An Ape there was of nimble Parts,
A great Intruder into Hearts,
As brisk, and gay, and full of Air,
As you or I, or any here;
Rich in his Dress, of splendid Shew,
And with an Head like any Beau:
Eternal Mirth was in his Face;
Where'er he went,
He was content,
So Fortune had but kindly sent
Some Ladies——and a Looking-glass.
Encouragement they always gave him,
Encouragement to play the Fool;
For soon they found it was a Tool
Wou'd hardly be so much in Love,
But that the mumbling of a Glove,
Or tearing of a Fan, wou'd save him.
These Bounties he accepts as Proof
Of Feats done by his Wit and Youth;
He gives their Freedom gone for ever,
Concludes each Female Heart undone,
Except that very Happy One
To which he'd please to do the Favour.
In short, so smooth his Matters went,
He guess'd, where'er his Thoughts were bent,
The Lady he must carry:
So put on a fine new Cravat,
He comb'd his Wig, he cock'd his Hat,
And gave it out he'd marry.
But here, alas! he found to 's Cost,
He had reckon'd long without his Host:
For wheresoe'er he made th' Attack,
Poor Pug with Shame was beaten back.
The first fair She he had in Chace,
Was a young Cat, extremely rich,
Her Mother was a noted Witch;
So, had the Daughter prov'd but civil,
He'd been related to the Devil.
But when he came
To urge his Flame,
She scratch'd him o'er the Face.
With that he went among the Bitches,
Such as had Beauty, Wit and Riches,
And swore Miss Maulkin, to her Cost,
Shou'd quickly see what she had lost:
But the poor, unlucky Swain
Miss'd his Shepherdess again;
His Fate was to miscarry.
It was his Destiny to find,
That Cats and Dogs are of a Mind,
When Monkies come to marry.
Beau. 'Tis very well;——'tis very well, old Spark; I say, 'tis very well. Because I han't a Pair of plaid Shoes, and a dirty Shirt, you think a Woman won't venture upon me for a Husband——Why, now to shew you, old Father, how little you Philosophers know of the Ladies, I'll tell you an Adventure of a Friend of mine.
A Band, a Bob-Wig, and a Feather,
Attack'd a Lady's Heart together.
The Band, in a most learned Plea,
Made up of deep Philosophy,
Told her, if she wou'd please to wed
A Reverend Beard, and take, instead
Of vigorous Youth,
Old solemn Truth,
With Books and Morals into Bed,
How happy she wou'd be.
The Bob, he talk'd of Management,
What wondrous Blessings Heaven sent
On Care, and Pains, and Industry;
And, truly, he must be so free
To own, he thought your airy Beaux,
With powder'd Wigs, and dancing Shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his Soul!),
But prate, and talk, and play the Fool.
He said, 'twas Wealth gave Joy and Mirth;
And that to be the dearest Wife
Of one, who labour'd all his Life,
To make a Mine of Gold his own,
And not spend Sixpence when he'd done,
Was Heaven upon Earth.
When these two Blades had done, d' ye see,
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out, Sir, from behind the Skreen,
With such an Air, and such a Mien,
Look you, old Gentleman, in short,
He quickly spoil'd the Statesman's Sport.
It prov'd such Sunshine Weather,
That you must know, at the first Beck
The Lady leapt about his Neck,
And off they went together.
To Esop.] There's a Tale for your Tale, old Dad, and so——Serviteur.
[Exeunt.
[THE]
FALSE FRIEND.
A
COMEDY.