And thus it needs must be; for seed conjoin'd
Lets into nature's work the imperfect kind;
But fire, the enlivener of the general frame,
Is one, its operation still the same.

Its principle is in itself: while ours

Works, as confederates war, with mingled powers;
Or man or woman, which soever fails :
And oft the vigour of the worse prevails.
Æther with sulphur blended alters hue,
And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue.
Thus, in a brute, their ancient honour ends,
And the fair mermaid in a fish descends:
The line is gone; no longer duke or earl;
But, by himself degraded, turns a churl.
Nobility of blood is but renown

Of thy great fathers by their virtue known,

And a long trail of light, to thee descending down.

If in thy smoke it ends, their glories shine;

But infamy and villanage are thine.
Then what I said before is plainly show'd,
The true nobility proceeds from God;
Nor left us by inheritance, but given
By bounty of our stars, and grace of Heaven.
Thus from a captive Servius Tullius rose,
Whom for his virtues the first Romans chose :
Fabricius from their walls repell'd the foe,
Whose noble hands had exercised the plough.
From hence, my lord, and love, I thus conclude,
That though my homely ancestors were rude,
Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace
To make you father of a generous race:
And noble then am I, when I begin,
In virtue clothed, to cast the rags of sin.
If poverty be my upbraided crime,

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And you believe in Heaven, there was a time.
When He, the great controller of our fate,
Deign'd to be man, and lived in low estate;
Which He who had the world at his dispose,
If poverty were vice, would never choose.
Philosophers have said, and poets sing,
That a glad poverty 's an honest thing.
Content is wealth, the riches of the mind;
And happy he who can that treasure find.
But the base miser starves amidst his store,
Broods on his gold, and, griping still at more,
Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
The ragged beggar, though he want relief,
Has not to lose, and sings before the thief.
Want is a bitter and a hateful good,
Because its virtues are not understood;
Yet many things, impossible to thought,
Have been by need to full perfection brought :
The daring of the soul proceeds from thence,
Sharpness of wit, and active diligence ;
Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives,
And, if in patience taken, mends our lives;
For even that indigence, that brings me low,
Makes me myself, and Him above, to know.
A good which none would challenge, few would choose,
A fair possession, which mankind refuse.

If we from wealth to poverty descend,

Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
If I am old and ugly, well for you,

No lewd adulterer will my love pursue;

Nor jealousy, the bane of married life,

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Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife;

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For age and ugliness, as all agree,

Are the best guards of female chastity.

Yet since I see your mind is worldly bent,
I'll do my best to further your content.
And therefore of two gifts in my dispose,
Think ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose:
Would you I should be still deform'd and old,
Nauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold;
On this condition to remain for life,

A careful, tender, and obedient wife,
In all I can contribute to your ease,

And not in deed, or word, or thought displease :
Or would you rather have me young and fair,
And take the chance that happens to your share?
Temptations are in beauty, and in youth,
And how can you depend upon my truth?
Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss,
And thank yourself, if aught should fall amiss.

To

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Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermon heard ; At length, considering all, his heart he cheer'd, And thus replied: My lady, and my wife, your wise conduct I resign my life: Choose you for me, for well you understand The future good and ill, on either hand : But if an humble husband may request, Provide, and order all things for the best; Yours be the care to profit, and to please; And let your subject servant take his ease.

Then thus in peace, quoth she, concludes the strife,

Since I am turn'd the husband, you the wife:

The matrimonial victory is mine,

Which, having fairly gain'd, I will resign:
Forgive if I have said or done amiss,
And seal the bargain with a friendly kiss.
I promised you but one content to share,
But now I will become both good and fair :

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No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your ease;
The business of my life shall be to please:
And for my beauty, that, as time shall try—
But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye.

He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fair,
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air.
With joy he turn'd, and seized her ivory arm;
And like Pygmalion found the statue warm.
Small arguments there needed to prevail;
A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail.
Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embraced,
And their first love continued to the last :
One sunshine was their life, no cloud between ;
Nor ever was a kinder couple seen.

And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; Heaven send the maids young husbands fresh in bed! May widows wed as often as they can,

And ever for the better change their man!
And some devouring plague pursue their lives,
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives!

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THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON.1

A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train;
An awful, reverend, and religious man.
His eyes diffused a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.

Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor;
(As God had clothed his own ambassador ;)
For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore.
Of sixty years he seem'd; and well might last

This poem is intended as a palinode for some of Dryden's former misdeeds, and partly as a covert panegyric on the Nonjuring clergy.

To sixty more, but that he lived too fast;
Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense;
And made almost a sin of abstinence,
Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe,
But such a face as promised him sincere.
Nothing reserved or sullen was to see;
But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd ;
Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm'd.
For letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky;
And oft, with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears :
(A music more melodious than the spheres.)
For David left him, when he went to rest,
His lyre; and after him he sung the best.

He bore his great commission in his look:

But sweetly temper'd awe; and soften'd all he spoke. He preach'd the joys of heaven, and pains of hell; And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal;

But on eternal mercy loved to dwell.

He taught the gospel rather than the law,

And forced himself to drive but loved to draw.
For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat,
Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.
To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard,
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepared ;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,

He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away,
Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)
As harbingers before the Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his style, and disappear;
The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there.

The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took;

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