If not from Virtue, from its gravest Ways
The Soul with pleasing Avocation strays.

But Beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wife;

As Harpers better, by the lofs of Eyes.

Henceforth retire, reduce your roving Airs, Haunt lefs the Plays, and more the publick Pray'rs, Reject the Mechlin Head, and gold Brocade, Go pray, in fober Norwich Crape array'd. Thy pendent Diamonds let thy Fanný take, (Their trembling Luftre fhows how much you shake ;)

Or bid her wear thy Necklace row'd with Pearl,
You'll find your Fanny an obedient Girl.

So for the reft, with lefs Incumbrance hung,
You walk thro' Life, unmingled with the young;
And view the Shade and Subftance as you pafs
With joint Endeavour trifling at the Glass,

Or Folly dreft, and rambling all her Days,

To meet her Counterpart, and grow by Praise:
Yet ftill fedate your felf, and gravely plain,
You neither fret, nor envy at the Vain.

"Twas thus (if Man with Woman we compare) The wife Athenian croft a glittering Fair, Unmov'd by Tongues and Sights, he walk'd the place, Thro' Tape, Toys, Tinfel, Gimp, Perfume, and

Lace;

Then bends from Mars's Hill his awful Eyes,
And What a World I never want? he cries;
But cries unheard: For Folly will be free.

So parts the buzzing gaudy Crowd, and He:
As careless he for them, as they for him;

He wrapt in Wisdom, and they whirl'd by Whim.

The

THE

BOOK-W OR M.

OME hither, Boy, we'll hunt to-day
The Book-Worm, ravening Beast of Prey,

Produc'd by Parent Earth, at odds

(As Fame reports it) with the Gods.

Him frantick Hunger wildly drives
Against a thousand Authors Lives:
Thro' all the Fields of Wit he flies;
Dreadful his Head with cluft'ring Eyes,
With Horns without, and Tusks within,
And Scales to ferve him for a Skin.

Observe him nearly, left he climb

To wound the Bards of antient Time,

Or down the Vale of Fancy go

To tear fome modern Wretch below:

On ev'ry Corner fix thine Eye,

Or ten to one he flips thee by.

See where his Teeth a Paffage eat:
We'll roufe him from the deep Retreat.
But who the Shelter's forc'd to give?
'Tis Sacred Virgil, as I live!

From Leaf to Leaf, from Song to Song,
He draws the tadpole Form along,
He mounts the gilded Edge before,
He's up, he fcuds the Cover o'er,
He turns, he doubles, there he past,
And here we have him, caught at last.

Infatiate Brute, whofe Teeth abuse The sweetest Servants of the Mufe.

(Nay never offer to deny,

I took thee in the Fact to fly.)

His Rofes nipt in ev'ry Page,
My poor Anacreon mourns thy Rage.
By thee my Ovid wounded lies;
By thee my Lesbia's Sparrow dies :
Thy rabid Teeth have half deftroy'd
The Work of Love in Biddy Floyd,
They rent Belinda's Locks away,
And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay.
For all, for ev'ry fingle Deed,
Relentless Justice bids thee bleed.
Then fall a Victim to the Nine,
My felf the Prieft, my Desk the Shrine.

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tafso near,

To pile a facred Altar here;

Hold, Boy, thy Hand out-run thy Wit,
You reach'd the Plays that Ds writ