"Tis true she dress'd with modern grace, Half naked at a ball or race; But when at home, at board or bed, Five greasy night-caps wrapp'd her head. To be a dull domestic friend? In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke While all their hours were pass'd between Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown; He fancies every vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her nose: Whenever rage or envy rise,— How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is grown a knowing phiz ; And, though her fops are wond'rous civil, He thinks her ugly as the devil. Now to perplex the ravell'd nooze, As each a different way pursues, (1) ["Now tawdry madam kept a bevy."Orig.-] (2) ["She in her turn became perplexing, And found substantial bliss in vexing."-Ib.] While sullen or loquacious strife The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art she vainly tries Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present face surpass the old : With modesty her cheeks are dy'd, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is seen A NEW SIMILE. IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. (4) Long had I sought in vain to find Imprimis; pray observe his hat, With wit that's flighty, learning light; In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air : (1) [Printed in the Essays, 1765.] And here my simile unites; Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand, Though ne'er so much awake before, Now to apply, begin we then :-His wand 's a modern author's pen; The serpents round about it twin'd, Denote him of the reptile kind; Denote the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venom❜d bites; An equal semblance still to keep, Alike, too, both conduce to sleep. This difference only, as the god Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod, With his goose-quill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself. And here my simile almost tript; Yet grant a word by way of postscript. Moreover Merc'ry had a failing: Well! what of that? out with it-stealing; Being each as great a thief as he: But ev❜n this deity's existence Our modern bards! why, what a pox Are they-but senseless stones and blocks. STANZAS ON WOMAN.(1) When lovely Woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.(2) Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wond'rous short,- (1) First printed in the " Vicar of Wakefield," in 1766.] (2) ["This specimen of Goldsmith's poetical powers is wonderfully pathetic. It is sweet as music, and polished like a gem.”—Mrs. BARBAULD.] (3) First printed in the "Vicar of Wakefield," 1766, though probably |