Afcyltos proud of the Conqueft, goes off with the Prize, leaving me expos'd in a strange place, to the infults of Fortune, whom a lit tle before he had carefs'd as a Friend and Partner of his Adventures.

The Gods with Friendship feldom Mortals bless
That Sacred Good in Fancy we poffefs.
Our eafy Faith falfe Men with Oaths beguile;
When Fortune frowns the Perjur d cease to smile.
The good and wretched, Men nor Gods defend
But poorly farm, and ftill the Rich commend.
Thus when the Audience bids the Play begin,
And the laft Flourish calls the Actors in
With tender Words, and with diffembling Art,
This plays a Lovers, that a Father's Part.
The Aged Sire with fond Paternal Care,
Affects his Son as he pursues the Fair.
But when, at length, the unctious Lamps expire
And the Spectators from the Play retire,
Each to his natural Inclination turns,
The Father doats not nor the Lover burns.

I durft not indulge my Grief any longer in that place, for fear, amongst the rest of my Misfortunes, one Menelaus a School-mafter, might find me alone in the Inn; I therefore

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tyed

tyed up my Snapfack, and, in a Penfive condition betook my felf to a Retirement near the Sea-fide; where, when I had been mew'd up three Days, reflecting on my despicable Circumftances, I beat my Breaft, as fick as it was, and, when my deep Sighs wou'd fuffer me, often cry'd out, Why has not the Earth fwallow'd me alive? Why has not the Sea overwhelm'd me? I have been a Murderer; I have debauch'd the Wife of Lycas; I have fled from Juftice; and even escap'd when I was condemn'd to be hang'd; but to what purpofe? To be an Exile in a strange Country, to have my Name recorded only amongst Beggars and Vagabonds: And who condemn'd me to this Solitude? --- A Boy! a Prostitute to all manner of Luft; who, by his own confeflion, deferves to die; who rais'd himself by his Lewdness, and by the fame Crime obtain'd his Liberty; who was Married, as a Girl, by one of his own Sex: And what a Wretch is that other, O ye Gods! who no fooner arriv'd to be a Man, but, perfwaded by his Mother, he chang'd himself into a Woman, and affuming the Habit of a Servant-maid, took Service in, and did the drudgery of a Prifon; who having spent his own Paternal Fortune, and chang'd the Scene of his Luft (O horrid Impudence!) like a hot Whore, for one poor Night's Pleasure, fold his Friend. Now the Lovers lie whole Nights lock'd in each others Arms, and who knows but, in the intervals of their Crimes, they may laugh at me, and the folitude I am

in: But they fhan't go off fo, for as I am a Man, free born, and generously bred, I'll make their Blood to expiate the Injury.

Having faid thus, I girt my Sword about me; and left I fhould be too weak to main tain the War, I encourag'd my self with a lufty Meal, and making out of doors, like one poffeft, fearch'd every place: But whilft, with a wild diftracted Countenance, I thought of nothing but Blood and Slaughter, and oft with Execrations laid my Hand upon my Sword, a Soldier, or perhaps fome Sharper or Foot-pad, obferv'd me, and making up to me, faid, Brother Soldier, to what Regiment and Company do you belong? With a great deal of Impudence I nam'd him both the Batalion and Company in which I pretended to ferve: My Affurance had near induc'd him to believe the Lye, when looking down, But Friend, faid he, do the Soldiers of Company walk in fuch Shoes? I began to look guilty, and, by my trembling, difcover'd the Untruth I had told him ; upon which he oblig'd me to lay down my Arms, and bid me take care of my felf.

your

Thus robb'd both of my Weapons and Revenge, I return'd to my Lodging, where, by degrees, my Rage abating, I began in my Mind to thank the Robber.

But finding it difficult to wean my felf from the love of Revenge, I spent half the Night very penfively; antl rifing by Daybreak, I rov'd about every where to ease my felf of my Grief, and to make me forget

the

the thoughts of the Injury I had receiv'd, till at laft going into a publick Gallery, very wonderful for feveral forts of excellent Painting; I faw fome pieces by Zeuxy's Hand, that had not yet yielded to the Injuries of Time: And not without an awful Reverence confider'd others done by Protogenes, which tho' they were his firft Trials, yet difputed for exactness even with Nature itfelf: But on the other fide viewing a celebrated Piece drawn by Apelles, I even ador'd the Work of fo great a Mafter: 'Twas fo correctly finish'd, and fo much to the Life, you'd have fworn it a Picture of the Soul too. One fide related the Story of the Eagle bearing Jupiter to Heaven; the other, that of the fair Hylas repelling the Addreffes of a lafcivious Naiad: In another part was Apollo, angry with himself for killing his Boy Hyacinthus, and to thew his love to the deceased, he crown'd his Harp with the Flower that fprung from his Blood.

Tho' I was amongst these Painted Lovers, yet thinking myself alone, I burft out; And are the Gods themselves not fecure from Love? Jupiter in his Heavenly Seraglio not finding one that can please his Appetite, defcends to, and fins upon Earth, yet injures no body: The Nymph would have ftifled her Paffion for Hylas, had the believ'd the mighty Hercules, wou'd have forbid the Banes: Apollo changes Hyacinthus into a Flower; and the Artift made every Deity enjoy his Wishes without a Rival; but I have carefs'd, as the dearest Friend, the greatest Villain.

While I was thus talking to my self, there enter'd the Gallery an old Man, with a Face as pale as Age had made his Hair; he seem'd, I know not how, to bring with him the Ayre of a great Soul; but viewing his contempti ble Dress and Habit, by that very token I immediately concluded him in the number of thofe Learned Men to whom Rich Men have a mortal Averfion, and to whose Labours Fortune is feldom Favourable. In fhort, he made up to me, and addreffing himself, told me he was a Poet, and, as he hop'd, fuch a one who could pretend to fome Excellencies above the vulgar Rank; if my Merit, added he, don't fuffer by that Applaufe that's promifcuoufly given to the good and bad.

How therefore, interrupted I, are you fo meanly clad? On this reafon, return'd he, Becaufe Learning never made any Man Rich.

Returning Sails the happy Merchant blefs,
And flowing Bowls fmiles on his rich Success.
The dufty Plain, and cruel purple Field,
Does to the Brave a wealthy Harveft yield.
The Clergy thrives, and the litigious Bar;
Dull Heroes fattens with the Spoils of War.
To fervile Parafites we Altars raife,
And the kind Wife her vigorous Lover pays:

But