_Poet._ Know you the fate of Villars?— _Friend._ What! the lad At school so fond of solitude, and sad; Who broke our bounds because he scorn’d a guide, And would walk lonely by the river’s side?— _P._ The same!—who rose at midnight to behold The moonbeams shedding their ethereal gold; Who held our sports and pleasures in disgrace, For Guy of Warwick, and old Chevy Chase.— _F._ Who sought for friendships, gave his generous heart To every boy who chose to act the part, 10 Or judged he felt it—not aware that boys Have poor conceit of intellectual joys. Theirs is no season for superfluous friends, And none they need—but those whom Nature lends.— _P._ But he, too, loved?— _F._ Oh, yes! his friend betray’d The tender passion for the angel-maid. Some child, whose features he at church had seen, Became his bosom’s and his fancy’s queen; Some favourite look was on his mind impress’d— His warm and fruitful fondness gave the rest.— 20 _P._ He left his father?— _F._ Yes! and rambled round The land on foot—I know not what he found. Early he came to his paternal land, And took the course he had in rambling plann’d. Ten years we lost him: he was then employ’d In the wild schemes that he, perhaps, enjoy’d. His mode of life, when he to manhood grew, Was all his own—its shape disclosed to few. Our grave, stern dames, who know the deeds of all, Say that some damsels owe to him their fall; 30 And, though a Christian in his creed profess’d, He had some heathen notions in his breast. Yet we may doubt; for women, in his eyes, Were high and glorious, queens and deities; But he, perhaps, adorer and yet man, Transgress’d, yet worshipp’d. There are those who can. Near him a Widow’s mansion he survey’d— The lovely mother of a lovelier Maid; Not great their wealth, though they were proud to claim Alliance with a house of noblest name. 40 Now, had I skill, I would right fain devise To bring the highborn spinster to your eyes. I could discourse of lip, and chin, and cheek; But you would see no picture as I speak. Such colours cannot—mix them as I may— Paint you this nymph—We’ll try a different way. First take Calista in her glowing charms, Ere yet she sank within Lothario’s arms— Endued with beauties ripe, and large desires, And all that feels delight, and that inspires. 50 Add Cleopatra’s great, yet tender, soul, Her boundless pride, her fondness of control, Her daring spirit, and her wily art, That, though it tortures, yet commands the heart; Add woman’s anger for a lover’s slight, And the revenge, that insult will excite; Add looks for veils, that she at will could wear, As Juliet fond, as Imogen sincere— Like Portia grave, sententious, and design’d For high affairs, or gay as Rosalind— 60