"Take it away,”—the husband cry'd, There's too much ardour in that eye, The painter thus-" The faults you find "My picture is design'd to prove The changes of precarious love. "On the next stair-case rais'd on high, Regard it with a curious eye; As to the first steps you proceed, 'Tis an accomplish'd piece indeed! But as you mount some paces higher, Is there a grace that don't expire ?" So various is the human mind, Such are the frailties of mankind, What at a distance charm'd our eyes, After attainment-droops-and dies. FORTUNE: AN APOLOGUE. FABULA NARRATUR. Jove and his senators, in sage debate For man's felicity, were settling laws, When a rude roar, that shook the sacred gate, Turn'd their attention to inquire the cause. A long-ear'd wretch, the loudest of his race, "I am an ass, of innocence allow'd The type, yet Fortune persecutes me still; While foxes, wolves, and all the murd'ring crowd, Beneath her patronage can rob and kill. "The pamper'd horse (he never toil'd so hard!) Favour and friendship from his owner finds; For endless diligence,—(a rough reward!) I'm cudgel'd by a race of paltry hinds. "On wretched provender compell'd to feed! The rugged pavement ev'ry night my bed! For me, dame Fortune never yet decreed The gracious comforts of a well-thatch'd shed. "Rough and unseemly 's my irreverent hide! Where can I visit, thus uncouthly drest? That outside elegance the dame deny'd, For which her fav'rites are too oft caress'd. "To suffring virtue, sacred Jove, be kind! "To the green vale, yon shelt'ring hills surround, Forward they went, o'er many a dreary spot: "Abroad with Contemplation oft I roam, And leave to Poverty my humble cell: She's my domestic, never stirs from home, If Fortune has been here, 'tis she can tell, |