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She bids his heir the fum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with a touch you fee
Take ev'ry shape but Charity ; .
And not one thing you faw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.
The juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art.
Can I fuch matchless flight withstand ?
How praćtice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng ;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.

Mr. Moore has convey'd a very useful and important lefson to the ladies, and represented difagreeable truthsin a pleasing manner, by the following Fable.

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From hence proceed averfion, strife, And all that fours the wedded life. Beauty can only point the dart, 'Tis neatness guides it to the heart; Let neatness then, and beauty strive To keep a wav’ring flame alive. 'Tis harder far (you'll find it true) To keep the conquest, than subdue ; Admit us once behind the screen, What is there farther to be feen ? A newer face may raise the flame, But every woman is the fame. Then study chiefly to improve The charm, that fix’d your husband's love, Weigh well his humour. Was it drefs, That gave your beauty power to blefs ? Pursue it still ; be neater feen ; 'Tis always frugal to be clean ; So shall you keep alive defire, And time's fwift wing íhall fan the fire,

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Astonish'd at the change fo new,
Away th' inspiring goddess flew.
Now, dropt for politics and news,
Neglećted lay the drooping muse ;
Unmindful whence his fortune came,
He stified the poetic flame ;
Nor tale, nor fonnet, for my lady,
Lampoon, nor epigram was ready.
With just contempt his patron faw,
(Resolv'd his bounty to withdraw)
And thus with anger in his look,
The late repenting fool bespoke. -
Blind to the good that courts thee grown,
Whence has the fun of favour fhone ?
Delighted with thy tuneful art,
Esteem was growing in my heart,
But idly thou rejeći’ft the charm,
That gave it birth, and kept it warm.
Unthinking fools, alone despife
The arts, that taught them first to rife.

There is fomething very original, as well as droll and fatyrical, in the following Fable by Mr. Smart.

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A bag-wig of a jauntee air,
Trick’d up with all a barber's care,
Loaded with powder and perfume,
Hung in a spend-thrift's dreffing room ;
Close by its fide, by chance convey'd,
A black tobacco-pipe was laid ;
And with its vapours far and near
Out ftunk the effence of monsieur :
At which its rage, the thing of hair,
Thus, bristling up, began declare:
“ Bak'd dirt; that with intrufion rude
“ Breaks in upon my folitude ;
“ And with thy fetid breath defiles
“ The air for forty thousand miles. –
“ Ayaunt–pollution's in thy touch- . . .
Oh barborous Engli/% !–horrid Dutch ?

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allegorical poetry; which gives life and action to virtues and vices, to pastions and diseases, to natural and moral qualities ; and introduces goblins, fairies, and otherimaginary personages and things, aćting as divine, human, or infernal beings ; and by that means affords matter and machinery fufficient even for an heroic poem : which has pass'd unregarded by the writers on the Art of Poetry, notwithstanding thefe airy disguises are, as it were, the very quinteffence or foul of the science.

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