'Tis done.

What's done, You drunken Bear?

You've thrust your Finger G-d knows where.

A DUTCH PROVER B.

FIRE, Water, Woman, are Man's Ruin ;

Says wife Profeffor VANDER BRÜIN.

By Flames a House I hir'd was loft
Laft Year: and I must pay the Cost.

This Spring the Rains o'erflow'd my Ground:
And my beft Flanders Mare was drown'd.
A Slave I am to CLARA's Eyes:
The Gipfey knows her Pow'r, and flies.
Fire, Water, Woman, are my Ruin :
And great Thy Wisdom, VANDER BRUIN.

PAULO

PAULO PURGANTI

And his WIFE:

An Honest, but a Simple Pair.

Eft enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni Virtute, quod Deceat: quod Cogitatione magis à Virtute poteft quam Re feparari. Cic. de Off. L. 2.

EYOND the fix'd and fettl'd Rules

BE

Of Vice and Virtue in the Schools,

Beyond the Letter of the Law,

Which keeps our Men and Maids in Awe,
The better Sort fhould fet before 'em
A Grace, a Manner, a Decorum;
Something, that gives their Acts a Light;
Makes 'em not only just, but bright;
And fets 'em in that open Fame,
Which witty Malice cannot blame.

For 'tis in Life, as 'tis in Painting:

Much may be Right, yet much be Wanting:
From Lines drawn true, our Eye may trace
A Foot, a Knee, a Hand, a Face:
May justly own the Picture wrought
Exact to Rule, exempt from Fault :
Yet if the Colouring be not there,

The TITIAN Stroke, the GUIDO Air;

Το

To niceft Judgment fhow the Piece ;
At beft 'twill only not difpleafe:

It would not gain on JERSEY'S Eye:
BRADFORD Would frown, and fet it by.
Thus in the Picture of our Mind

The Action may be well defign'd;
Guided by Law, and bound by Duty ;
Yet want this Je ne fçay quoy of Beauty:
And tho' it's Error may be fuch,

As KNAGS and BURGESS cannot hit ;--
It yet may feel the nicer Touch

Of WICHERLEY or CONGREVE's Wit.
What is this Talk ? replies a Friend:

And where will this dry Moral end?
The Truth of what You here lay down
By fome Example fhould be fhown.-
With all my Heart, •for once;
An Honeft, but a Simple Pair
(And Twenty other I forbear)

May serve to make this THESIS clear.
A Doctor of great Skill and Fame,
PAULO PURGANTI Was his Name,
Had a good, comely, virtuous Wife :
No Woman led a better Life:

read on

She to Intrigues was ev'n hard-hearted:
She chuckl'd when a Bawd was carted :
And thought the Nation ne'er wou'd thrive,
Till all the Whores were burnt alive.
On marry'd Men, that dare be bad,
She thought no Mercy fhould be had; ›

They should be hang'd, or ftarv'd, or flead,
Or ferv'd like ROMISH Priefts in SWEDE.
In fhort, all Lewdness She defy'd :
And ftiff was her Parochial Pride.

Yet in an honeft Way, the Dame
Was a great Lover of That fame ;
And could from Scripture take her Cue,
That Husbands should give Wives their Duc
Her Prudence did fo juftly steer

Between the Gay and the Severe,
That if in fome Regards She chofe
To curb poor PAULO in too close ;.
In others She relax'd again,
And govern'd with a loofer Rein.

Thus tho' She strictly did confine
The Doctor from Excefs of Wine }
With Oysters, Eggs, and Vermicelli
She let Him almost burst his Belly :
Thus drying Coffee was deny'd ;
But Chocolate that Lofs fupply'd:
And for Tobacco (who could bear it ? );

Filthy Concomitant of Claret!

(Bleft Revolution!) one might fee

Eringo Roots, and Bohé Tea.

She often fet the Doctor's Band,

And strok'd his Beard, and fqueez'd his Hand;
Kindly complain'd, that after Noon

He went to pore on Books too foon :-
She held it wholefomer by much,

To reft a little on the Couch:

About

About his Waste in Bed a-nights

She clung fo clofe

for fear of Sprites.

The Doctor understood the Call;

But had not always wherewithal.

The Lion's Skin too short, you know,
(AS PLUTARCH's Morals finely fhow)
Was lengthen'd by the Fox's Tail:
And Art fupplies, where Strength may fail.
Unwilling then in Arms to meet

The Enemy, He could not beat ;
He ftrove to lengthen the Campaign,
And fave his Forces by Chicane.
FABIUS, the ROMAN Chief, who thus
By fair Retreat grew MAXIMUS,
Shows us, that all that Warrior can do
With Force inferior, is Cunctando.

One Day then, as the Foe drew near,
With Love, and Joy, and Life, and Dear;
Our Don, who knew this Tittle Tattle
Did, fure as Trumpet, call to Battel;
Thought it extreamly à propos,

To ward against the coming Blow:

To ward but how? Ay, there's the Question :
Fierce the Affault, unarm'd the Bastion.

The Doctor feign'd a ftrange Surprise :

He felt her Pulse: he view'd her Eyes:
That beat too faft: These rowl'd too quick :
She was, He faid, or would be Sick :

He judg'd it absolutely good,

That She should purge and cleanse her Blood.

SPAW