Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/296

 158 THE POEMS OP ANNE �And off he comes, and fetches down his Son. Behind they walk, and now the Creature drive, But cou'd no better in their Purpose thrive ; Nor scape a Fellow's Censure, whom they meet, That cries, to spare the Ass they break their Feet; And whilst unladen at her ease she goes, Trudge in the Dirt, and batter out their Shooes ; As if to burthen her they were afraid, And Men for Beasts, not Beasts for Men were made. The Proverb right, The Cart before the Horse. 90 The Miller, rinding things grow worse and worse, Cries out, I am an Ass, it is agreed, And so are all, who wou'd in this succeed. Hereafter, tho' Reproof or Praise I find, I'll neither heed, but follow my own Mind, Take my own Counsel, how my Beast to sell. This he resolv'd, and did it, and did well. �For you, Sir, Follow Love, the Court, the War; Obtain the Crosier, or the City's Furr; Live single all your days, or take a Wife; 100 �Trust me, a Censure waits each state of Life. �THE WIT AND THE BEAU �Strephon, whose Person ev'ry Grace �Was careful to adorn; Thought, by the Beauties of his Face, In Silvia's Love to find a place, �And wonder'd at her Scorn. �With Bows, and Smiles he did his Part; �But Oh! 'twas all in vain: A Youth less Fine, a Youth of Art Had talk'd himself into her Heart, �And wou'd not out again. ��� �