In vain th' obferver eyes the builder's toil, But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. In this one paffion man can ftrength enjoy, Behold a rev'rend fire, whom want of grace A falmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; 220 225 230 235 VER. 227. Here honeft Nature ends as she begins.] Human nature is here humourously called boneft, as the impulse of the ruling paffion (which she gives and cherishes) makes her more and more impatient of disguise. VER. 231. Lanefb'row] An ancient Nobleman, who continued this practice long after his legs were disabled by the gout. Upon the death of Prince George of Denmark, he demanded an audience of the Queen, to advise her to preferve her health and difpel her grief by Dancing. 240 Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my foul! "Is there no hope?-Alas!—then bring the jowl." The frugal Crone, whom praying priefts attend, Still strives to fave the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. "Odious! in woollen! 'twould a faint provoke, (Were the laft words that poor Narciffa spoke) "No, let a charming Chintz, and Bruffels lace 245 : Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face "One would not, fure, be frightful when one's dead"And-Betty-give this Cheek a little Red." 251 The Courtier smooth, who forty years had fhin'd An humble fervant to all human kind, Juft brought out this, when fcarce his tongue could ftir, 256 "If-where I'm going-I could ferve you, Sir?" "I give and I devife (old Euclio faid, And figh'd) 66 my lands and tenements to Ned. Your money, Sir? rr My money, Sir, what all? Why,if I muft-(then wept) I give it Paul. VER. 242. The frugal Crone,] A fact told him, of a Lady at Paris. VER. 247. - The laft Words that poor Narcissa Spoke] This ftory, as well as the others, is founded on fact, though the author had the goodness not to mention the names. Several attribute this in particular to a very celebrated Actress, who, in deteftation of the thought of being buried in woollen, gave these her laft orders with her dying breath. The Manor, Sir?" The Manor! hold, he cry'd, "Not that, I cannot part with that”-- and dy’d. And you! brave COBHAM, to the latest breath 262 Shall feel your ruling paffion ftrong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past, Oh, fave my Country, Heav'n! " shall be your last. |