He sometimes help'd the injured in their

cause;

His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;

He for religion has a due respect,
And all his serious notions are correct;
Although he pray'd and languish'd for a son,
He grew resign'd when Heaven denied him
one;

Not men in trade by various loss brought down,
But those whose glory once amazed the town,
Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,
Yet never fell so low as to repent;
To these his pity he could largely deal,
Wealth they had known, and therefore want
could feel.

Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,

And three such favourites their admission gain'd;

BLANEY

Sed quam caecus inest vitlis amor! Omne futurum

Despicitur, suadentque brevem praesentia fructum,

Et ruit in vetitum damni secura libido.

CLAUDIAN, In Eutrop. lib. ij. 50-2.

Numquam parvo contenta paratu Et quaesitorum terra pelagoque ciborum Ambitiosa fames et lautae gloria mensae. LUCAN, De Bell. Civ. (or Phars.), lib. iv. 374-6.

Et Luxus, populator opum, quem semper adhaerens,

Infelix humili gressu comitatur Egestas.

CLAUDIAN, In Rufinum, lib. i. 35–6. Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend!

POPE, Moral Essays, Ep. iii. 297.

There wishes strong and stronger griefs are seen, Looks ever changed, and never one serene: Show not that manner, and these features all, The serpent's cunning and the sinner's fall?

Hark to that laughter!-'tis the way he takes To force applause for each vile jest he makes; Such is yon man, by partial favour sent To these calm seats to ponder and repent.

Blaney, a wealthy heir at twenty-one, At twenty-five was ruin'd and undone : These years with grievous crimes we need not load,

He found his ruin in the common road;— Gamed without skill, without inquiry bought, Lent without love, and borrow'd without thought.

But, gay and handsome, he had soon the dower

Of a kind wealthy widow in his power:
Then he aspired to loftier flights of vice,
To singing harlots of enormous price:
He took a jockey in his gig to buy
A horse, so valued, that a duke was shy:
To gain the plaudits of the knowing few,
Gamblers and grooms, what would not
Blaney do?

His dearest friend, at that improving age Was Hounslow Dick, who drove the western stage.

Cruel he was not-If he left his wife, He left her to her own pursuits in life; Deaf to reports, to all expenses blind, Profuse, not just, and careless, but not kind.

Yet thus assisted, ten long winters pass'd In wasting guineas ere he saw his last;

Then he began to reason, and to feel
He could not dig, nor had he learn'd to steal;
And should he beg as long as he might live,
He justly fear'd that nobody would give:
But he could charge a pistol, and at will,
All that was mortal, by a bullet kill:
And he was taught, by those whom he would call
Man's surest guides-that he was mortal all.
While thus he thought, still waiting for the

day,

When he should dare to blow his brains away, A place for him a kind relation found, Where England's monarch ruled, but far

from English ground;

He gave employ that might for bread suffice, Correct his habits and restrain his vice.

Here Blaney tried (what such man's miseries teach)

To find what pleasures were within his reach;
These he enjoy'd, though not in just the style
He once possess'd them in his native isle;
Congenial souls he found in every place,
Vice in all soils, and charms in every race:
His lady took the same amusing way,
And laugh'd at Time till he had turn'd them
grey:

At length for England once again they steer'd,
By ancient views and new designs endear'd ;
His kindred died, and Blaney now became
An heir to one who never heard his name.
What could he now?-The man had tried
before

Tales of Voltaire, and essays gay and slight, Pleased him and shone with their phosphoric light;

Which, though it rose from objects vile and base,

Where'er it came threw splendour on the place, And was that light which the deluded youth, And this grey sinner, deem'd the light of truth. He different works for different cause

admired,

Some fix'd his judgment, some his passions fired;

To cheer the mind and raise a dormant flame, He had the books, decreed to lasting shame, Which those who read are careful not to name: These won to vicious act the yielding heart, And then the cooler reasoners soothed the smart.

He heard of Blount, and Mandeville, and Chubb,

How they the doctors of their day would drub; How Hume had dwelt on miracles so well, That none would now believe a miracle; And though he cared not works so grave to read,

He caught their faith and sign'd the sinner's creed.

Thus was he pleased to join thelaughing side, Nor ceased the laughter when his lady died; Yet was he kind and careful of her fame, And on her tomb inscribed a virtuous name; 'A tender wife, respected, and so forth,'

more;

To vicious pleasure he was still inclined,
But vice must now be season'd and refined;
Then as a swine he would on pleasure seize,
Now common pleasures had no power to
please :

Beauty alone has for the vulgar charms,
He wanted beauty trembling with alarms:
His was no more a youthful dream of joy,
The wretch desired to ruin and destroy;
He bought indulgence with a boundless price,
Most pleased when decency bow'd down to
vice,

When a fair dame her husband's honour sold, And a frail countess play'd for Blaney's gold. 'But did not conscience in her anger rise?' Yes! and he learn'd her terrors to despise; When stung by thought, to soothing books he fled,

And grew composed and harden'd as he read;

He has some children, but he knows not

where ;

Something they cost, but neither lovenor care;
A father's feelings he has never known,
His joys, his sorrows, have been all his own.
He now would build-and lofty seat he

built,

And sought, in various ways, relief from guilt
Restless, for ever anxious to obtain
Ease for the heart by ramblings of the brain,
He would have pictures, and of course a taste,
And found a thousand means his wealth to
waste.

Newmarket steeds he bought at mighty cost;
They sometimes won, but Blaney always lost.

Quick came his ruin, came when he had still For life a relish, and in pleasure skill: By his own idle reckoning he supposed His wealth would last him till his life was closed;

Where he himself, an old licentious boy, Will nothing learn, and nothing can enjoy; In temp'rate measures he must eat and drink, And, pain of pains! must live alone and think. In vain, by fortune's smiles, thrice affluent made,

Still has he debts of ancient date unpaid;

Thrice into penury by error thrown,
Not one right maxim has he made his own;
The old men shun him,- -some his vices

hate,

And all abhor his principles and prate;
Nor love nor care for him will mortal show,
Save a frail sister in the female row.

WE had a sprightly nymph-in every town Are some such sprights, who wander up and down ;

She had her useful arts, and could contrive, In time's despite, to stay at twenty-five ;'Here will I rest; move on, thou lying year, This is mine age, and I will rest me here.' Arch was her look, and she had pleasant ways

Your good opinion of her heart to raise ; Her speech was lively, and with ease express'd, And well she judged the tempers she address'd:

If some soft stripling had her keenness felt, She knew the way to make his anger melt; Wit was allow'd her, though but few could bring

Direct example of a witty thing; 'Twas that gay, pleasant, smart, engaging speech,

Her beaux admired, and just within their reach;

Not indiscreet perhaps, but yet more free Than prudish nymphs allow their wit to be. Novels and plays, with poems, old and Were all the books our nymph attended to; Yet from the press no treatise issued forth, But she would speak precisely of its worth.

new,

She with the London stage familiar grew, And every actor's name and merit knew; She told how this or that their part mistook, And of the rival Romeos gave the look; Of either house 'twas hers the strength to see, Then judge with candour-Drury-Lane for me.'

What made this knowledge, what this skill A fortnight's visit in Whitechapel-street. complete?

Her place in life was rich and poor between, With those a favourite, and with these a queen;

She could her parts assume, and condescend To friends more humble while an humble friend;

And thus a welcome, lively guest could pass, Threading her pleasant way from class to class.

'Her reputation?'-That was like her wit, And seem'd her manner and her state to fit; Something there was, what, none presumed to say,

Clouds lightly passing on a smiling day.— Whispers and hints which went from ear to ear, And mix'd reports no judge on earth could clear.

But of each sex a friendly number press'd
To joyous banquets this alluring guest :
There, if indulging mirth, and freed from awe,
If pleasing all, and pleased with all she saw,
Her speech were free, and such as freely dwelt
On the same feelings all around her felt;
Or if some fond presuming favourite tried
To come so near as once to be denied ;
Yet not with brow so stern or speech so nice,
But that he ventured on denial twice :-
If these have been, and so has scandal taught,
Yet malice never found the proof she sought.
But then came one, the Lovelace of his day,
Rich, proud, and crafty, handsome, brave,
and gay;

Yet loved he not those labour'd plans and arts,
But left the business to the ladies' hearts,
And when he found them in a proper train,
He thought all else superfluous and vain :
But in that training he was deeply taught,
And rarely fail'd of gaining all he sought;
He knew how far directly on to go,
How to recede and dally to and fro;
How to make all the passions his allies,
And, when he saw them in contention rise,
To watch the wrought-up heart, and conquer
by surprise.

Our heroine fear'd him not; it was her part, To make sure conquest of such gentle heartOf one so mild and humble; for she saw In Henry's eye a love chastised by awe.

Thus the kind virgin gentle means devised, To gain a heart so fond, a hand so prized; More gentle still she grew, to change her way, Would cause confusion, danger and delay: Thus (an increase of gentleness her mode), She took a plain, unvaried, certain road, And every hour believed success was near, Till there was nothing left to hope or fear.

It must be own'd that in this strife of hearts, Man has advantage-has superior arts: The lover's aim is to the nymph unknown, Nor is she always certain of her own; Or has her fears, nor these can so disguise, But he who searches, reads them in her eyes, In the avenging frown, in the regretting sighs: These are his signals, and he learns to steer The straighter course whenever they appear.

'Pass we ten years, and what was Clelia's fate?'

At an attorney's board alert she sate,
Not legal mistress: he with other men
Once sought her hand, but other views were
then;

And when he knew he might the bliss command,
He other blessing sought, without the hand;
For still he felt alive the lambent flame,
And offer'd her a home,-and home she came.
There, though her higher friendships lived

no more,

time

To bait each hook, in every way to please, And the rich prize with dext'rous hand to seize. She had no virgin-terrors; she could stray In all love's maze, nor fear to lose her way; Nay, could go near the precipice, nor dread A failing caution or a giddy head;

She'd fix her eyes upon the roaring flood, And dance upon the brink where danger stood. 'Twas nature all, she judged, in one so

young,

To drop the eye and falter in the tongue;
To be about to take, and then command
His daring wish, and only view the hand :
Yes! all was nature; it became a maid
Of gentle soul t' encourage love afraid ;-
He, so unlike the confident and bold,
Would fly in mute despair to find her cold:
The young and tender germ requires the sun
To make it spread; it must be smiled upon.

And the fair countess !-Oh! she loved them