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Let Malice look with all her Eyes,
She dařes not say the Poet lyes.
STELLA; when you these Lines transcribe, Left you
should take them for a Bribe; Resolv'd to mortify your Pride, I'll here expose your weaker Side.
Your Spirits kindle to a Flame,
Mov'd with the lightest Touch of Blame;
And when a Friend in Kindness tries
To shew you where your Error lies,
Convidion does but more incense;
Perverseness is your whole Defence:
Truth, Judgment, Wit, give Place to Spight,
Regardless both of Wrong and Right.
Your Virtues, all suspended, wait
Till Time hath open'd Reason's Gate :
And what is worse, your Passion bends
Its Force against your nearest Friends;
Which Manners, Decency, and Pride;
Have taught you from the World to hide.
In vain ; for see, your Friend hath brought
To publick Light your only Fau't;
yet a Fault we often find
Mix'd in a noble generous Mind;
And may compare to Ætna's Fire,
Which, tho’ with Trembling, all admire;
The Heat that makes the Summit glow,
Enriching all the Vales below.
Those who in warmer Climes complain,
From Pkæbus Rays they suffer Pain;
Must own, that Pain is largely paid
By gen'rous Wines beneath a Shade.
Yet when I find your Passions rise,
And Anger sparkling in your Eyes,
I grieve those Spirits should be spent,
For nobler Ends by Nature meant.
One Passion, with a diff'rent Turni,
Makes Wit inflame, or Anger burn;
So the Sun's Heat, by different Pow'rs,
Ripens the Grape, the Liquor fours.
Thus Ajax, when with Räge posseft,
By Pallas breath'd into his Breatt,
His Valour would no more employ,
Which might alone have conquer's Troy;
But blinded by Resentment, seeks
For Vengeance on his Friends the Greeks.
You think this Turbulence of Blood From stagnating preserves the Flood; Which thus fermenting, by Degrees Exalts the Spirits, finks the Lees.
STELLÀ, for once you reason wrong;
For should this Ferment last too long,
By Time subsiding, you may find
Nothing but Acid left behind.
From Passion you may then be freed,
When Peevishness and Spleen succeed.
Say Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep strictly to the Text?
Dare you let these Reproaches stand,
And to your Pailing set your Hand?
Or if these Lines your Anger fire,
Shall they in baser Flames expire?
Whene'er they burn, if burn they must,
They'll prove my Accusation just.
Written in the Year 1721.
E wise Philosophers! Explairi,
What Magick makes our Money rise, When dropt into the Southern Main;
Or do these Jugglers cheat our Eyes?
Put in your Money fairly told;
Presto be gone'Tis here agen? Ladies and Gentlemen, behold,
Here's ev'ry Piece as big as Ten.
Thus in a Bali drop a Shilling,
Then fill the Vessel to the Brim
You shall observe, as you are filling,
The pond'tous Metal seems to swim.
It rises both in Bulk and Height,
Behold it swelling like a Sop!
The liquid Medium cheats your Sight;
Behold it mounted to the Top!
In Stock three Hundred Thousand Pounds;
I have in view a Lord's Eftate; My Manors all contiguous round;
A Coach and Six, and serv'd in Plate!
Thus the deluded Bankrupt raves;
Puts all upon a desp'rate Bet;
Then plunges in the Southern Waves,
Dipt over Head and Earsin Debt:
So, by a Calenture misled,
The Mariner with Rapture sees, On the smooth Ocean's azure Bed,
Enameld Fields, and verdant Trees.
With Haste he longs to rove
In that fantastick Scene, and thinks It must be some enchanted Grove;
And in he leaps, and down he finks.