VIII.

So as in single animals he joy'd,

One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed; The first the cate-devouring mice destroy'd,

Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled : All in the sun-beams basked the lazy cat,

Her mottled length in couchant posture laid;

On one accustomed chair while Pompey sat,

And loud he bark'd should Puss his right invade. The human pair oft mark'd them as they lay, And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they.

IX.

A room he had that faced the southern ray,
Where oft he walk'd to set his thoughts in tune,
Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway,
All to the music of his creeking shoon.

And at the end a darkling closet stood,

Where books he kept of old research and new, In seemly order rang'd on shelves of wood,

And rusty nails and phials not a few : Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well,

And papers squar'd and trimm'd for use unmeet to tell.

X.

For still in form he placed his chief delight,
Nor lightly broke his old accustom'd rule,
And much uncourteous would he hold the wight
That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool;
And oft in meet array their ranks he placed,

And oft with careful eye their ranks review'd; For novel forms, tho' much those forms had graced,

Himself and maiden-minister eschew'd:

One path he trod, nor ever would decline
A hair's unmeasur'd breadth from off the even line.

XI.

A Club select there was, where various talk
On various chapters pass'd the ling'ring hour,
And thither oft he bent his evening walk,
And warm'd to mirth by wine's enlivening pow'r.
And oft on politics the preachments ran

If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume,
And oft important matters wou'd they scan,
And deep in council fix a nation's doom,
And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer,

Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they lov'd to hear.

XII.

For men like him they were of like consort,

Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn, Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport,

And bless'd their stars that kept the curse from them! No honest love they knew, no melting smile

That shoots the transports to the throbbing heart! Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile

Lascivious smiling thro' the mask of art:

And so of women deem'd they as they knew,
And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew.

XIII.

But most abhorr'd they Hymeneal rites,
And boasted oft the freedom of their fate;
Nor 'vail'd, as they opin'd, its best delytes
Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait;
And often would they tell of hen-peck'd fool
Snubb'd by the hard behest of sour-ey'd dame,
And vow'd no tongue-arm'd woman's freakish rule

Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame: Then pledged their hands, and toss'd their bumpers o'er, And Io! Bacchus! sung, and own'd no other pow'r.

XIV.

If e'er a doubt of softer kind arose

Within some breast of less obdurate frame, Lo! where its hideous form a Phantom shows Full in his view, and CUCKOLD is its name. Him Scorn attended with a glance askew,

And Scorpion Shame for delicts not his own, Her painted bubbles while Suspicion blew,

And vex'd the region round the Cupid's throne: "Far be from us, they cry'd, the treach'rous bane, "Far be the dimply guile, and far the flow'ry chain !"

1

SONG.

Say, fond lover, is thy mind
By the gentle Muse refin'd?
Hast thou skill to strike the lyre
With thine own Apollo's fire?
Think not so the maid to move;
Hopeless is a Poet's love:

Rich and high-born dotards tear
From thine arms the venal fair.

Haply health's unborrow'd hues
Oer thy cheek their bloom diffuse,
And thy graceful limbs outvie
Phidian forms in symmetry :
Ah! to Albion's sordid train
Youth and beauty sue in vain!
Rich and high-born dotards tear
From thine arms the venal fair.