Drown’d in the tears of reconciling love. Affairs confused, and business at a stand, Were soon set right by Charles’s powerful hand; The rudest mind in this rude place enjoy’d The pleasing thought of enmity destroy’d, 110 And so destroy’d, that neither spite nor spleen, Nor peevish look from that blest hour were seen; Yet each his party and his spirit kept, Though all the harsh and angry passions slept. _P._ And they too sleep! and, at their joint request, Within one tomb, beneath one stone, they rest! TALE XIII. _THE DEAN’S LADY._ I. Next, to a LADY I must bid adieu— Whom some in mirth or malice call a “_Blue_.” There needs no more—when that same word is said, The men grow shy, respectful, and afraid; Save the choice friends who in her colour dress, And all her praise in words like hers express. Why should proud man in man that knowledge prize, Which he affects in woman to despise? Is he not envious when a lady gains, } In hours of leisure, and with little pains, 10} What he in many a year with painful toil obtains? } For surely knowledge should not odious grow, Nor ladies be despised for what they know; Truth, to no sex confined, her friends invites, And woman, long restrain’d, demands her rights. Nor should a light and odious name be thrown On the fair dame who makes that knowledge known— Who bravely dares the world’s sarcastic sneer, And what she is, is willing to appear. “And what she is not!” peevish man replies, 20 His envy owning what his pride denies. But let him, envious as he is, repair To this sage Dame, and meet conviction there! MIRANDA sees her morning levee fill’d With men, in every art and science skill’d— Men who have gain’d a name, whom she invites, Because in men of genius she delights. To these she puts her questions, that produce Discussion vivid, and discourse abstruse; She no opinion for its boldness spares, 30 But loves to show her audience what she dares; The creeds of all men she takes leave to sift, And, quite impartial, turns her own adrift. Her noble mind, with independent force, Her Rector questions on his late discourse; Perplex’d and pain’d, he wishes to retire From one whom critics, nay, whom crowds, admire— From her whose faith on no man’s dictate leans; Who her large creed from many a teacher gleans; Who for herself will judge, debate, decide, 40 And be her own “philosopher and guide.” Why call a lady _Blue_? It is because She reads, converses, studies for applause; And therefore all that she desires to know Is just as much as she can fairly show. The real knowledge we in secret hide; It is the counterfeit that makes our pride. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing”— So sings the Poet, and so let him sing;