Then, whilst o'er his bread and his cheese and his ale,

He'll beguile the long night with some long WINTER'S

TALE;

Or perhaps you'll write verses; oh then with what pleasure return to you MEASURE FOR

Will your K

MEASURE:

Then, while in domestick enjoyments thus blessed,
Oh ne'er to your TROILUS prove a false CRESSID!
The best may be slander'd; for slanders await all;
But wounds such as these do not often prove fatal:
While CYMBELINE's daughter, chaste Imogen, slept,
From his Trunk, you may read how, Iachimo crept*;
And, by notes and remarks which her person he made on,
Induc'd her poor husband to think her a bad one+:
But Time the foul bandage remov'd from his eyes,

And taught him more justly his jewel to prize‡:

Act II. Scene 2.
Act V. Scene 5,

† Act II. Scene 4,

Thus, trust me, all slander's reports will expire,

And the gold of your fame come out pure from the fire.

Your monitor still, I would fain hold to view

A rule or two more which I'd have you pursue;
Imprimis, indulge not the fatal delusion

Of living in riot and thoughtless profusion;

You may think it quite comick, and laugh at my spleen, But the COMEDY 'll prove full oF ERRORS, I ween:

Have no dealings with Jews, lest a Shylock arise;

Read the MERCHANT OF VENICE,-a word to the

wise!

For your children,-all tinsel adornments above,

Train them up in obedience, in virtue, and love;
Form their hearts to be tender and grateful, or fear
The tooth of the serpent*, and fate of KING LEAR!

Sharper than a serpent's tooth it is

To have a thankless child.

KING LEAR.

Nay, laugh not to hear such a serious discourse,

"Twere good for some folks if advice had more force;

Had he stay'd but at home with Calphurnia, to please

her*,

Th' Ides of March had not finish'd poor JULIUS

CESAR;

But oh he must go to the Senate so bold!

Well, he went; and there died + as his fates had fore

told.

Then scorn not advice; mark the cautions I give,

And as MERRY as WINDSOR's two WIVES will you

live;

So fond and so faithful, so warm and so true,

Even princes shall envy your K-e and you;

As constant as ROMEO AND JULIET'S

So ill-fated I trust tho' it never will

your love,

prove;

* Act II. Scene 2.

† Act III. Scene 1.

May his fondness each day grow more ripe and more

mellow,

But never oh never make him an OTHELLO!

And now, dear Belinda, methinks 'tis high time

For your blundering poet to finish his rhyme;

Already indeed I half fear you'll have said

That his lines MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING have

made;

Still a postscript he'll add, and he adds it with pride, 'Tis-his love, his best wishes to all your Fireside!

Come, that's not so bad; 'tis a long tale I tell,

But I'm sure you'll allow that ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS

WELL.

ON

VIEWING A SPLENDID MONUMENT.

WHY what avails now this sepulchral pomp

Him that is rotting in the dust beneath it?
Sleeps he the sounder, for that o'er his head

Is raised such a gaudy canopy?

No. He who lies hard by, with but a turf

Thrown o'er him, sleeps as sound.-Why then 'tis vain!

Vain all these pains bestow'd to rear a pile

For worms to fatten in! 'Tis folly's work;

The pageantry of idiots; rais'd perhaps

To tell, a knave lies here!-These trophies too,
These painted scrolls, apt representatives

Of worldly pride,—will my Lord bear them hence,