A plain good man, His word would pass for more than he was worth. One solid dish his week-day meal affords, An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's : Constant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were sure, His givings rare, save farthings to the poor. The devil was piqued such saintship to behold, And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old. But Satan now is wiser than of yore, And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Rous'd by the Prince of Air the whirlwinds sweep The surge, and plunge his Father in the deep; An honest factor stole a gem away; He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit, So kept the di'mond, and the rogue was bit. Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought : << I'll now give six-pence where I gave a groat; >> Where once I went to Church, I'll >> twice » And am so clear too of all other vice. >> now go The Tempter saw his time; the work he ply'd; Stocks and subscriptions pour on ev'ry side, "Till all the Dæmon makes his full descent In one abundant show'r of Cent per Cent; Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole, Then dubs Director, and secures his soul. Behold sir Balaam now a man of spirit, Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit; What late he call'd a Blessing, now was Wit, And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit. Things change their titles, as our manners turn: His Compting-house employ'd the Sunday morn There (so the Devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide A Nymph of Quality admires our Knight: He marries, bows at Court, and grows polite: Leaves the dull Cits, and joins (to please the fair) The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air: In Britain's Senate he a seat obtains, And one more Pensioner St. Stephen gains. My Lady falls to play; so bad her chance, He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues; The Court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs. Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown: The Devil and the King divide the prize, And sad Sir Balaam curses God and dies. CHA P. X V. Edwin and Emma. FAR in the windings of a vale, Fast by a sheltering wood, The safe retreat of health and peace, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair Whose only wish on earth was now The softest blush that nature spreads, Such orient colour smiles thro' heav'n Nor let the pride of great ones scorn That sun which bids their diamond blaze, POPE. Long had she fired each youth with love, And though by all a wonder own'd, 'Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, A mutual flame was quickly caught, The father too, a sordid man grew. Long had he seen their mutual flame, And seen it long unmov'd; Then with a father's frown at last, In Edwin's gentle heart a war Of differing passions strove; Deny'd her sight, he oft behind The spreading hawthorn crept, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul, The midnight mourner stray'd. His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast; So fades the fresh rose in its prime, The parents now, with late remorse And weary'd Heaven with fruitless pray'rs, 'Tis past, he cry'd, but if your souls She came; his cold hand softly touch'd But oh ! his sister's jealous care (A cruel sister she!) For bad what EMMA came to say: My EDWIN, live for me. Now homeward as she hopeless went, The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Amid the falling gloom of night, In ev'ry bush his hovering shade, Alone, appall'd thus had she pass'd The visionary vale, When lo! the death-bell smote her ear Sad sounding in the gale. Just then she reach'd, with trembling steps, Her aged mother's door : He's gone, she cried, and I must see That angel face no more. I feel , I feel, I feel, this breaking heart MALLET. From her white arm down sunk her head, С НА Р. X V I. Celadon and Amelia. "TIs listening fear and dumb amazement all, When to the startled eye the sudden glance And yet not always on the guilty head They lov'd; but such their guiltless passion was, G |