t to give a classic air to his satires on the foibles of his time
by arranging them upon the models of those of Horace. In his imitation
of the second Satire of the second Book we have--

"He knows to live who keeps the middle state,
And neither leans on this side nor on that,
Nor stops for one bad cork his butler's pay,
Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away,
Nor lets, like Naevius, every error pass,
The musty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass."

There is a slight amount of humour in these adaptations, and it seems to
have been congenial to the poets mind. Generally he was more turned to
philosophy, and the slow measures he adopted were more suited to the
dignified and pompous, than to the playful and gay. Occasionally,
however, there is some sparkle in his lines, and, we read in "The Rape
of the Lock"--

"Now love suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair,
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side,
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside."

Again, his friend Mrs. Blount found London rather dull than gay--

"She went to plain work and to purling brooks,
Old-fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks,
She went from opera, park, assembly, play,
To morning walks and prayers three hours a day,
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To muse and spill her solitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with a spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon,
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the Squire,
Up to her Godly garret after seven,
There starve and pray--for that's the way to Heaven."

He was seldom able to bring a humorous sketch to the close without
something a little objectionable. Often inclined to err on the side of
severity, he was one of those instances in which we find acrimonious
feeling associated with physical infirmity. "The Dunciad" is the
principal example of this, but we have many others--such as the epigram:

"You beat your pate and fancy wit will come,
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home."

At one time he was constantly extolling the charms of Lady Wortley
Montagu in every strain of excessive adulation. He wrote sonnets upon
her, and told her she had robbed the whole tree of knowledge. But when
the ungrateful fair rejected her little crooked admirer, he completely
changed his tone, and descended to lampoon of this kind--

"Lady Mary