He gain'd each day a better air;
With many a leader of renown,
Deep in the learning of the town,
Who never other science knew,

But what from that prime source they drew;
Pleas'd, to the opera they repair,
To get recruits of knowledge there;
Mythology gain at a glance,

And learn the classics from a dance :
In OVID they ne'er car'd a groat,
How far'd the vent'rous ARGONAUT;
Yet charm'd they see MEDEA rise
On fiery dragons to the skies.
For DIDO, tho' they never knew her
AS MARO'S magic pencil drew her,
Faithful and fond, and broken-hearted,
Her pious vagabond departed;
Yet, for DIDONE how they roar
And Cara! Cara! loud encore.

One taste, BELLARIO'S soul possess'd,
The master passion of his breast:
It was not one of those frail joys,
Which, by possession, quickly cloys;
This bliss was solid, constant, true,
'Twas action, and 'twas passion too;
For tho' the business might be finish'd;
The pleasure scarcely was diminish'd;
Did he ride out, or sit, or walk,
He liv'd it o'er again in talk;
Prolong'd the fugitive delight,
In words by day, in dreams by night.
'Twas eating did his soul allure,
A deep, keen, modish epicure;
Tho' once this name, as I opine,
Meant not such men as live to dine;
Yet all our modern wits assure us,
That's all they know of EPICURUS:
They fondly fancy, that repletion
Was the chief good of that fam'd Grecian.
To live in gardens full of flowers,
And talk Philosophy in bowers,
Or, in the covert of a wood,
To descant on the sovereign good,
Might be the notion of their founder,
But they have notions vastly sounder;
Their bolder standards they erect,
To form a more substantial sect;

Old EPICURUS would not own 'em,
A dinner is their summum bonum.
More like you'll find such sparks as these,
To EPICURUS' deities;

Like them they mix not with affairs,
But loll and laugh at human cares.
To beaux this difference is allow'd,
They choose a sofa for a cloud;
BELLARIO had embrac'd with glee,
This practical philosophy.

Young FLORIO's father had a friend,
And ne'er did heaven a worthier send;
A cheerful knight of good estate,
Whose heart was warm, whose bounty
great.

Where'er his wide protection spread,
The sick were cheer'd, the hungry fed;
Resentment vanish'd where he came;

Medea and Dido were the two reigning operas at this time.

And lawsuits fled before his name;
The old esteem'd, the young caress'd him,
And all the smiling village bless'd him,
Within his castle's Gothic gate,

Sat Plenty, and old-fashioned State:
Scarce Prudence could his bounties stint ;—
Such characters are out of print.:

()! would kind heav'n, the age to mend,
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,
Three apt quotations from the Chase,'t
And in the hall, from day to day,
Old ISAAC WALTOo'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;
Her 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;

These lines were written many years before the French revolution had in a manner realized Sir Gilbert's idea of reform.

A poem by Mr. Somerville.

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 much 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 nymphis, 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 unguents 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.

Siz bays unconscious of their weight,
Son lodg'd him at Sir GILBERT's gate:
His trusty Swiss, who flew still faster,
Announc'd th' arrival of his master:
Saloud the rap which shook the door,
The hall re-echo'd to the roar;
Since first the castle walls were rear'd
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;
Itting'd with red poor FLORIO's face,
He thought himself in Portland-place.

measure

Tame expletives, with which dull fashion
Fills vacancies of sense and passion.
Yet, tho' disciple of cold art,
FLORIO SOON found he had a heart;
He saw; and but that admiration
Had been too active, too like passion;
Or had he been to Ton less true,
Cupid had shot him thro' and thro';
But, vainly speeds 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 so 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 strait he knew;
Her power he own'd, she saw and smil'd,
And claim'd the triumph of her child.

CELIA atable 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.
And 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, such 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;

A celebrated cook and confectioner.

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;
O'er FASHIONS wayward kingdom reigns,
And holds BELLARIO in her chains;
Various her powers; a wit by day,
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 of 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,
Tall heighten'd with each foreign grace;
But what subdued Bellario's soul
Beyond Philosophy's control,
Her constant table was as fine
As iften rajahs were to dine;
She every day produc'd such fish as
Would gratify the nice APICIUS,
Or realize what we think fabulous

th' bill of fare of HELIOGABALUS. Yet still the natural taste was cheated, VOL. I.

'Twas delug'd in some sauce one hated.
'Twas sauce! 'twas sweetmeat! 'twas con-
fection!

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 rites 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,
O 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,

'Till 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 piuck'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 th' infernal furies hold
Their orgies foul o'er heaps of gold;
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 rise!
Distemper'd Fancy wildly brings
The broken images of things;
His ruin'd friend, with eye-ball 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 eye,
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'd 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 fill'd 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,
Andshudder'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 smoke 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