Another fort of Wits fhall now be shown,
Whofe harmless Foibles hurt themselves alone;
Who think Excess of Luxury can please,
And Laziness call loving of their Ease;
Pleasure and Indolence their only Aim;
Yet their whole Life's but intermitting Pain.
Such Head-Achs, Surfeits, Ails, their days divide,
They scarce perceive the little time befide.
Well-meaning Men, who make this grofs Mistake,
And Pleasure lofe, only for Pleasure's fake!
Each Pleasure hath its Price, and when we pay
Too much of Pain, we fquander Life away.
Thus D-T, purring like a thoughtful Cat,
Marry'd; but wiser Pufs ne'er thinks on that.
Like PEMBROKE'S Dog, fierce at his fondest time,
At once he wooes, and worries her in Rhime;
To gain her Love, exposes all her Life,
A teeming Widow, but a barren Wife.
With tame fubmiffion to the will of Fate,
He lugg'd about the Matrimonial Weight;
Till Fortune, blindly kind as well as he,
Has ill reftor'd him to his Liberty;
That is, to live in his old idle way
Smoaking all Night, and dozing all the Day;
Dull as NED HRD, whom his brisker Time
Had fam'd for Nonsense in immortal Rhime.
M-VE had much ado to 'scape the Snare, Tho' vers'd in all those Arts that cheat the Fair. Beauty and Wit had feiz'd his Heart so fast, That NUMPS himself feem'd in the Stocks at last. Old injur❜d Parents dry'd their weeping Eyes, In hopes to fee this Pirate made a Prize;
Th' impatient Town waited the wifh'd for Change, And Cuckolds fneer'd in hopes of fweet Revenge; Till his Ambition fet his Love afide,
And fav'd him, not by Prudence, but by Pride.
What tender Thoughts his harden'd Heart can
Who for a Shadow quits fubftantial Love?
And little * SID, for Simile renown'd,
Pleasure has always fought, but feldom found:
Tho' Wine and Women are his only Care,
Of both he takes a lamentable Share.
The Flesh he lives on, is too rank and strong;
His Meat and Mistresses are kept too long.
But, fure, we all mistake the pious Man,
Who mortifies his Perfon all he can ;
And what the World counts Lewdness, Vice, and Sín,
Are Penances of this odd Capuchin :
For never Hermit under grave pretence
Has liv'd more contrary to common Sense.
Expecting Supper is his chief Delight;
Like any Labourer, our little Knight
Toils all the Day, but to be drunk at Night;
When o'er his Cups this Night-Bird chirping fits,
Till he takes HUETT and JACK HALL for Wits.
Laft enter RR, of sprightly Wit,
Yet not for Converse fafe, or Business fit.
* Remarkable for making pleasant and proper Similes on all Occafions.
Mean in each Action, lewd in every Limb,
Manners themselves are mischievous in him.
A Glofs he gives to ev'ry foul Design,
And we must own his very Vices fhine.
But of this odd Ill-nature to Mankind
Himself alone the ill Effects will find:
So envious Hags in vain their Witchcraft try,
Yet for intended Mischief justly die.
For what a BESSUS has he always liv'd,
And his own Kickings notably contriv'd?
For (there's the Folly that's still mix'd with Fear)
Cowards more Blows than any Heroes bear.
Of fighting Sparks Fame may her Pleasure say ;
But 'tis a bolder thing to run away.
The World may well forgive him all his ill,
For ev'ry Fault does prove his Penance still.
Eafily he falls into fome dang❜rous Noose,
And then as meanly labours to get loose :
A Life fo infamous is better quitting,
Spent in base injuring, and low fubmitting.
How weak, and yet how vain a thing is Man,
Mean what he will, endeavour what he can!
I, who defign'd to be fo wondrous wife,
Perceive at laft where the great Folly lies:
While others Weakness is so gravely shown,
Their Fame we ruin, but to raise our own;
That we may Angels seem, we paint them Elves,
And write but Satires, to fet up our felves.
Tho' to my self this Task appear'd so nice,
That ev'n the Ancients feem'd to want Advice ;
With Strength unequal I have dar'd to climb
That lofty Height unreach'd in former Time.
No wonder in the bold Attempt I fall,
And this too late to my remembrance call;
"Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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