That Paris' apple stood confess'd,
Or Leda's egg, or Chloe's breast.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece;
'And live,' said he, 'the arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I

May in our rival talents vie;

Howe'er our works may have express'd
Who truest drew, or colour'd best;
When he beheld my flowing line,

He found, at least, I could design;
And from his artful round, I grant,
That he with perfect skill can paint.'
The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my Tale;
That the distinguish'd part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,
Should in life's visit leave their name
In characters, which may proclaim
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their art's and country's praise;
And in their working took great care
That all was full, and round, and fair.

HANS CARVEL.

HANS Carvel, impotent and old,
Married a lass of London mould:
Handsome enough; extremely gay;
Lov'd music, company, and play:
High flights she had, and wit at will,
And so her tongue lay seldom still;

For in all visits who but she
To argue or to repartee?

She made it plain that human passion'
Was order'd by predestination;
That if weak women went astray,
Their stars were more in fault than they.
Whole tragedies she had by heart;
Enter'd into Roxana's part;

To triumph in her rival's blood,
The action certainly was good.
How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!
Oh, that dear conqueror of the world!
She pitied Betterton in age,

That ridicul'd the godlike rage.

She, first of all the Town, was told Where newest India things were sold; So in a morning, without bodice, Slipt sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's To cheapen tea, to buy a screen; What else could so much virtue mean? For, to prevent the least reproach, Betty went with her in the coach. But when no very great affair Excited her peculiar care, She without fail was wak'd at ten, Drank chocolate, then slept again : At twelve she rose; with much ado Her clothes were huddled on by two: Then, does my lady dine at home?' 'Yes, sure;-but is the Colonel come? Next, how to spend the afternoon, And not come home again too soon; The 'Change, the city, or the play, As each was proper for the day;

A turn in summer to Hyde-Park,
When it grew tolerably dark.

Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain;
Strange fancies come in Hans's brain :
He thought of what he did not name,
And would reform, but durst not blame.
At first he, therefore, preach'd his wife
The comforts of a pious life;

Told her how transient beauty was;
That all must die, and flesh was grass :
He bought her sermons, psalms, and graces,
And doubled down the useful places:
But still the weight of worldly care
Allow'd her little time for pray'r;
And Cleopatra* was read o'er,

While Scot, and Wake,‡ and twenty more,
That teach one to deny one's self,
Stood unmolested on the shelf.
An untouch'd Bible grac'd her toilet.
No fear that thumb of her's should spoil it.
In short, the trade was still the same;
The Dame went out, the Colonel came.
'What's to be done? poor Carvel cried;
'Another battery must be tried:
What if to spells I had recourse?
"Tis but to hinder something worse.
The end must justify the means;
He only sins who ill intends:
Since, therefore, 'tis to combat evil,
'Tis lawful to employ the devil.'

* A novel, much read by the ladies at that time.
Dr. John Scot, author of the Christian Life.
Dr. William Wake, Archbishop of Canterbury.

Forthwith the devil did appear,

(For name him, and he's always near)
Not in the shape in which he plies
At miss's elbow when she lies,
Or stands before the nursery doors,
To take the naughty boy that roars;
But, without saucer eye or claw,
Like a grave barrister at law.

Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief,'

The devil says; 'I bring relief.'

Relief!' says Hans;' 'pray let me crave

Your name, sir ?

Satan.'- Sir, your slave.

I did not look upon your feet;

You'll pardon me-Aye, now I see't.

And pray, sir, when came you from hell?
Our friends there, did you leave them well?
All well; but, pr'ythee, honest Hans,'
Says Satan, leave your complaisance :
The truth is this; I cannot stay
Flaring in sunshine all the day,
For, entre nous, we hellish sprites
Love more the fresco of the nights,
And oft'ner our receipts convey
In dreams, than any other way.
I tell you, therefore, as a friend,

Ere morning dawns your fears shall end:
Go then, this evening, Master Carvel,

Lay down your fowls, and broach your barrel;
Let friends and wine dissolve your care,

Whilst I the great receipt prepare

To-night I'll bring it, by my faith;
Believe for once what Satan saith.'

Away went Hans; glad not a little;
Obey'd the devil to a tittle:

Invited friends some half a dozen,

The Col❜nel and my Lady's cousin.

The meat was serv'd, the bowls were crown'd,
Catches were sung, and healths went round;
Barbadoes' waters for the close;

Till Hans had fairly got his dose :
The Col❜nel toasted, to the best;
The Dame mov'd off to be undress'd:

The chimes went twelve; the guests withdrew;

But when, or how, Hans hardly knew :
Some modern anecdotes aver

He nodded in his elbow-chair;

From thence was carried off to bed;
John held his heels, and Nan his head;
My Lady was disturb'd; new sorrow!
Which Hans must answer for to-morrow.
In bed then view this happy pair,
And think how Hymen triumph'd there:
Hans, fast asleep, as soon as laid,
The duty of the night unpaid;

The waking Dame, with thoughts oppress'd,
That made her hate both him and rest:

By such a husband, such a wife.
'Twas Acme's and Septimeus' life:
The lady sigh'd; the lover snor'd;
The punctual devil kept his word;
Appear'd to honest Hans again,
But not at all by Madam seen;
And giving him a magic ring,
Fit for the finger of a king,
'Dear Hans,' said he, this jewel take,
And wear it long for Satan's sake;
"Twill do your business to a hair;
For long as you this ring shall wear,