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into the inside of it, I saw multitudes of cells and cavities running one within another, as our historians describe the apartments of Rosamond's bower. Several of these little hollows were stuffed with innumerable sorts of trifles, which I shall forbear giving any particular account of, and shall, therefore, only take notice of what lay first and uppermost. which, upon our unfolding it, and [120 applying our microscopes to it, appeared to be a flame-colored hood.
We are informed that the lady of this heart, when living, received the addresses of several who made love to her, and did not only give each of them encouragement, but made everyone she conversed with believe that she regarded him with an eye of kindness; for which reason we expected to have seen the impression of [130 multitudes of faces among the several plaits and foldings of the heart; but to our great surprise not a single print of this nature discovered itself till we came into the very core and centre of it. We there observed a little figure, which, upon applying our glasses to it, appeared dressed in a very fantastic manner. The more I looked upon it, the more I thought I had seen the face before, but [140 could not possibly recollect either the place or time; when at length one of the company, who had examined this figure more nicely than the rest, showed us plainly by the make of its face, and the several turns of its features, that the little idol which was thus lodged in the very middle of the heart was the deceased beau, whose head I gave some account of in my last Tuesday's paper. [150
As soon as we had finished our dissection, we resolved to make an experiment of the heart, not being able to determine among ourselves the nature of its substance, which differed in so many particulars from that in the heart of other females. Accordingly, we laid it into a pan of burning coals, when we observed in it a certain salamandrine quality, that made it capable of living in [160 the midst of fire and flame, without being consumed or so much as singed.
As we were admiring this strange phenomenon, and standing round the
While by our oaks the precious loads are borne,
And realms commanded which those trees adorn.
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight, Though gods assembled grace his towering height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here, 35 Where, in their blessings, all those gods appear.
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crowned,
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamelled ground,
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand,
Rich industry sits smiling on the plains, And peace and plenty tell a Stuart reigns.
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye; Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky:
Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous lapwings feel the leaden death;
Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade, Where cooling vapors breathe along the mead,
The patient fisher takes his silent stand, Intent, his angle trembling in his hand: With looks unmoved, he hopes the scaly breed,
And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye,
The silver eel, in shining volumes rolled, The yellow carp, in scales bedropped with gold,
And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade.
Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains,
And pikes, the tyrants of the watery plains.
Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery
The youth rush eager to the sylvan war, Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround,
Rouse the fleet hart, and cheer the opening hound.
Th' impatient courser pants in every vein, And, pawing, seems to beat the distant plain:
Hills, vales, and floods appear already crossed,
And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost.
See the bold youth strain up the threatening steep, Rush through the thickets, down the valleys sweep,
Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed,
And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed.
From PART II
A little learning is a dangerous thing; 15 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again. Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
For works may have more wit than does 'em good,
As bodies perish through excess of blood. Others for language all their care express,
And value books, as women men, for dress:
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Words are like leaves; and where they
most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
But, those attained, we tremble to survey The growing labors of the lengthened way, Th' increasing prospects tire our wandering eyes,
While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But, more advanced, behold with strange Its
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
Their praise is still-the style is excellent; The sense they humbly take upon con
Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at every line; Pleased with a work where nothing's just or fit;
One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover every part, 95 And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True wit is nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.
False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon;
It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent, as more suitable;
As several garbs with country, town, and
Some by old words to fame have made pretence,
Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense;
Such labored nothings, in so strange a style,
Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile.
Unlucky as Fungoso in the play, These sparks with awkward vanity display
What the fine gentleman wore yesterday; And but so mimic ancient wits at best, 131 As apes our grandsires, in their doublets dressed.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, 135 Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know
What's roundly smooth or languishingly slow;
And praise the easy vigor of a line, Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness join.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence: The sound must seem an echo to the
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;