,
By sages found to reach the heart,
Ere science, with distinctions nice,
Had fix'd what virtue is, and vice.
Inventing all the various names
On which the moralist declaims:
They would by simple tales advise,
Which took the hearer by surprise;
Aların'd his conscience unprepar'd,
Ere pride had put it on its guard;
And made him from himself receive
The lessons which they meant to give.
That this device will oft prevail,
And gain its end when others fail,
If any shall pretend to doubt,
The tale which follows makes it out.

There was a little stubborn dame,
Whom no authority could tame;
Restive, by long indulgence, grown,
No will she minded but her own:
At trifles oft she'd scold and fret,
Then in a corner take a seat,
And, sourly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.
Papa all softer arts had tried,
And sharper remedies applied;
But both were vain; for ev'ry course

He took, still made her worse and worse.

Wilkie.

'Tis strange to think how female wit
So oft should make a lucky hit;
When man, with all his high pretence
To deeper judgement, sounder sense,
Will err, and measures false pursue-
'Tis very strange, I own, but true.-
Mamma observ'd the rising lass
By stealth retiring to the glass,
To practise little airs unseen,
In the true genius of thirteen:
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humor of the maid;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, against the seat
Which Jessy us'd for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,
A looking-glass was straight suspended,
That it might show her how deform'd
She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd;
And warn her, as she priz'd her beauty,
To bend her humor to her duty.
All this the looking-glass achiev'd;
Its threats were minded and believ'd.
The Maid, who spurn'd at all advice,
Grew tame and gentle in a trice.
So, when all other means had fail'd,
The silent monitor prevail'd.

Thus, Fable to the human kind
Presents an image of the mind;
It is a mirror, where we spy
At large our own deformity;

And learn of course those faults to mend,
Which but to mention would offend.

§ 284. The Boy and the Rainbow. Wilkie.
DECLARE, ye sages, if ye find
'Mongst animals of ev'ry kind,
Of each condition, sort, and size,
From whales and elephants to flies,
A creature that mistakes his plan,
And errs, so constantly as Man.
Each kind pursues his proper good,
And seeks for pleasure, rest, and food:
As nature points, and never errs
In what it chooses and prefers;
Man only blunders, though possest
Of talents far above the rest.

Descend to instances, and try;
An ox will scarce attempt to fly,
Or leave his pasture in the wood,
With fishes to explore the flood.
Man only acts, of ev'ry creature,
In opposition to his nature.
The happiness of human kind
Consists in rectitude of mind;
A will subdu'd to reason's sway,
And passions practis'd to obey;
An open and a gen'rous heart,
Refin'd from selfishness and art;
Patience, which mocks at fortune's pow'r,
And wisdom never sad nor sour:
In these consists our proper bliss;
Else Plato reasons much amiss:

But foolish mortals still pursue
False happiness in place of true;
Ambition serves us for a guide,
Or lust, or avarice, or pride;
While Reason no assent can gain,
And Revelation warns in vain.
Hence through our lives, in ev'ry stage,
From infancy itself to age,

A happiness we toil to find,
Which still avoids us like the wind;
E'en when we think the prize our own,
At once 'tis vanish'd, lost, and gone.
You'll ask me why I thus rehearse
All Epictetus in my verse?
And if I fondly hope to please,
With dry reflections, such as these,
So trite, so hackney'd, and so stale?
I'll take the hint, and tell a tale.

One evening, as a simple swain
His flock attended on the plain,
The shining bow he chanc'd to spy,
Which warns us when a show'r is nigh.
With brightest rays it seem'd to glow:
Its distance eighty yards or so.
This bumpkin had, it seems, been told
The story of the cup of gold,
Which fame reports is to be found
Just where the Rainbow meets the ground;
He therefore felt a sudden itch
To seise the goblet, and be rich;
Hoping, yet hopes are oft but vain,
No more to toil through wind and rain,
But sit indulging by the fire,
'Midst ease and plenty, like a 'squire.
He mark'd the very spot of land
On which the Rainbow seem'd to stand,
And, stepping forwards at his leisure,
Expected to have found the treasure.
But as he mov'd, the color'd ray
Still chang'd its place, and slipp'd away,
As seeming his approach to shun:
From walking he began to run;
But all in vain, it still withdrew
As nimbly as he could pursue.
At last, through many a bog and lake,
Rough craggy road, and thorny brake,
It led the easy fool, till night
Approach'd, then vanish'd in his sight,
And left him to compute his gains,
With nought but labor for his pains.

§ 285. The Rake and the Hermit.
A YOUTH, a pupil of the town,
Philosopher and atheist grown,
Benighted once upon the road,
Found out a hermit's lone abode,
Whose hospitality in need
Reliev'd the trav'ller and his steed;
For both sufficiently were tir'd,
Well drench'd in ditches, and bemir'd.
Hunger the first attention claims;
Upon the coals a rasher flames;
Dry crusts, and liquor something stale,
Were added to make up a meal;

Wilkie.

At which our trav'ller, as he sat,
By intervals began to chat.—

'Tis odd, quoth he, to think what strains
Of folly governs some folks' brains:
What makes you choose this wild abode ?
You'll say, 'Tis to converse with God.
Alas, I fear, 'tis all a whim;

You never saw or spoke with him.
They talk of Providence's pow'r,
And say, it rules us ev'ry hour:
To me all nature seems confusion,
And such weak fancies mere delusion.
Say, if it rul'd and govern'd right,
Could there be such a thing as night;
Which, when the sun has left the skies,
Puts all things in a deep disguise?
If then a trav'ller chance to stray,
The least step from the public way,
He's soon in endless mazes lost,
As I have found it to my cost.
Besides, the gloom which nature wears
Assists imaginary fears,

Of ghosts and goblins from the waves,
Of sulph'rous lakes and yawning graves;
All sprung from superstitious seed,
Like other maxims of the creed.
For my part, I reject the tales
Which faith suggests when reason fails;
And reason nothing understands,
Unwarranted by eyes and hands.
These subtle essences, like wind,

Which some have dreamt of, and call mind,
It ne'er admits; nor joins the lie,
Which says men rot, but never die.
It holds all future things in doubt,
And therefore wisely leaves them out;
Suggesting what is worth our care,
To take things present as they are,
Our wisest course: the rest is folly,
The fruit of spleen and melancholy.-

Sir, quoth the Hermit, I agree
That Reason still our guide should be;
And will admit her as the test
Of what is true, and what is best;
But Reason sure would blush for shame
At what you mention in her name;
Her dictates are sublime and holy;
Impiety's the child of Folly;

Reason with measur'd steps and slow,
To things above to things below,
Ascends, and guides us through her sphere
With caution, vigilance, and care.
Faith in the utmost frontier stands,
And Reason puts us in her hands;
But not till her commission giv'n
Is found authentic, and from Heav'n.
"Tis strange that man, a reas'ning creature,
Should miss a God, in viewing nature;
Whose high perfections are display'd
In ev'ry thing his hands have made.
E'en when we think their traces lost,
When found again, we see them most.
The night itself, which you would blame
As something wrong in nature's frame,

Is but a curtain to invest

Her weary children when at rest;
Like that which mothers draw to keep
The light off from a child asleep.
Besides, the fears which darkness breeds
(At least augments) in vulgar heads,
Are far from useless: when the mind
Is narrow, and to earth confin'd,
They make the worldling think with pain
On frauds, and oaths, and ill-got gain;
Force from the ruffian's hand the knife
Just rais'd against his neighbour's life;
And in defence of virtue's cause,
Assist each sanction of the laws.
But souls serene, where wisdom dwells,
And superstitious dread expels,
The silent majesty of night
Excites to take a nobler flight:
With saints and angels to explore
The wonders of creating pow'r;
And lifts on contemplation's wings
Above the sphere of mortal things.
Walk forth, and tread those dewy plains
Where night in awful silence reigns;
The sky's serene, the air is still,
The woods stand listening on each hill,
To catch the sounds that sink and swell,
Wide-floating from the ev'ning bell;
While foxes howl, and beetles hum,
Sounds which make silence still more dumb;
And try if folly, rash and rude,
Dare on the sacred hour intrude.
Then turn your eyes to heav'n's broad frame,
Attempt to quote those lights by name
Which shine so thick, and spread so far;
Conceive a sun in ev'ry star,

Round which unnumber'd planets roll,
While comets shoot athwart the whole;
From system still to system ranging,
Their various benefits exchanging,
And shaking from their flaming hair
The things most needed ev'ry where.-
Explore this glorious scene, and say
That night discovers less than day;
That 'tis quite useless, and a sign
That chance disposes, not design.
Whoe'er maintains it, I'll pronounce
Him either mad, or else a dunce;
For reason, though 'tis far from strong,
Will soon find out that nothing's wrong,
From signs and evidences clear
Of wise contrivance ev'ry where.

The Hermit ended, and the youth
Recame a convert to the truth;
At least he yielded, and confess'd
That all was order'd for the best.

Would often boast his matchless skill
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he pass'd the gazing throng
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they express'd

Was praise and transport to his breast.

At length, quite vain, he needs would show
His master what his art could do ;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shade.

The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the sight;
The Muses drop the learned lyre,

And to their inmost shades retire.
Howe'er the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car;
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gathering crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain
The self-same track he marks again;
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seis'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
E'en bearded sages hail'd the boy,
And all but Plato gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught
Alas! unhappy youth, he cried,
Expect no praise from me (and sigh'd).
With indignation I survey

his

Such skill and judgement thrown away.
The time profusely squander'd there
On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expence,
Had taught thee honor, virtue, sense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate
To govern men, and guide the state.

eye,

§ 287. The Bee, the Ant, and the Sparrow. Dr. Cotton. Addressed to Phoebe and Kitty C. at BoardingSchool.

My dears, 'tis said, in days of old

That beasts could talk, and birds could scold:
But now, it seems, the human race
Alone engross the speaker's place.
Yet lately, if report be true,

(And much the tale relates to you)
There met a Sparrow, Ant, and Bee,
Which reason'd and convers'd as we.

Who reads my page will doubtless grant
That Phe's the wise industrious Ant;
And all with half an eye may see
That Kitty is the busy Bee.

Here then are two-but where's the third?
Go search the school, you'll find the bird.