Part 13 (1/2)

Conflict of dirt and warmth combin'd, Invoked--and scandalised the _Nine_.”

What Pope thought of the Duke he expressed with the utmost vigour:

”Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Whose ruling pa.s.sion was the l.u.s.t of praise: Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Women and fools must like him, or he dies: Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke.

The club must hail him master of the joke.

Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?

He'll s.h.i.+ne a Tully and a Wilmot too.

Then turns repentant, and his G.o.d adores With the same spirit that he drinks and wh.o.r.es; Enough, if all around him but admire, And now the punk applaud, and now the friar.

Thus with each gift of nature and of art, And wanting nothing but an honest heart; Grown all to all; from no one vice exempt, And most contemptible, to shun contempt: His pa.s.sion still, to covet general praise, His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; A constant bounty which no friend has made; An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; A fool, with more of wit than half mankind; Too rash for thought, for action too refined: A tyrant to his wife his heart approves; A rebel to the very king he loves; He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.

Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule?

'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool.”

The Duke wrote a play on Mary Queen of Scots--of which only four lines have been preserved:

”Sure were I free, and Norfolk were a prisoner, I'd fly with more impatience to his arms, Than the poor Israelite gaz'd on the serpent.

When life was the reward of every look.”

It is usually stated that this play was written at some time between 1728 and 1730, but it is certain that it was begun at this time-- probably it was never finished. Perhaps only the scenario was drawn up, and a few scenes outlined; but that so much at least was done while the author was at Twickenham is proved conclusively by the fact that at this time Lady Mary composed for the play an epilogue, designed to be spoken by Mrs. Oldfield.

”What could luxurious woman wish for more.

To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r?

Their every wish was in this Mary seen.

Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.

Vain useless blessings with ill-conduct join'd!

Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.

Whatever poets write, and lovers vow.

Beauty, what poor omnipotence hast thou?

Queen Bess had wisdom, council, power and laws; How few espous'd a wretched beauty's cause?

Learn thence, ye fair, more solid charms to prize, Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.

The brightest object s.h.i.+nes but while 'tis new.

That influence lessens by familiar view.

Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway, All strive to serve, and glory to obey, Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow-- Men mock the idol of their former vow.

Two great examples have been shown to-day, To what sure ruin pa.s.sion does betray, What long repentance to short joys is due, When reason rules, what glory must ensue.

If you will love, love like Eliza then, Love for amus.e.m.e.nt, like those traitors, men.

Think that the pastime of a leisure hour She favor'd oft--but never shar'd her pow'r.

The traveller by desert wolves pursued, If by his heart the savage foe's subdu'd, The world will still the n.o.ble act applaud, Though victory was gain'd by needful fraud.

Such is, my tender s.e.x, our helpless case, And such the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face, By pa.s.sion fir'd, and not withheld by shame, They cruel hunters are, we trembling game.

Trust me, dear ladies, (for I know 'em well), They burn to triumph, and they sigh to tell: Cruel to them that yield, cullies to them that sell.

Believe me, 'tis far the wiser course, Superior art should meet superior force: Hear, but be faithful to your int'rest still: Secure your hearts--then fool with whom you will.”