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 queftion;
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, thefe roll'd too quick; he faid, or would be fick :

She was,

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 distemper of this kind
(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind),
If once it youthful blood infects,
And chiefly of the female fex,

Is fcarce 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;
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 sleep,
And won't allow him reft, though waking,

Sad

Sad ftate of matters! when we dare

Nor ask for peace, nor offer war;
Nor Livy nor Comines have fhown
What in this juncture may be done.
Grotius might own, that Paulo's cafe is
Harder, than any which he places.
Amongst his Belli and his Pacis.

He strove, alas! but strove in vain,
By dint of logick to maintain,
That all the fex was born to grieve,
Down to her Ladyfhip from Eve.

He rang'd his tropes, and preach'd-up patience,
Back'd his opinion with quotations,
Divines and Moralifts; and run ye on
Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan
As much in vain he bid her try
To fold her arms, to close her eye ;
Telling her, rest would do her good,
If any thing in nature could :

So held the Greeks quite down from Galen,
Mafters and princes of the calling:

So all our modern friends maintain

(Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane.
Reduce, my Mufe, the wandering fong:
A tale fhould never be too long.

The more he talk'd, the more she burn'd,
And figh'd, and toft, and groan'd, and turn'd':
At laft, I wish, faid fhe, my dear

(And whisper'd fomething in his ear).

You wish! wifh on, the Doctor cries:
Lord! when will womankind be wife?
What, in your waters ? are you mad?
Why poifon is not half so bad.

I'll do it but I give you warning:

-

You'll die before to-morrow morning.
'Tis kind, my dear, what you
advife;
The lady with a figh replies !
But life, you know, at best is pain;
And death is what we fhould disdain.
So do it therefore, and adieu :
For I will die for love of you.
Let wanton wives by death be fcar'd:
But, to my comfort, I'm prepar❜d.

TH

HE fceptics think, 'twas long ago,
Since gods came down incognito,

To fee who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rofe :

That, fince they gave things their beginning;
And fet this whirligig a-fpinning;
Supine they in their Heaven remain,
Exempt from passion and from pain:
And frankly leave us human elves,
To cut and fhuffle for ourselves :
To stand or walk, to rife or tumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.

The

The Poets now and Painters hold
This thefis both abfurd and bold :
And your good-natur'd gods, they say,
Defcend fome twice or thrice a-day :
Elfe all these things we toil so hard in
Would not avail one fingle farthing :
For, when the hero we rehearse,
To grace his actions and our verse;
'Tis not by dint of human thought,
That to his Latium he is brought;
Iris defcends by Fate's commands,
To guide his steps through foreign lands:
And Amphitrite clears the way
From rocks and quick-fands in the sea.
And if you fee him in a sketch
(Though drawn by Paulo or Carache),
He fhews not half his force and strength,
Strutting in armour, and at length:
That he may make his proper figure,
The piece must yet be four yards bigger:
The nymphs conduct him to the field;
One holds his fword, and one his shield:
Mars, ftanding by, afferts his quarrel;
And Fame flies after with a laurel.

These points, I fay, of fpeculation,
(As 'twere to fave or fink the nation)
Men idly-learned will difpute,
Affert, object, confirm, refute :
Each mighty angry, mighty right,
With equal arms fuftains the fight;

For, to prevent the leaft 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 flept again :
At twelve fhe rofe; with much ado
Her cloaths were huddled on by two;
Then, does my Lady dine at home?
Yes, fure! But is the Colonel come?
Next, how to spend the afternoon,
And not come home again too foon
The Change, the City, or the Play,
As each was proper for the day :
A turn in fummer 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 durft not blame, At first he therefore preach'd his wife The comforts of a pious life:

Told her, how tranfient beauty was;
That all muft die, and flesh was grafs :

While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more,

That