Ballad—in the Quizes

As Wit and Beauty, for an hour, The other day were jarring, Which held o'er man superior pow'r, They almost came to sparring: Cried Reason, Wit you're grown a fool, You look quite ugly, Beauty: Come take me with you, both be cool, Sure mortals know their duty: To them submit, Whether 'tis Wit, They most admire, or Beauty.

So said, so done, out they both set, With reason to protect 'em, Resolv'd that the first man they met, Should to the truth direct 'em. Instant they ask'd a midnight throng, Who, to Bacchus paid their duty, Wit, cried out they, teems in our song, But 'tis inspired by Beauty. Learn wisdom, Wit, Like us, submit To the sweet power of Beauty.

Cried Wit, no tricks on travellers here, I saw you smile, you gipsy; 'Twas brib'ry and corruption clear; Besides, the rogues were tipsy: Yon bard the truth will quickly hit: Come, poet, do your duty: Do you not owe your fame to Wit; To Wit fool!—no, to Beauty. Adieu to Wit. When men submit To be the slaves of Beauty.

Quaint rogue, with his satiric page, The fellow is a lover: If I'm condemn'd by yonder sage, I'll give the matter over. Did'st not the world, say Hermit, quit, Imposing this hard duty, Better to contemplate on Wit? "No, to reflect on Beauty." Then, in fond fit, He turn'd from Wit, And squeez'd the hand of Beauty,

"Wit rules the mind, Beauty the heart, "Friend one, and wife the other; "Thus, cleaving to the better part, "Men leave friend, father, brother: "Hence, cried the sage—my presence quit: "Adieu friend, know thy duty:" Then, shutting rude the door on Wit, Was left alone with Beauty! Since when, poor Wit, Glad to submit, Has own'd the pow'r of Beauty.