A new edition of them send,
Before our tottering castles fall,
And swarming nabobs seize on all!

Some little whims he had, 'tis true,
But they were harmless, and were few;
He dreaded nought like alteration,
Improvement still was innovation;
He said, when any change was brewing,
Reform was a fine name for ruin;'*

This maxim firmly he would hold,

That always must be good that's old.'
The acts which dignify the day
He thought portended its decay:
And fear'd twould show a falling state,
If STERNHOLD should give way to TATE.
The church's downfall he predicted,
Were modern tunes not interdicted;
He scorn'd them all, but crown'd with palm
The man who set the hundredth psalm.

Of moderate parts, of moderate wit,
But parts for life and business fit:
Whate'er the theme; he did not fail,
At popery and the French to rail;
And started wide, with fond digression
To praise the protestant succession.
Of BLACKSTONE he had read a part,
And all BURN'S JUSTICE knew by heart.
He thought man's life too short to waste
On idle things call'd wit and taste.
In books that he might lose no minute,
His very verse had business in it.
He ne'er had heard of bards of GREECE,
But had read half of DYER'S FLEECE.
His sphere of knowledge still was wider,
His Georgics, PHILIPS upon cider :'
He could produce in proper place,
l'hree apt quotations from the Chase,'t
And in the hall, from day to day,
Old ISAAC WALTON's Angler lay.

This good and venerable knight One daughter had, his soul's delight: For face no mortal could resist her, She smil'd like HEBE's youngest sister; Her life, as lovely as her face, Each duty mark'd with every grace; Hor native sense improv'd by reading, Her native sweetness by good-breeding: She had perus'd each choicer sage Of ancient date, or later age; But her best knowledge still she found On sacred, not on classic ground; 'Twas thence her noblest stores she drew, And well she practis'd what she knew. Led by Simplicity divine,

She pleas'd, and never tried to shine;

She gave to chance each unschool'd feature,
And left her cause to sense and nature.

The sire of FLORIO, ere he died,
Decreed fair CELIA FLORIO's bride
Bade him his latest wish attend,
And win the daughter of his friend:
When the last rites to him were paid,
He charg'd him to address the maid:
Sir GILBERT's heart the wish approv'd
For inuch his ancient friend he lov'd.
Six rapid months like lightning fly,

And the last gray was now thrown by,
FLORIO reluctant, calls to mind
The orders of a sire too kind:

Yet go he must; he must fulfil
The hard conditions of the will:
Go, at that precious hour of prime,
Go, at that swarming, bustling time,
When the full town to joy invites,
Distracted with its own delights;
When Pleasure pours from her full urn,
Each tiresome transport in its turn;
When Dissipation's altars blaze,
And men run mad a thousand ways;
When, on his tablets, there were found
Engagements for full six weeks round;
Must leave, with grief and desperation,
Three packs of cards of invitation,
And all the ravishing delights
Of slavish days, and sleepless nights.

Ye nymphs, whom tyrant Power drags down, With hand despotic from the town,

When ALMACK's doors wide open stand,

And the gay partner's offer'd hand

Courts to the dance; when steaming rooms,
Fetid with ungents and perfumes,
Invite you to the mobs polite

Of three sure balls in one short night
You may conceive what FLORIO felt,
And sympathetically melt;

You may conceive the hardship dire
To lawns and woodlands to retire,
When, freed from Winter's icy chain,
Glad Nature revels on the plain;
When blushing Spring leads on the Hours,
And May is prodigal of flow'rs;
When Fashion warbles thro' the grove,
And all is song, and all is love;
When new-born breezes sweep the vale,
And Health adds fragrance to the gale.

PART II.

Six bays unconscious of their weight,
Soon lodg'd him at Sir GILBERT's gate.
His trusty Swiss, who flew still faster,
Announc'd th' arrival of his master:
So loud the rap which shook the door,
The hall re-echo'd to the roar ;
Since first the castle walls were rear'd
So dread a sound had ne'er been heard:
The din alarm'd the frighten'd deer,
Who in a corner slunk for fear,
The butler thought 'twas beat of drum,
The steward swore the French were come.
It ting'd with red poor FLORIO's face,
He thought himself in Portland-place.
Short joy! he enter'd, and the gate
Clos'd on him with its ponderous weight.
Who, like Sir GILBERT, now was blest?
With rapture he embrac'd his guest.
Fair CELIA blush'd, and FLORIO utter'd
Half sentences, or rather mutter'd
Disjointed words-as, 'honour! pleasure.
Kind!-vastly good, ma'am !-beyond mea

sure:

Tame expletives, with which dull fashion

+ A poem by Mr. Somerville

FLORIO SOON found he had a heart:

He saw, and but that admiration
Hud been too active, too like passion;
Or had he been to Ton less true,
Cupid had shot him thro' and thro';
But, vainly specds the surest dart;
Where FASHION's mail defends the heart;
The shaft her cold repulsion found,
And fell without the pow'r to wound :
For FASHION, with a mother's joy,
Dipp'd in her lake the darling boy;
That lake, whose chilling waves impart
The gift to freeze the warmest heart:
Yet guarded as he was with phlegm,
With such delight he ey'd the dame,
Found his cold heart to melt before her,
And felt so ready to adore her;

That FASHION fear'd her son would yield,
And flew to snatch him from the field;
O'er his touch'd heart her ægis threw,
The goddess mother straight he knew;
Her power he own'd, she saw and smil'd,
And claim'd the triumph of her child.
CELIA a table still supplied,
Which modish luxury might deride:
A modest feast the hope conveys,
The master eats on other days;
While gorgeous banquets oft bespeak
A hungry household all the week.
A decent elegance was there,
And Plenty with her liberal air.
But vulgar Plenty gave offence,
And shock'd poor FLORIO's nicer sense;
Patient he yielded to his fate,

When good Sir GILBERT pil'd his plate;
He bow'd submissive, made no question,
.But that 'twas sovereign for digestion;
But, suca was his unlucky whim,
Plain meats would ne'er agree with him;
Yet feign'd to praise the Gothic treat,
And, if he ate not, seem'd to eat.

In sleep sad FLORIO hop'd to find,
The pleasures he had left behind.
He dreamt, and lo! to charm his eyes,
The form of WELTJE* Seem'd to rise;
The gracious vision wav'd his wand,
And banquets sprung to FLORIO's hand;
Th' imaginary savours rose
In tempting odours to his nose.
A bell, not Fancy's false creation,
Gives joyful note of preparation :'
He starts, he wakes, the bell he hears;
Alas! it rings for morning pray'rs.

But how to spend next tedious morning,
Was past his possible discerning;
Uuable to amuse himself,

He tumbled every well-ranged shelf;
This book was dull, and that was wise,
And this was monstrous as to size,
With eager joy he gobbled down
Whate'er related to the town;
Whate'er look'd small, whate'er look'd new
Half-bound, or stitch'd in pink or blue;
Old play-bills, ASTLEY's last year's feats,
And Opera disputes in sheets.
As these dear records meet his eyes,
Ghosts of departed pleasures rise;
He lays the book upon the shelf,
And leaves the day to spend itself.
To cheat the tedious hours, whene'er
A celebrated cook and confectioner.

He sallied forth to take the air, His sympathetic ponies knew Which way their lord's affections drew, And, every time he went abroad, Sought of themselves the London road; He ask'd each mile of every clown, How far they reckon'd it to town? And still his nimble spirits rise, Whilst thither he directs his eyes; But when his coursers back he guides The sinking mercury quick subsides. A week he had resolv'd to stay But found a week in every day; Yet if the gentle maid was by, Faint pleasure glisten'd in his eye; Whene'er she spoke, attention hung On the mild accents of her tongue; But when no more the room she grac'd, The slight impression was effac'd. Whene'er Sir GILBERT'S Sporting guests Retail'd old news, or older jests, FLORIO, quite calm, and debonair Still humm'd a new Italian air; He did not even feign to hear 'em, But plainly show'd he could not bear em. CELIA perceived his secret thoughts, But like the youth with all his faults; Yet 'twas unlike, she softly said, The tales ot love which she had read, Where heroes vow'd, and sigh'd, and knel Nay, 'twas unlike the love she felt; Tho' when her sire the youth would blame, She clear'd his but suspected fame, Ventur'd to hope, with fault'ring tongue, 'He would reform-he was but young;' Confess'd his manners wrong in part, 'But then he had so good a heart! She sunk each fault, each virtue rais'd, And still where truth permitted, prais'd, His interest farther to secure, She prais'd his bounty to the poor For, votary as he was of art, He had a kind and melting heart; Tho', with a smile, he us'd to own He had no time to feel in town;

Not that he blush'd to show compassion,It chanc'd that year to be the fashion. And equally the modish tribe,

To clubs or hospitals subscribe.

At length, to wake ambition's flame,
A letter from BELLARIO came;
Announcing the supreme delight,
Preparing for a certain night,
By FLAVIA fair, return'd from France,
Who took him captive at a glance :
The invitations all were given !
Five hundred cards!-a little heaven!
A dinner first-he would present him,
And nothing, nothing must prevent him,
Whoever wish'd a noble air,
Must gain it by an entree there;
Of all the glories of the town,
'Twas the first passport to renown,
Then ridicul'd his rural schemes,

His pastoral shades, and purling streams;
Sneer'd at his present brilliant life,
His polish'd sire, and high-bred wife
Thus, doubly to inflame, he tried,
His curiosity and pride.

The youth, with agitated heart,

Prepar'a directly to depart;
But, bound in honour to obey
His father at no distant day;
He promis'd soon to hasten down,
Tho' business call'd him now to town;
Then faintly hints a cold proposal-
But leaves it to the knight's disposal-
Stammer'd half words of love and duty,
And mutter'd much of-worth and beauty;'
Something of passion then he dropt,

And hop'd his ardour'-Here he stopt;
For some remains of native truth
Flush'd in his face, and check'd the youth;
Yet still th' ambiguous suffusion,
Might pass for artless love's confusion.
The doating father thought 'twas strange,
But fancied men like tines might change;
Yet own'd, nor could he check his tongue,
It was not so when he was young.
That was the reign of love he swore,
Whose halcyon days are now no more.
In that blest age, for honour fam'd,
Love paid the homage Virtue claim'd;
Not that insipid, daudling Cupid,
With heart so hard, and air so stupid,
Who coldly courts the charms which lie
In Affectation's half-clos'd eye.
Love then was honest, genuine passion,
And manly gallantry the fashion;
Yet pure as ardent was the flame
Excited by the beauteous dame;
Hope could subsist on slender bounties,
And suitors gallop'd o'er two counties,
The ball's fair partner to behold,
Or humbly hope-she caught no cold.

But mark how much Love's annals mend.
Should beauty's goddess now descend;
On some adventure should she come,
To grace a modish drawing-room;
Spite of her form and heavenly air,
What beau would hand her to a chair?
Vain were that grace, which to her son,"
Disclos'd what Beauty had not done:
Vain were that motion which betray'd,
The goddess was no carth-born maid;
If noxious FARO's baleful spright,
With rites infernal rul'd the night,
The group absorb'd in play and pelf,
VENUS might call her doves herself.

AS FLORIO pass'd the castle-gate,
fiis spirits seem to lose their weight;
He feasts his lately vacant mind
With all the joys he hopes to find;
Yet on whate'er his fancy broods,
The form of CELIA still intrudes;
Whatever other sound he hears,
The voice of CELIA fills his ears;
Howe'er his random thoughts might fly,
Her graces dance before his eye;
Nor was the obtrusive vision o'er,
E'en when he reach'd BELLARIO's door.
The friends embrac'd with warm delight,
And FLAVIA's praises crown'd the night.

Soon dawn'd the day which was to show, Glad FLORIO what was heaven below. FLAVIA, admir'd wherever known, Th' acknowledg'd empress of bon-ton; 'er FASHION's wayward kingdom reigns, And holds BELLARIO in her chains; ... her powers; a wit hy day,

17

By night unmatch'd for lucky play
The flattering, fashionable tribe,
Each stray bon-mot to her ascribe;
And all her 'little senate' own
She made the best charade in town;
Her midnight suppers always drew
Whate'er was fine, whate'er was new;
There oft the brightest fame you'd see
The victim of a repartee;

For Slander's priestess still supplies
The SPOTLESs for the sacrifice.
None at her polish'd table sit,
But who aspire to modish wit,
The persiflage, th' unfeeling jeer,
The civil, grave, ironic sneer;

The laugh which more than censure wounds
Which, more than argument, confounds.
There the fair deed, which would engage
The wonder of a nobler age,
With unbelieving scorn is heard,
Or still to selfish ends refer'd;
If in the deed no flaw they find,
To some base motive 'tis assign'd
When Malice longs to throw her dart,
But finds no vulnerable part,
Because the Virtues all defend,
At every pass, their guarded friend;
Then by one slight insinuation,
One scarce perceiv'd exaggeration,
Sly Ridicule, with half a word,
Can fix her stigma of absurd;
Nor care, nor skill, extracts the dart,
With which she stabs the feeling heart;
Her cruel caustics inly pain,
And scars indelible remain.

Supreme in wit, supreme in play,
Despotic Flavia all obey;

Small were her natural charms of face,
Till heighten'd with each foreign grace:

But what subdued Bellario's soul
Beyond Philosophy's control,
Her constant table was as fine
As if ten rajahs were to dine;
She every day produc'd such fish as
Would gratify the nice APICIUS,
Or realize what we think fabulous
I' th' bill of fare of HELIOGABALUS.
Yet still the natural taste was cheated,
'Twas delug'd in some sauce one hated.
'Twas sauce! 'twas sweetmeat! 'twas confection
All poignancy! and all perfection!
Rich entremets, whose name none knows,
Ragouts, tourtes, tendrons, fricandeux,
O' th' hogs of EPICURUS' Sty;
Yet all so foreign and so fine,
'Twas easier to admire, than dine.
O! if the muse had power to tell
Each dish, no muse has power to spell
Great goddess of the French Cuisine'
Not with unhallow'd hands I mean
To violate thy secret shade,
Which eyes profane shall ne'er invade;
No! of thy dignity supreme,

I, with mysterious reverence,' deem!
Or, should I venture with rash hand,
The vulgar would not understand;
None but th' initiated know
The raptures keen thy rights bestow.
Thus much to tell I lawful deem,
Thy works are never what they seem;

Thy will this general law has past,
That nothing of itself shall taste.
Thy word this high decree enacted,
'In all be nature counteracted!'

Conceive, who can, the perfect bliss,
For 'tis not given to all who guess,
The rapturous joy BELLARIO found,
When thus his ev'ry wish was crown'd.
TO FLORIO, as the best of friends.
One dish he secretly commends
Then hinted, as a special favour,
What gave
it that delicious flavour;
A mystery he so much reveres,
He never to unhallow'd ears
Would trust it, but to him would show
How far true friendship's power would go.
FLORIO, tho' dazzled by the fete,
With far inferior transport eat;
A little warp his taste had gain'd,
Which, unperceived, till now remain'd
For, from himself he would conceal
The change he did not choose to feel;
He almost wish'd he could be picking
An unsophisticated chicken;
And when he cast his eyes around,
And not one simple morsel found,
give me, was his secret wish,
My charming CELIA's plainest dish!

Thus Nature, struggling for her rights,
Lets in some little, casual lights:
And Love combines to war with Fashion,
'Tho' yet 'twas but an infant passion;
The practis'd FLAVIA tried each art
Of sly attack to steal his heart;
Her forc'd civilities oppress,
Fatiguing thro' mere graciousness:
While many a gay intrepid dame,
By bold assault essay'd the same.
Fill'd with disgust, he strove to fly
'The artful glance and fearless eye;
Their jargon now no more he praises,
Nor echoes back their flimsy phrases.
He felt not CELIA's powers of face,
Till weigh'd against bon-ton grimace;
Nor half her genuine beauties tasted,
"l'ill with factitious charms contrasted;
Th' industrious carpies hover'd round,
Nor peace nor liberty he found!
By force and flattery circumvented,
To play, reluctant, he consented;
Each dame her power of pleasing tried,
To fix the novice by her side,
Of pigeons he the very best,

Who wealth with ignorance possest.
But FLAVIA'S rhetoric best persuades,
That sybil leads him to the shades;
The fatal leaves around the room,
Prophetic tell the approaching doom!
Yet, different from the tale of old,
It was the fair one pluck'd the gold;
Her arts the pond'rous purse exhaust;
A thousand borrow'd, stak'd, and lost,
Wakes him to sense and shame again,
Nor force, nor fraud could more obtain.
He rose, indignant, to attend
'The summons of a ruin'd friend,
Whom keen BELLARIO's arts betray
To all the depths of desperate play;
A thoughtless youth who near him sat,
Was plunder'd of his whole estate;

Too late he call'd for FLORIO's aid,
A beggar in a moment made.

And now, with horror, FLORIO views
The wild confusion which ensues;
Marks how the dames, of late so fair,
Assume a fierce demoniac air;
Marks where the infernal furies old
Their orgies foul o'er heaps of geld;
And spirits dire appear to rise,
Guarding the horrid mysteries;
Marks how deforming passions tear
The bosoms of the losing fair;

How looks convuls'd, and haggard faces,

Chase the scar'd Loves, and frighten'd Graces
Touch'd with disdain, with horror fir'd,
CELIA! he murmur'd, and retir'd.

That night no sleep his eyelids prest,
He thought; and thought's a foe to rest:
Or if by chance, he clos'd his eyes,
What hideous spectres round him rice!
Distemper'd Fancy wildly brings
The briken images of things;

His ruin'd friend, with eye-bali fixt,
Swallowing the draught Despair had mixt
The frantic wife beside him stands,
With bursting heart, and wringing hands,
And every horror dreams bestow,
Of pining want or raving wo.

Next morn, to check, or cherish thought,
His library's retreat he sought;
He view'd each book, with cold regard,
Of serious sage, or lighter bard;
At length, among the motley band,
The IDLER fell into his hand;
Th' alluring title caught his eyc,
It promis'd cold inanity:

He read with rapture and surprise,
And found 'twas pleasant, tho' 'twas wise
His tea grew cold, whilst he, unheeding,
Pursu'd this reasonable reading.
He wonder a at the change he found,
Th' elastic spirits nimbly bound;
Time slipt, without disgust, away,
While many a card unanswer'd lay.
Three papers, reeking from the press,
Three pamphlets thin, in azure dress,
Ephemeral literature well known,
The lie and scandal of the town;
Poison of letters, morals, time!
Assassin of our day's fresh prime !
These, on his table, half the day,
Unthought of, and neglected lay.

FLORIO had now full three hours read
Hours which he us'd to waste in bed;
His pulse beat virtue's vigorous tone,
The reason to himself unknown;
And if he stopped to seek the cause,
Fair CELIA's image filled the pause.

And now, announc'd BELLARIO's name
Had almost quench'd the new-born flame
'Admit him,' was the ready word
Which first escap'd him, not unheard
When sudden, to his mental sight,
Uprose the horrors of last night;
His plunder'd friend before him stands,
And not at home,' his firm commands
He felt the conquest as a joy
The first temptation would destroy.
He knew next day that Hymen's hand,
Would tack the slight and slippery band,

Which, in loose bondage, would ensnare
BELLARIO bright and FLAVIA fair.
Oft had he promis'd to attend
The nuptials of his happy friend :
To go-to stay-alike he fears;
At length a bolder flight he dares :
TO CELIA he resolves to fly,
And catch fresh virtue from her eye,
Though three full weeks did yet remain,
Ere he engag'd to come again.
This plan he tremblingly embrac'd,
With doubtful zeal, and fluttering haste;
Nor ventur'd he one card to read,

Which might his virtuous scheme impede,
Each note, he dreaded might betray him,
And shudder'd lest each rap should stay him.
Behold him seated in his chaise;
With face that self distrust betrays;
He hazards not a single glance,
Nor through the glasses peeps by chance,
Lest some old friend, or haunt well known,
Should melt his resolution down.
Fast as his foaming coursers fly,
Hyde-park attracts his half-rais'd eye;
He steals one fearful, conscious look,
Then drops his eye upon his book.
Triumphant he persists to go;
But gives one sigh to Rotten-row.
Long as he view'd AUGUSTA's tow'rs,
The sight relax'd his thinking pow'rs;
In vain he better plans revolves,
While the soft scene his soul dissolves;
The tow'rs once lost, his view he bends,
Where the receding smoko ascends;
But when nor smoke, nor tow'rs arise,
To charm his heart or cheat his eyes;
When once he got entirely clear
From this enfeebling atmosphere;
His mind was brac'd, his spirits light,
His heart was gay, his humour bright.
Thus feeling, at his inmost soul,
The sweet reward of self-controul,
Impatient now, and all alive,
He thought he never should arrive;
At last he spies Sir Gilbert's trees;
Now the near battlements he sees;
The gates he enter'd with delight,
And, self-announc'd, embrac'd the knight:
The youth his joy unfeign'd exprest,
The knight with joy receiv'd his guest,
And own'd, with no unwilling tongue,
"Twas done like men when he was young.
Three weeks subducted, went to prove,
A feeling like old-fashion'd love.
For Celia, not a word she said,
But blush'd,' celestial, rosy red!'
Her modest charms transport the youth,
Who promis'd everlasting truth.

Celia, in honour of the day,
Unusual splendour would display:
Such was the charm her sweetness gave,
He thought her wedgwood had been séve,
Her taste diffused a gracious air,
And chaste Simplicity was there,
Whose secret power, though silent, great is,
The loveliest of the sweet Penates.
Florio, now present to the scene,
With spirits light, and gracious mien,
Sir Gilbert's port politely praises,
And carefully avoids French phrases;

Endures the daily dissertation
On land-tax, and a ruin'd nation;
Listens to many a tedious tale
Of poachers, who deserv'd a jail;
Heard all the business of the quoruni,
Each cause and crime produc'd before 'em:
Heard them abuse with complaisance
The language, wines, and wits of France:
Nor did he hum a single air,
While good Sir Gilbert fill'd his chair
Abroad, with joy and grateful pride,
He walks, with Celia by his side:
A thousand cheerful thoughts arise,
Each rural scene enchants his eyes;
With transports he begins to look
On Nature's all instructive book;
No objects now seem mean, or low,
Which point to Him from whom they flow
A berry or a bud excites

A chain of reasoning which delights.
Which spite of sceptic ebulitions,
Proves atheists not the best logicians.
A tree, a brook, a blade of grass,
Suggests reflections as they pass,
Till Florio, with a sigh, confest
The simplest pleasures are the best
Bellario's systems sink in air,
He feels the perfect, good, and fair.
As pious Celia rais'd the theme
To holy faith and love supreme;
Enlighten'd Florio learn'd to trace
In Nature's God the God of grace.

In wisdom as the convert grew
The hours on rapid pinions flew,
When call'd to dress, that Titus wore
A wig the alter'd Florio swore;
Or else, in estimating time,
He ne'er had mark'd it as a crime,
That he had lost but one day's blessing,
When we so many lose, by dressing.

The rest, suffice it now to say,
Was finish'd in the usual way.
Cupid, impatient for his hour,
Revil'd slow Themis' tedious power,
Whose parchment legends, singing, sealing
Are cruel forms for Love to deal in.

At length to Florio's eager eyes,
Behold the day of bliss arise!
The golden sun illumes the globe,
The burning torch, the saffron robe.
Just as of old, glad Hymen wears,
And Cupid, as of old, appears

In Hymen's train; so strange the case
They hardly knew each other's face;
Yet both confess'd with glowing heart
They never were design'd to part;
Quoth Hymen, sure you're strangely slighted
At weddings not to be invited;
The reason's clear enough, quoth Cupid,
My company is thought but stupid,
Where Plutus is the favourite guest,
For he and I scarce speak at best.

The self-same sun which joins the twain
Sees Flavia sever'd from her swain;
Bellario sues for a divorce,
And both pursue their sep'rate course.

Oh wedded love! thy bliss how rare!
And yet the ill-assorted pair;
The pair who choose at Fashion's voice,
Or drag the chain of venal choice: