Who frown with vanity, who smile with art,
  And ask the latent fashion of the heart;
  What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save,
  Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? 
  Against your fame with fondness hate combines,
  The rival batters, and the lover mines. 
  With distant voice neglected Virtue calls,
  Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls;
  Tir’d with contempt, she quits the slipp’ry reign,
  And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain. 
  In crowd at once, where none the pass defend,
  The harmless freedom, and the private friend. 
  The guardians yield, by force superior ply’d,
  To Int’rest, Prudence; and to Flatt’ry, Pride. 
  Here Beauty falls betray’d, despis’d, distress’d,
  And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. 
    Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? 
  Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? 
  Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
  Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? 
  Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
  No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? 
  Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain
  Which Heav’n may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 
  Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
  But leave to Heav’n the measure and the choice. 
  Safe in his pow’r, whose eyes discern afar
  The secret ambush of a specious pray’r;
  Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
  Secure, whate’er he gives, he gives the best. 
  Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
  And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
  Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
  Obedient passions and a will resigned;
  For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
  For patience, sov’reign o’er transmuted ill;
  For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
  Counts death kind Nature’s signal of retreat: 
  These goods for man the laws of Heav’n ordain,
  These goods he grants, who grants the pow’r to gain;
  With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
  And makes the happiness she does not find.

[Footnote 213:  There is a tradition, that the study of Friar Bacon, built on an arch over the bridge, will fall when a man greater than Bacon shall pass under it.  To prevent so shocking an accident, it was pulled down many years since.]

XL.  LETTER TO THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

Though perhaps scarcely a professedly satirical production in the proper sense of the word, there are few more pungent satires than the following letter.  In Boswell’s Life of Johnson we read, “When the Dictionary was on the eve of publication.  Lord Chesterfield, who, it is said, had flattered himself with expectations that Johnson would dedicate the work to him, attempted in a courtly manner to soothe and insinuate himself with the sage, conscious, as it would seem, of