The toast An heroick poem: In four Books, Written originally in Latin, by Frederick Scheffer: Now done into English, and illustrated with Notes and Observations, by Peregrine Odonald [i.e. William King] |
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| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. | BOOK THE FOURTH. |
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 | The toast |  |
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BOOK THE FOURTH.
Est aliquid [Mirâ] Miræ novitatis in istâ
Alternare vices, & quæ modo Fæmina tergo.
Passa marem est, nunc esse marem miremur.—
Ovid.
Alternare vices, & quæ modo Fæmina tergo.
Passa marem est, nunc esse marem miremur.—
Ovid.
------ Ire per ignes
Per gladios ausim, nec in hoc tamen ignibus ullis;
Aut gladiis opus est: opus est mihi Crine.—
Ovid.
Per gladios ausim, nec in hoc tamen ignibus ullis;
Aut gladiis opus est: opus est mihi Crine.—
Ovid.
143
This the last of my Works, this my noblest Design,
Now the Warriors are gone, haughty Cacus, be thine.
Hear the Battle I sing; nor thy Succour refuse
To the Bard, who invokes thee instead of his Muse.
For, importunate ever, I dare not rely
On my Friends of Parnass', when I'm soaring so high;
Or expect, the fair Virgins should give me a Lift,
And obey ev'ry Call, as they wait upon Swift.
Nor distrust, great Patrician, thy Force to inspire;
Lo! thy Name makes me glow with Poetical Fire;
And thy Language so pure, tho' for Rhyming unfit,
Gives a Grace to thy Truth, and an Edge to my Wit:
For an Edge must be given by a Thing, which has none;
As a Razor, you know, must be set by a Hone.
Now the Warriors are gone, haughty Cacus, be thine.
144
To the Bard, who invokes thee instead of his Muse.
For, importunate ever, I dare not rely
On my Friends of Parnass', when I'm soaring so high;
Or expect, the fair Virgins should give me a Lift,
And obey ev'ry Call, as they wait upon Swift.
Nor distrust, great Patrician, thy Force to inspire;
Lo! thy Name makes me glow with Poetical Fire;
And thy Language so pure, tho' for Rhyming unfit,
Gives a Grace to thy Truth, and an Edge to my Wit:
For an Edge must be given by a Thing, which has none;
As a Razor, you know, must be set by a Hone.
But alas! if with wicked old Vol thou combine,
And the Spirit of Piercy be mingled with thine;
If entic'd by the Imp, by thy Conscience unaw'd,
Thou hast sought new Possessions by Rapine and Fraud;
If thy Justice and Honour be such, as ne'er scorn'd
To assist the base Villains, whom Myra suborn'd;
To establish the Will, which her Witchcrafts had made,
And deny a plain Fact, That the Money was paid:
Then attend me, fair Fortune; revenge the great Wrong:
Or at least—Here assist me to finish my Song.
For the Muses, as all our great Criticks agree,
Often leave the best Part of their Business to thee.
Thou hast aided old Monks, in Unclassical Times,
When their Heads were in Labour, to bring forth quaint Rhymes:
And to humour our Taste, or to honour these Days,
Thou hast furnish'd whole Epicks, and all the new Plays.
Unconcern'd, that Apollo thy Fancy explodes,
Thou hast made the great Laureat, and all his Court-Odes.
And—to help a weak Bard should not you be inclin'd,
Who so oft have exalted the Dregs of Mankind?
You adorn'd ---, whom Nature made ugly;
You assign'd a Lord's Table to parasite ---
To declaim in the C---l Lord Traulus you chose;
You rewarded the Babble of --- and ---.
In the College you sometimes have made a Bear sing,
And transfer'd gentle E---wood's Politeness to ---;
You espy'd, tho' we fancy, your Sight is so short,
Rare E---pal Virtues in --- and ---.
For another B---h too you have shewn a due Care,
Since, encoiff'd by your favour, Dom Fuscus sits there:
You supply'd him with Law, which had never been us'd,
And a Stock of Socratical Patience infus'd:
Nor could else so much delicate Honour have born it,
When the skinny old Wife had seduc'd the young Cornet.
And the Spirit of Piercy be mingled with thine;
145
Thou hast sought new Possessions by Rapine and Fraud;
If thy Justice and Honour be such, as ne'er scorn'd
To assist the base Villains, whom Myra suborn'd;
To establish the Will, which her Witchcrafts had made,
And deny a plain Fact, That the Money was paid:
Then attend me, fair Fortune; revenge the great Wrong:
Or at least—Here assist me to finish my Song.
For the Muses, as all our great Criticks agree,
Often leave the best Part of their Business to thee.
Thou hast aided old Monks, in Unclassical Times,
When their Heads were in Labour, to bring forth quaint Rhymes:
146
Thou hast furnish'd whole Epicks, and all the new Plays.
Unconcern'd, that Apollo thy Fancy explodes,
Thou hast made the great Laureat, and all his Court-Odes.
And—to help a weak Bard should not you be inclin'd,
Who so oft have exalted the Dregs of Mankind?
You adorn'd ---, whom Nature made ugly;
You assign'd a Lord's Table to parasite ---
To declaim in the C---l Lord Traulus you chose;
You rewarded the Babble of --- and ---.
In the College you sometimes have made a Bear sing,
And transfer'd gentle E---wood's Politeness to ---;
147
Rare E---pal Virtues in --- and ---.
For another B---h too you have shewn a due Care,
Since, encoiff'd by your favour, Dom Fuscus sits there:
148
And a Stock of Socratical Patience infus'd:
Nor could else so much delicate Honour have born it,
When the skinny old Wife had seduc'd the young Cornet.
149
Stop a while here, old Bard, to consult the Sieur Dill;
Lest he censure your Work, by reviving the Bill:
Lest he spy in your Proem Scan. Mag. or Sedition,
And discredit your Tale by a quaint Deposition.
Can you question his Conscience, or Art to ensnare,
Who instructed the Collier and Myra to swear;
Who, to eat up Sir Mars, yet to strengthen his Party,
From the Scum of the Kevans selected Mc---;
Who bestow'd human Speech on an Image of Lead;
And has shewn how a Ranger may write when he's dead?
But approach him with awe: To ensure your Success,
Send a Rouleau of Gold, ere you make your Address.
Then the Sage shall opine, you are soft as a Lyrick,
That a Latin Burlesque is the best Panegyrick;
That a Tribad is chaste, who is crooked and paints;
That an Imp is an Angel, and Witches are Saints;
That the Knights, Lords and Heroes, and ev'ry great Name,
Which hath here been invok'd, shall be sacred to Fame:
Or—shou'd this not suffice, he shall make it appear,
That the Man, cleped Scheffer, has never been here.
Lest he censure your Work, by reviving the Bill:
Lest he spy in your Proem Scan. Mag. or Sedition,
And discredit your Tale by a quaint Deposition.
Can you question his Conscience, or Art to ensnare,
Who instructed the Collier and Myra to swear;
150
From the Scum of the Kevans selected Mc---;
Who bestow'd human Speech on an Image of Lead;
And has shewn how a Ranger may write when he's dead?
But approach him with awe: To ensure your Success,
Send a Rouleau of Gold, ere you make your Address.
Then the Sage shall opine, you are soft as a Lyrick,
That a Latin Burlesque is the best Panegyrick;
That a Tribad is chaste, who is crooked and paints;
That an Imp is an Angel, and Witches are Saints;
That the Knights, Lords and Heroes, and ev'ry great Name,
Which hath here been invok'd, shall be sacred to Fame:
Or—shou'd this not suffice, he shall make it appear,
That the Man, cleped Scheffer, has never been here.
Thrice
Aurora was call'd, ere she quitted her Bed:
Overclowded she rose, and hung mournful her Head,
Like a Widow in Weeds: And so scant was her Light,
That she seem'd to have borrow'd the Face of old Night.
Was the cause, that the Goddess, to Tithon so true,
Less inclin'd to rise from him, the older he grew?
Or she deem'd it ill Manners to broider her Vest;
To be buskin'd with Gold; (as in Tasso she's drest.)
Or to deck her with Roses, look ruddy and gay,
When she now usher'd in so important a Day.
Overclowded she rose, and hung mournful her Head,
151
That she seem'd to have borrow'd the Face of old Night.
Was the cause, that the Goddess, to Tithon so true,
Less inclin'd to rise from him, the older he grew?
Or she deem'd it ill Manners to broider her Vest;
To be buskin'd with Gold; (as in Tasso she's drest.)
Or to deck her with Roses, look ruddy and gay,
When she now usher'd in so important a Day.
From Olympus Jove view'd (and who questions his Ken?)
All the Regions of Earth, all the Actions of Men:
Ev'ry Chief he mark'd well, with his Virtues inherent,
Whom himself, or the People had made his Vicegerent.
But he thought, tho' the Moor oft repeated his Alla,
He was ill represented by Muley Abdallah.
Nor Madona the Russ could his Godship approve:
For a Female he deem'd a feint Image of Jove.
Many others, who rul'd with an absolute Sway,
(But are not to be nam'd, till their Grandsons are grey,
Or at least till their Honours are laid in the Dust)
Tho' so God-like their Port, were unworthy their Trust.
When invested with all, that his Highness could spare,
Did he see one among 'em content with his Share?
And in truth should he choose out the Man he likes best,
Stanislaus or Carlos—to govern the rest;
Even he like young Ammon, would ask a new Boon;
And possess'd of this World, he would cry for the Moon.
Say, ye Vice-Gods, for what ye thus daily contend?
Not—to win a young Wife, or protect an old Friend,
Or to save your fat Beeves, like the Heroes of old;
But to fill, by Oppression, your Coffers with Gold.
The Infection spreads down: Hence the People's Disasters;
For in all, that is Evil, we copy our Masters.
'Tis for this we regard neither Honour, nor Health:
From the Prince to the Peasant, our Passion is Wealth:
And Corruption in Subjects, Ambition in Kings,
Tho' in Sound they may differ, yet are not two Things.
Have we all that we ask? Yet a little we crave;
And we mean by Enough something more, than we have.
Should the Gods, who are righteous, a Miser e'er spare,
When, to punish, they need only grant him his Prayer?
Let the Man, who loves Gold, like a Scot with his Pack,
Never move, but with all his full Bags at his Back!
To distinguish King Midas, who can't have too much,
Let him turn all to Gold, which he offers to touch!
All the Regions of Earth, all the Actions of Men:
Ev'ry Chief he mark'd well, with his Virtues inherent,
Whom himself, or the People had made his Vicegerent.
152
He was ill represented by Muley Abdallah.
Nor Madona the Russ could his Godship approve:
For a Female he deem'd a feint Image of Jove.
Many others, who rul'd with an absolute Sway,
(But are not to be nam'd, till their Grandsons are grey,
Or at least till their Honours are laid in the Dust)
Tho' so God-like their Port, were unworthy their Trust.
When invested with all, that his Highness could spare,
Did he see one among 'em content with his Share?
And in truth should he choose out the Man he likes best,
Stanislaus or Carlos—to govern the rest;
Even he like young Ammon, would ask a new Boon;
And possess'd of this World, he would cry for the Moon.
153
Not—to win a young Wife, or protect an old Friend,
Or to save your fat Beeves, like the Heroes of old;
But to fill, by Oppression, your Coffers with Gold.
The Infection spreads down: Hence the People's Disasters;
For in all, that is Evil, we copy our Masters.
'Tis for this we regard neither Honour, nor Health:
From the Prince to the Peasant, our Passion is Wealth:
And Corruption in Subjects, Ambition in Kings,
Tho' in Sound they may differ, yet are not two Things.
Have we all that we ask? Yet a little we crave;
And we mean by Enough something more, than we have.
Should the Gods, who are righteous, a Miser e'er spare,
When, to punish, they need only grant him his Prayer?
Let the Man, who loves Gold, like a Scot with his Pack,
Never move, but with all his full Bags at his Back!
To distinguish King Midas, who can't have too much,
Let him turn all to Gold, which he offers to touch!
But, my Muse, cease your Preaching: Your Labours will fail,
If you mingle grave Morals with such a light Tale.
And a Statesman will say, you're unskill'd in your Trade;
Or perhaps, to affront you, he'll call you old Maid.
What concerns it a Monk, if a Monarch does wrong?
Or d'ye think, you can mend the whole World with a Song?
Be advis'd; and no more interrupt your Narration:
Tell us how Jove behav'd on the present Occasion.
If you mingle grave Morals with such a light Tale.
154
Or perhaps, to affront you, he'll call you old Maid.
What concerns it a Monk, if a Monarch does wrong?
Or d'ye think, you can mend the whole World with a Song?
Be advis'd; and no more interrupt your Narration:
Tell us how Jove behav'd on the present Occasion.
On his Brow sate alternate a Smile and a Frown;
'Till at length he directed his Eyes to our Town.
Tho' (at least 'tis thus storied by those, who were by)
He beheld us askaunce; not to say he look'd sly.
Near the God stood the gibing Buffoon of the Court,
Ever seeking Occasions to make himself Sport.
“How I want (quoth the Droll) the great Soldier, and Tinker;
“Mars to serve for a But, and old Vol for a Skinker!
“But I fear, we must reckon our Brothers, as dead.
Then he look'd upon Jove—and Jove nodded his Head.
When the Consort (who fears neither Jove, nor his Nod;
Tho' it shakes the whole Globe) thus accosted the God:
“Must I still be thus treated?—Unheeded their Birth,
“Shall my Sons be for Ages distress'd on the Earth?
“While your own dear Adopted, usurping their Place,
“May offend, as they please, and not forfeit your Grace.
“Or reverse your hard Doom, and my Children restore
“To their Heaven, and their Honours; or know me no more.
Thus the Thunderer answer'd; “What Fits of the Spleen,
“To disturb the great Synod, possess our good Queen?
“Tho' the Loss of your Favours we nightly deplore,
“Yet we cannot in Conscience such Spirits restore.
“Even tho' on Mount Ida your Highness request us
“In the Language of Love, and adorn'd with the Cestus.
“Shou'd a God be unrighteous, and grant a Relief
“To a Bully and Bravo, a Juggler and Thief?
“Has not Mars in all Tryals of Honour miscarried?
“Ever beaten, or bubbled! Gods! how he is married!
“Did he not (most ungrateful!) desert his own Bail?
“Did he not rob the Mortal, who sav'd him from Jayl?
“Does he not for the Rights of his Neighbour contend,
“And instruct curs'd Assassins to murder his Friend?
“Even now—when the Wretch is confin'd to his Bed:
“Even him—by whose Bounty alone he is fed.
“But recoil all their Darts! And, whate'er that Surveyor
“For his Profit projects, or the other shall swear;
“Be abortive their Plots! nor to Scheffer unknown!
“And attempting his Life let 'em forfeit their own!
“Then the Sons of Ierne shall honour the Bard;
“And the Justice of Talbot his Virtue reward.
“Here enrol that great Name! And, ye Gods, bless my Choice!
“Lend Minerva her Judgment, and Suada her Voice!
“Be as pure his Decrees, as Astræa's Commands!
“And her Ballance for ever remain in his Hands!
'Till at length he directed his Eyes to our Town.
Tho' (at least 'tis thus storied by those, who were by)
He beheld us askaunce; not to say he look'd sly.
Near the God stood the gibing Buffoon of the Court,
Ever seeking Occasions to make himself Sport.
“How I want (quoth the Droll) the great Soldier, and Tinker;
“Mars to serve for a But, and old Vol for a Skinker!
155
Then he look'd upon Jove—and Jove nodded his Head.
When the Consort (who fears neither Jove, nor his Nod;
Tho' it shakes the whole Globe) thus accosted the God:
“Must I still be thus treated?—Unheeded their Birth,
“Shall my Sons be for Ages distress'd on the Earth?
“While your own dear Adopted, usurping their Place,
“May offend, as they please, and not forfeit your Grace.
“Or reverse your hard Doom, and my Children restore
“To their Heaven, and their Honours; or know me no more.
156
“To disturb the great Synod, possess our good Queen?
“Tho' the Loss of your Favours we nightly deplore,
“Yet we cannot in Conscience such Spirits restore.
“Even tho' on Mount Ida your Highness request us
“In the Language of Love, and adorn'd with the Cestus.
“Shou'd a God be unrighteous, and grant a Relief
“To a Bully and Bravo, a Juggler and Thief?
“Has not Mars in all Tryals of Honour miscarried?
“Ever beaten, or bubbled! Gods! how he is married!
“Did he not (most ungrateful!) desert his own Bail?
“Did he not rob the Mortal, who sav'd him from Jayl?
157
“And instruct curs'd Assassins to murder his Friend?
“Even now—when the Wretch is confin'd to his Bed:
“Even him—by whose Bounty alone he is fed.
158
“For his Profit projects, or the other shall swear;
“Be abortive their Plots! nor to Scheffer unknown!
“And attempting his Life let 'em forfeit their own!
“Then the Sons of Ierne shall honour the Bard;
“And the Justice of Talbot his Virtue reward.
159
“Lend Minerva her Judgment, and Suada her Voice!
“Be as pure his Decrees, as Astræa's Commands!
“And her Ballance for ever remain in his Hands!
“Now a Word of old Vol—In all Dealings unjust:
“Did he not steal the Treasure assign'd him in Trust?
“Are his Friendships not made with Intent to betray?
“Will he not be suborn'd,—and for very small Pay?
“Don't you hear him blaspheme in revenge, that he fell,
“Ridiculing the Pow'rs both of Heaven, and of Hell?
“And if haply his Wit but half equal'd his Spite,
“Or his Head was new moulded, the Caitif wou'd write:
“He wou'd argue in Print, and my Edicts deny;
“Or insult the good Bard, who records this Reply.
“Did he not steal the Treasure assign'd him in Trust?
160
“Will he not be suborn'd,—and for very small Pay?
“Don't you hear him blaspheme in revenge, that he fell,
“Ridiculing the Pow'rs both of Heaven, and of Hell?
“And if haply his Wit but half equal'd his Spite,
“Or his Head was new moulded, the Caitif wou'd write:
“He wou'd argue in Print, and my Edicts deny;
“Or insult the good Bard, who records this Reply.
“Wretched Mortals, made frail, sin agen and agen;
“Yet we find Sparks of Virtue in very bad Men:
“Not a Spark in these Wights! If your Highness can shew,
“From the Day they were sentenc'd to wander below,
“Any Good, any where, either Exile hath done;
“I'll absolve him that instant, and own him my Son.
Here again the old Joker: “'Twas hastily said;
“Nor intend you, great Madam, to part from Jove's Bed.
“Have you not of his favourite Pleasures bereft him?
“Nor a Concubine now to converse with is left him:
“And wou'd you, since he leads here so virtuous a Life,
“Force him down in Disguise on another Man's Wife?
“Or provoke him, when thus you're so coy, and so loud,
“To create a new Consort—perhaps of a Cloud?
“And the Fate of Ixion, methinks, should make you know,
“That a Cloud in the Dark is as good, as a Juno.
“When the Humours are peccant provoking to scold;
“Your Physician should order an Apple of Gold.
“But without his Assistance I'll now make you Friends;
“Tho' so arduous the Task, you shall both have your Ends.
“Sire, to please the Queen Consort the Exiles recall:
“Yet prevent their Return, that you thus may please all.
“Let Accompt-Books in Folio be pil'd at our Gate!
“In a Sheriff's Form there let a Demi-god wait
“With the Cudgel of Bellew, or Diomed's Spear;
“And annihilate me, if they ever come here!
All the Synod laugh'd loud: Then a Silence ensu'd,
Till the Droll thus to Phœbus his Gibing renew'd.
“I perus'd the rough Edict you publish'd last Night:
“But the Stile is uncouth; nor your Sentence is right.
“And besides—ought you stop, Sir, so long in one place
“To behold an old Hag, while she painted her Face?
“But, I find, all Love Matters you turn to a Farce,
“And expose Old or Young—Mum for Venus and Mars:
Here the Paphian grew red; and when Momus had done,
In a Passion she rose, thus upbraiding the Sun:
“Tho' so curious to pry, what Delight can you take
“To prevent better Sport, than you're able to make?
“And (because you forgot, when his Myra was young)
“To reproach gentle George, who so sweetly has sung?
“If the Women are Bald, or their Tresses are Grey;
“Father Time, and the Fates are in Fault—and not they.
“Shall the want of a Tooth, when a Dame is well born,
“Or perhaps a few Wrinkles expose her to Scorn?
“You confess (and we know you survey'd ev'ry Place)
“She's as young as your Godship—except in the Face.
“For the Secrets—we use to preserve the Complexion;
“They are none of your Drugs, nor create an Infection.
“Paints and Lotions on all Royal Toilets are seen:
“Mark the Court of young Lewis, and censure his Queen.
“Shou'd I make your Decree, Sir, a Matter of Quarrel;
“While I speak it, my Myra shou'd change to a Laurel.
“Then your Rhymers in Doggrel her Beauties wou'd prize,
“Proud to wear the bright Locks, they are bid to despise.
“But you know I love Peace; nor my Manners incline
“To impertinent Medling, like you and your Nine.
“Be the Matron restrain'd, as your Edict directs;
“But allow me to make her more fit for her Sex.
“Let her thus be erect! (Here she held out her Fan)
“And be superinduc'd all the Virtue of Man!
“Nor Priapus in Action shall equal her Fame;
“Nor so oft shall Dan Chanticleer feather his Dame.
“Let her Passions be strong, as her Form is compleat,
“And her Name of Distinction be Friga the Great!
“And, my Friga, to thee, ere revolve many Years,
“Shall the Man most renown'd of Ierne's new Peers,
“In Return for thy Labours, to honour his Bed,
“(Nor --- has done more to exalt the great Head)
“In the Plains of S---l---gan a Monument raise,
“Where the Centaurs and Satyrs shall envy thy Praise.
“What intends the quaint Figure, few Clerks shall divine;
“But the Tribads shall ken it an Emblem of thine.
“For the rest—Don't imagine I'll patient endure,
“That my Rights you invade, and forbid us procure.
“Is it fitting that Youth should be thus over-aw'd,
“And the Pilgrim, and Stranger depriv'd of a Bawd?
“Tho' so bright a Toupee no Assistance can need;
“And where'er you address, you are sure to succeed:
“Yet—a Word in your Ear—pretty Daph had been won,
“Had the Matron Latona made Love for her Son.
“But hereafter be cautious, nor censure Old Age,
“Nor, to injure my Friends, interrupt your own Stage.
“Let the Tutelar Gods interfere, if they dare!
“If I catch 'em—But first I'll admonish the Fair.
Thus the Goddess: When Phœbus smil'd on her, and bow'd:
Too polite to reply, he withdrew in a Cloud.
“Yet we find Sparks of Virtue in very bad Men:
“Not a Spark in these Wights! If your Highness can shew,
“From the Day they were sentenc'd to wander below,
161
“I'll absolve him that instant, and own him my Son.
Here again the old Joker: “'Twas hastily said;
“Nor intend you, great Madam, to part from Jove's Bed.
“Have you not of his favourite Pleasures bereft him?
“Nor a Concubine now to converse with is left him:
“And wou'd you, since he leads here so virtuous a Life,
“Force him down in Disguise on another Man's Wife?
“Or provoke him, when thus you're so coy, and so loud,
“To create a new Consort—perhaps of a Cloud?
162
“That a Cloud in the Dark is as good, as a Juno.
“When the Humours are peccant provoking to scold;
“Your Physician should order an Apple of Gold.
“But without his Assistance I'll now make you Friends;
“Tho' so arduous the Task, you shall both have your Ends.
“Sire, to please the Queen Consort the Exiles recall:
“Yet prevent their Return, that you thus may please all.
“Let Accompt-Books in Folio be pil'd at our Gate!
“In a Sheriff's Form there let a Demi-god wait
“With the Cudgel of Bellew, or Diomed's Spear;
“And annihilate me, if they ever come here!
All the Synod laugh'd loud: Then a Silence ensu'd,
Till the Droll thus to Phœbus his Gibing renew'd.
163
“But the Stile is uncouth; nor your Sentence is right.
“And besides—ought you stop, Sir, so long in one place
“To behold an old Hag, while she painted her Face?
“But, I find, all Love Matters you turn to a Farce,
“And expose Old or Young—Mum for Venus and Mars:
Here the Paphian grew red; and when Momus had done,
In a Passion she rose, thus upbraiding the Sun:
“Tho' so curious to pry, what Delight can you take
“To prevent better Sport, than you're able to make?
“And (because you forgot, when his Myra was young)
“To reproach gentle George, who so sweetly has sung?
164
“Father Time, and the Fates are in Fault—and not they.
“Shall the want of a Tooth, when a Dame is well born,
“Or perhaps a few Wrinkles expose her to Scorn?
“You confess (and we know you survey'd ev'ry Place)
“She's as young as your Godship—except in the Face.
“For the Secrets—we use to preserve the Complexion;
“They are none of your Drugs, nor create an Infection.
“Paints and Lotions on all Royal Toilets are seen:
“Mark the Court of young Lewis, and censure his Queen.
“Shou'd I make your Decree, Sir, a Matter of Quarrel;
“While I speak it, my Myra shou'd change to a Laurel.
“Then your Rhymers in Doggrel her Beauties wou'd prize,
“Proud to wear the bright Locks, they are bid to despise.
165
“To impertinent Medling, like you and your Nine.
“Be the Matron restrain'd, as your Edict directs;
“But allow me to make her more fit for her Sex.
“Let her thus be erect! (Here she held out her Fan)
“And be superinduc'd all the Virtue of Man!
166
“Nor so oft shall Dan Chanticleer feather his Dame.
“Let her Passions be strong, as her Form is compleat,
“And her Name of Distinction be Friga the Great!
168
“Shall the Man most renown'd of Ierne's new Peers,
“In Return for thy Labours, to honour his Bed,
“(Nor --- has done more to exalt the great Head)
“In the Plains of S---l---gan a Monument raise,
“Where the Centaurs and Satyrs shall envy thy Praise.
“What intends the quaint Figure, few Clerks shall divine;
“But the Tribads shall ken it an Emblem of thine.
“For the rest—Don't imagine I'll patient endure,
“That my Rights you invade, and forbid us procure.
169
“And the Pilgrim, and Stranger depriv'd of a Bawd?
“Tho' so bright a Toupee no Assistance can need;
“And where'er you address, you are sure to succeed:
“Yet—a Word in your Ear—pretty Daph had been won,
“Had the Matron Latona made Love for her Son.
“But hereafter be cautious, nor censure Old Age,
“Nor, to injure my Friends, interrupt your own Stage.
“Let the Tutelar Gods interfere, if they dare!
“If I catch 'em—But first I'll admonish the Fair.
170
Too polite to reply, he withdrew in a Cloud.
Fame, who heard all that pass'd, tho' she seem'd to mind nought,
Flew away to the Phœnix, as swift as a Thought.
But for Reasons of State she assum'd a Disguise,
And resembled a Dwarf, with a Pair of Jew's Eyes;
Crooked, painted, and broider'd, like Traulus's own Dame;
And the Servants, who saw her, wou'd swear, she's the same;
If the Gossip in propriâ personâ appears;
Like a Monster she looks, with a thousand long Ears,
With a thousand sharp Tongues, and a million of Eyes,
With her Feet on the Earth, and her Head in the Skies.
Nor a Wonder I deem it, the Donna shou'd tell
All that passes in Heaven, upon Earth, or in Hell;
All Advices last Night in the Cabinet read;
All the Monarch has whisper'd to Juno in Bed:
For she sees, what no other is able to see,
Hears and knows what ne'er happen'd, nor ever will be.
Nor she strives to oblige, nor she fears to offend
Whether Mortals, or Gods—Yet to Mars a fast Friend:
When he drove the War-Chariot yclad, as a God,
Spreading Terrors and Death, his Postilion she rode:
Sounding dreadful her Trump, all his Foes she defied:
And altho' he's ungodded, she still is his Guide.
Still she ventures her Neck, to demonstrate her Love,
By revealing Court-Secrets debated above.
First she told him, How Phœbus survey'd the old Wife,
And observ'd all her Arts, and examin'd her Life;
And condemn'd all he saw, or pretends to foresee.
(Here she read and expounded the famous Decree.)
Then minutely relating, How Jove was provok'd
By the Consort's Address, and how Momus had jok'd,
She assur'd him (but spoke it with Tears in her Eyes)
That he ne'er cou'd have Hopes to revisit the Skies.
With a Smile she proceeds; to a tittle repeats
All the Paphian had utter'd, her Taunts and her Threats;
When she raillied the Sun for his Edict Imperial,
And presuming to meddle in Matters Venereal.
Here she added, That Venus (and tho' she spoke fast,
Her Description was clear, and her Language was chaste)
Male-creating, had made the old Toast Reparation:
And she shew'd him the Length of his Wife's—Transformation.
Here she dropt a short Curt'sy, and hasten'd to Town
To report the strange News, and old Myra's Renown,
In the College and Senate, the Tholsel and Court;
Still enlarging her Theme, as she made her Report.
Flew away to the Phœnix, as swift as a Thought.
But for Reasons of State she assum'd a Disguise,
And resembled a Dwarf, with a Pair of Jew's Eyes;
Crooked, painted, and broider'd, like Traulus's own Dame;
And the Servants, who saw her, wou'd swear, she's the same;
171
Like a Monster she looks, with a thousand long Ears,
With a thousand sharp Tongues, and a million of Eyes,
With her Feet on the Earth, and her Head in the Skies.
Nor a Wonder I deem it, the Donna shou'd tell
All that passes in Heaven, upon Earth, or in Hell;
All Advices last Night in the Cabinet read;
All the Monarch has whisper'd to Juno in Bed:
For she sees, what no other is able to see,
Hears and knows what ne'er happen'd, nor ever will be.
Nor she strives to oblige, nor she fears to offend
Whether Mortals, or Gods—Yet to Mars a fast Friend:
When he drove the War-Chariot yclad, as a God,
Spreading Terrors and Death, his Postilion she rode:
172
And altho' he's ungodded, she still is his Guide.
Still she ventures her Neck, to demonstrate her Love,
By revealing Court-Secrets debated above.
First she told him, How Phœbus survey'd the old Wife,
And observ'd all her Arts, and examin'd her Life;
And condemn'd all he saw, or pretends to foresee.
(Here she read and expounded the famous Decree.)
Then minutely relating, How Jove was provok'd
By the Consort's Address, and how Momus had jok'd,
She assur'd him (but spoke it with Tears in her Eyes)
That he ne'er cou'd have Hopes to revisit the Skies.
With a Smile she proceeds; to a tittle repeats
All the Paphian had utter'd, her Taunts and her Threats;
When she raillied the Sun for his Edict Imperial,
And presuming to meddle in Matters Venereal.
173
Her Description was clear, and her Language was chaste)
Male-creating, had made the old Toast Reparation:
And she shew'd him the Length of his Wife's—Transformation.
Here she dropt a short Curt'sy, and hasten'd to Town
To report the strange News, and old Myra's Renown,
In the College and Senate, the Tholsel and Court;
Still enlarging her Theme, as she made her Report.
The Chevalier mean while, after silent Debate,
Wisely judg'd this Event was the Crisis of Fate.
In a Rage he rose up and cast off his old Frize;
And the Flame, was like Lightning, which flash'd from his Eyes.
Like a Drum his Heart beat, and it burnt like a Coal;
Equal Courage and Hatred possessing his Soul.
What! because in his Cups he once mention'd her Name,
“Shall Apollo (he cry'd) thus chastise the old Dame?
“And shall I God of War, to whom Vengeance belongs,
“Ever patient forbear, and submit to my Wrongs?
“Cou'd I now at threescore a Wife-Monster defeat;
“(Be the Labour Herculean, the Glory is great!)
“Such a Conquest wou'd surely lost Honour restore;
“And the Drubbing might then be remember'd no more.
Thus the Warrior—And grasping his Couteau de Chasse,
Thrice he brandish'd the Weapon, and thrice made a Pass.
Then he slung on his Muff, which no other cou'd wield,
Of a Sable so thick, it might serve for a Shield:
And altho' the bright Fur to his Belt was made fast,
Yet it haply thus prov'd to be Armour well plac'd.
Then a Full-bottom'd Peruke with care he unfolded,
By the Fates long preserv'd, else his Consort had sold it:
'Twas invented by Pallas, and fashion'd by Van,
As Tradition reports, in the First of Queen Ann:
So enormous the Bulk, and so pond'rous the Hair;
Such a Cov'ring no Head, that was mortal, could bear:
Modern Mortals, I ween, as are born in our Days,
To adorn a Court-Circle, Assemblies and Plays.
Nor unequal the Length, for it flow'd to his Knees:
Fifty Bobs it wou'd make, or a hundred Toupees.
Then he kemb'd it with Art; and, as Beaux Alamode
Dight their Fore-locks and Tails, so unsparing he strew'd,
Well diffus'd thro' the whole, a full Bag of fine Meal;
More than erst the fam'd Trompington Miller durst steal.
Molly trembled to see, nor was able to speak,
Such a Waste, as destroy'd all the Pies of the Week.
But the Hero this Lore in a Vision was taught:
And perhaps it was Phœbus who inspir'd the Thought.
Wisely judg'd this Event was the Crisis of Fate.
In a Rage he rose up and cast off his old Frize;
And the Flame, was like Lightning, which flash'd from his Eyes.
Like a Drum his Heart beat, and it burnt like a Coal;
Equal Courage and Hatred possessing his Soul.
174
“Shall Apollo (he cry'd) thus chastise the old Dame?
“And shall I God of War, to whom Vengeance belongs,
“Ever patient forbear, and submit to my Wrongs?
“Cou'd I now at threescore a Wife-Monster defeat;
“(Be the Labour Herculean, the Glory is great!)
“Such a Conquest wou'd surely lost Honour restore;
“And the Drubbing might then be remember'd no more.
Thus the Warrior—And grasping his Couteau de Chasse,
Thrice he brandish'd the Weapon, and thrice made a Pass.
Then he slung on his Muff, which no other cou'd wield,
Of a Sable so thick, it might serve for a Shield:
And altho' the bright Fur to his Belt was made fast,
Yet it haply thus prov'd to be Armour well plac'd.
175
By the Fates long preserv'd, else his Consort had sold it:
'Twas invented by Pallas, and fashion'd by Van,
As Tradition reports, in the First of Queen Ann:
So enormous the Bulk, and so pond'rous the Hair;
Such a Cov'ring no Head, that was mortal, could bear:
Modern Mortals, I ween, as are born in our Days,
To adorn a Court-Circle, Assemblies and Plays.
Nor unequal the Length, for it flow'd to his Knees:
Fifty Bobs it wou'd make, or a hundred Toupees.
Then he kemb'd it with Art; and, as Beaux Alamode
Dight their Fore-locks and Tails, so unsparing he strew'd,
176
More than erst the fam'd Trompington Miller durst steal.
Molly trembled to see, nor was able to speak,
Such a Waste, as destroy'd all the Pies of the Week.
But the Hero this Lore in a Vision was taught:
And perhaps it was Phœbus who inspir'd the Thought.
Me the Bard let him also instruct in a Dream!
Let me fancy the Liffy, like Helicon's Stream!
Let my Notes, as my Subject is martial, be shrill!
And the Muses here shape to a Trumpet my Quill!
Let me fancy the Liffy, like Helicon's Stream!
Let my Notes, as my Subject is martial, be shrill!
And the Muses here shape to a Trumpet my Quill!
Now the Warrior impatient his Arms to essay,
Drove as furious, as Jehu, to Usher's new Quay.
Here alighting he enter'd Androgyne's Dome;
Tho' a Brazen-Head swore, That she was not at Home.
Nor recall'd him a Voice, as he mounted the Stairs;
Tho' the Treble squeak'd thrice, Sir, my Lady's at Prayers.
Nor abated his Rage, when he reach'd the first Floor:
But, without previous Rap, he forc'd open the Door;
And surpriz'd (well-a-day!) the great Friga and Frow
In a Posture—the Muse must not venture to shew!
So uncommon, it scap'd Peter Aretine's Touch;
Nor was practis'd before, but on Sappho's own Couch.
Thus the Warrior began; “Pretty Lambkins at play!
“Lo the Fervour, with which great Hermaphrodites pray!
The Virago bounc'd up; and, her Impy bedight,
Unabash'd she advanc'd, thus upbraiding the Knight:
“What intends this Antique? What are you, who presume
“To disturb my Repose, and intrude to my Room?
“Do you come here to rob, or my Manhood to try?
“Or has Traulus prevail'd on your Knightship to spy?
“Boast the noble Adventure; indulge your mad Spleen;
“Bid your Trumpeter sound the rare Feats, you have seen!
“Say, to help the good Wife, I have form'd a new Plan,
“And, as thou art turn'd Child, I am ripen'd to Man;
“That I double the Favours, which now I bestow,
“And create two Cornuto's, embracing one Frow.
Thus insulting she spake. Al scornfully hist,
Till the Elfin he silenc'd by shaking his Fist.
Doubled hard was his Fist, and tremendous it shook;
And so felly he stamp'd; and so stern was his Look!
For a Shelter she fled under Friga's broad Hoop;
As a Biddy-Chick flies to the Hen in a Coop.
Here we leave her Beshet (thus sings my Friend Kelly)
Like the Daughters of Sin in the Semivir's Belly.
But the slippery Floor, over-flow'd by her Fright,
To revenge the Affront, had nigh tript up the Knight:
Tho', in wrestling well skill'd, he recover'd his Feet;
Yet his Visage turn'd pale, and he felt his Heart beat.
Ill presage! And had Friga but made a right Use
Of a Hint so instructive, and op'd her own Sluice;
Swelling high the Imp's Pool in a Torrent had run;
And the Battle had ended, as soon as begun.
Tho' so fearless, the Knight must have quitted his Ground,
Or opposing the Deluge (strange hap!) have been drown'd.
But a Conquest unmanly great Friga rejected,
Nor the Force of her Arm or her Prowess suspected.
Too secure! that Sir Mars durst not offer a Blow,
She employ'd all her Thoughts how to railly her Foe.
With her Foot a long Stream from the Puddle she drew:
“Lo! a Granic, or Boyne for a Warrior like you!
“Or a Sea, if I please; and as Hercules thus,
“Or his Pillar I stand, and pronounce my Ne plus.
Scoffing thus as she spake, making aukward Grimace;
At a Ford the Knight pass'd, and spit full in her Face.
Such a sudden Assault the Virago alarms,
Turns her Scorn into Rage: Rage furnishes Arms.
In the Room were two Tables: One rich in decay,
Lac'd and mantled with Velvet, was hollow'd for Play:
Here the Bales of new Cards in good Order were plac'd,
And the Surface with Shoals of Pearl-Fishes was grac'd.
But the other, rare Work of the Artists of Inde,
Bore a Service for Tea-Compotations design'd;
Cups and Saucers well-suited, and cast in a Mould;
All inlaid with bright Flourets, and border'd with Gold:
Nor thy Toilets, great ---, such Colours display;
Nor thy Person is form'd of so noble a Clay.
Now a handful of Fishes old Friga snatch'd up,
Aiming right at his Head; now a Saucer or Cup:
But his Caution in War the Knight had not forgot,
And by opportune Ducking avoided the Shot.
Tho' his Cranium escap'd, not unhurt he remain'd:
For by bending so oft the Back-Muscles were strain'd;
And a Motion so vi'lent rais'd asthmatick Cough,
Forc'd the Buttons from old Galligaskins fly off.
Thus embarrass'd, and pain'd by his Strains and his Stitches,
Ere the Knight could recover his Breath or his Breeches,
The Virago remarking his Points were untruss'd,
Sudden drew out her Bodkin, and made a Home-thrust:
Cou'd she touch the soft Part, where he suffer'd before,
Like a Cur-Dog, she knew, he wou'd run and he'd roar.
But her Effort was vain: For the shagged old Muff
Well resisted the Point, as a Sev'n-fold of Buff.
And, as now she endeavour'd to draw back the Spear,
With a brawny broad Palm twice he measur'd her Ear.
Di'mond Ring, that was Pendant, impress'd a deep Wound,
And the Walls of the Hotel re-eccho'd the Sound.
Such a Rage, as provokes the old Fish-Wife to scold,
Or a Miser, or Gamester, for Loss of his Gold;
As descends from the Moon into ---'s great Head,
Or his Consort has practis'd with --- in Bed;
Or as Elrington feigns, if in Buskins he's drest:
Such the Fury, which now mighty Friga possest.
To supply the Defect of her Bodkin and Shot,
From the Grate she lug'd out a long Poker red-hot:
Nor unskilfull she couch'd it, and ran at the Knight;
Thus at once well essaying to finish the Fight.
Fend, ye Gods, your own Hero! In Flanders nor Spain,
Nor where'er in his Youth he had made a Campaign,
Was his Danger so great; nor in War had he seen,
By a Dæmon invented, this dreadful Machine!
But—as feeble Court-Beaux lusty Wood-Nymphs surprise,
And prevail by the Snuff, which they cast in their Eyes;
Or, as African Monkies will make a bold Stand,
And repulse the fell Lion with Handfuls of Sand:
Such the Art of Sir Mars, when he found his Distress,
Such his Presence of Mind, and as great his Success!
For remembring the Arms, which he kept in Reserve,
Lo! he snatch'd off his Wig, tho' he strain'd ev'ry Nerve;
Then retiring three Steps, to avoid the dire Pass,
And collect his whole Force, threw it right in her Face.
Pointed Atoms of Powder, in Friga's red Orbs
Deep infix'd, unresisting the Fluid absorbs:.
And a Torrent of Tears, while she bellows and raves,
Now impetuous descending, the Salt-Water Waves
Roll a dreery wide Waste all a down her broad Cheeks;
And of all the fine Red only leave a few Streaks.
Drove as furious, as Jehu, to Usher's new Quay.
177
Tho' a Brazen-Head swore, That she was not at Home.
Nor recall'd him a Voice, as he mounted the Stairs;
Tho' the Treble squeak'd thrice, Sir, my Lady's at Prayers.
Nor abated his Rage, when he reach'd the first Floor:
But, without previous Rap, he forc'd open the Door;
And surpriz'd (well-a-day!) the great Friga and Frow
In a Posture—the Muse must not venture to shew!
So uncommon, it scap'd Peter Aretine's Touch;
Nor was practis'd before, but on Sappho's own Couch.
Thus the Warrior began; “Pretty Lambkins at play!
“Lo the Fervour, with which great Hermaphrodites pray!
The Virago bounc'd up; and, her Impy bedight,
Unabash'd she advanc'd, thus upbraiding the Knight:
“What intends this Antique? What are you, who presume
“To disturb my Repose, and intrude to my Room?
178
“Or has Traulus prevail'd on your Knightship to spy?
“Boast the noble Adventure; indulge your mad Spleen;
“Bid your Trumpeter sound the rare Feats, you have seen!
“Say, to help the good Wife, I have form'd a new Plan,
“And, as thou art turn'd Child, I am ripen'd to Man;
“That I double the Favours, which now I bestow,
“And create two Cornuto's, embracing one Frow.
Thus insulting she spake. Al scornfully hist,
Till the Elfin he silenc'd by shaking his Fist.
179
And so felly he stamp'd; and so stern was his Look!
For a Shelter she fled under Friga's broad Hoop;
As a Biddy-Chick flies to the Hen in a Coop.
Here we leave her Beshet (thus sings my Friend Kelly)
Like the Daughters of Sin in the Semivir's Belly.
180
To revenge the Affront, had nigh tript up the Knight:
Tho', in wrestling well skill'd, he recover'd his Feet;
Yet his Visage turn'd pale, and he felt his Heart beat.
Ill presage! And had Friga but made a right Use
Of a Hint so instructive, and op'd her own Sluice;
Swelling high the Imp's Pool in a Torrent had run;
And the Battle had ended, as soon as begun.
Tho' so fearless, the Knight must have quitted his Ground,
Or opposing the Deluge (strange hap!) have been drown'd.
181
Nor the Force of her Arm or her Prowess suspected.
Too secure! that Sir Mars durst not offer a Blow,
She employ'd all her Thoughts how to railly her Foe.
With her Foot a long Stream from the Puddle she drew:
“Lo! a Granic, or Boyne for a Warrior like you!
“Or a Sea, if I please; and as Hercules thus,
“Or his Pillar I stand, and pronounce my Ne plus.
Scoffing thus as she spake, making aukward Grimace;
At a Ford the Knight pass'd, and spit full in her Face.
Such a sudden Assault the Virago alarms,
Turns her Scorn into Rage: Rage furnishes Arms.
182
Lac'd and mantled with Velvet, was hollow'd for Play:
Here the Bales of new Cards in good Order were plac'd,
And the Surface with Shoals of Pearl-Fishes was grac'd.
But the other, rare Work of the Artists of Inde,
Bore a Service for Tea-Compotations design'd;
Cups and Saucers well-suited, and cast in a Mould;
All inlaid with bright Flourets, and border'd with Gold:
Nor thy Toilets, great ---, such Colours display;
Nor thy Person is form'd of so noble a Clay.
Now a handful of Fishes old Friga snatch'd up,
Aiming right at his Head; now a Saucer or Cup:
But his Caution in War the Knight had not forgot,
And by opportune Ducking avoided the Shot.
Tho' his Cranium escap'd, not unhurt he remain'd:
For by bending so oft the Back-Muscles were strain'd;
And a Motion so vi'lent rais'd asthmatick Cough,
Forc'd the Buttons from old Galligaskins fly off.
183
Ere the Knight could recover his Breath or his Breeches,
The Virago remarking his Points were untruss'd,
Sudden drew out her Bodkin, and made a Home-thrust:
Cou'd she touch the soft Part, where he suffer'd before,
Like a Cur-Dog, she knew, he wou'd run and he'd roar.
But her Effort was vain: For the shagged old Muff
Well resisted the Point, as a Sev'n-fold of Buff.
And, as now she endeavour'd to draw back the Spear,
With a brawny broad Palm twice he measur'd her Ear.
184
And the Walls of the Hotel re-eccho'd the Sound.
Such a Rage, as provokes the old Fish-Wife to scold,
Or a Miser, or Gamester, for Loss of his Gold;
As descends from the Moon into ---'s great Head,
Or his Consort has practis'd with --- in Bed;
Or as Elrington feigns, if in Buskins he's drest:
Such the Fury, which now mighty Friga possest.
To supply the Defect of her Bodkin and Shot,
From the Grate she lug'd out a long Poker red-hot:
Nor unskilfull she couch'd it, and ran at the Knight;
Thus at once well essaying to finish the Fight.
Fend, ye Gods, your own Hero! In Flanders nor Spain,
Nor where'er in his Youth he had made a Campaign,
Was his Danger so great; nor in War had he seen,
By a Dæmon invented, this dreadful Machine!
185
And prevail by the Snuff, which they cast in their Eyes;
Or, as African Monkies will make a bold Stand,
And repulse the fell Lion with Handfuls of Sand:
Such the Art of Sir Mars, when he found his Distress,
Such his Presence of Mind, and as great his Success!
For remembring the Arms, which he kept in Reserve,
Lo! he snatch'd off his Wig, tho' he strain'd ev'ry Nerve;
Then retiring three Steps, to avoid the dire Pass,
And collect his whole Force, threw it right in her Face.
Pointed Atoms of Powder, in Friga's red Orbs
Deep infix'd, unresisting the Fluid absorbs:.
186
Now impetuous descending, the Salt-Water Waves
Roll a dreery wide Waste all a down her broad Cheeks;
And of all the fine Red only leave a few Streaks.
Thus a gorgeous crown'd Head, hung aloft for a Sign
To invite thirsty Mortals to tipple bad Wine,
By the Tempests of Jove so disfigur'd I've seen,
That the Muse wou'd speak Treason to call it a Queen.
To invite thirsty Mortals to tipple bad Wine,
By the Tempests of Jove so disfigur'd I've seen,
That the Muse wou'd speak Treason to call it a Queen.
Thro' impatience of Pain, or the sudden Surprise,
That her Hands might be free to give Ease to her Eyes,
Friga threw down the Poker, which brent, where it lay;
And the Mark (that to Strangers is shewn at this Day)
Uneffac'd by the Rubber, or Carpenter's Plane,
Like the Blood of St. Becket shall ever remain.
That her Hands might be free to give Ease to her Eyes,
Friga threw down the Poker, which brent, where it lay;
And the Mark (that to Strangers is shewn at this Day)
187
Like the Blood of St. Becket shall ever remain.
Now it was, that great Jove, who the Combat survey'd,
Putting forth his Gold Scales, both the Combatants weigh'd;
Here he plac'd the huge Friga, there dangled the Knight;
And the Gods, who beheld them, were pleas'd with the Sight:
Mars ascended, as if from the Greeks he had fled;
And the Semivir sunk like a Statue of Lead.
Sure Presage of their Fates!—But shou'd Scheffer pretend
To declare in a Word, how the Battle wou'd end;
You'd object, he wants Skill to eke out the Relation,
Or has spoil'd a good Tale by an Anticipation:
Yet you wot here what Homer, or Maro wou'd say;
And in Staticks perhaps I'm as learned, as they.
Putting forth his Gold Scales, both the Combatants weigh'd;
Here he plac'd the huge Friga, there dangled the Knight;
And the Gods, who beheld them, were pleas'd with the Sight:
Mars ascended, as if from the Greeks he had fled;
And the Semivir sunk like a Statue of Lead.
Sure Presage of their Fates!—But shou'd Scheffer pretend
To declare in a Word, how the Battle wou'd end;
188
Or has spoil'd a good Tale by an Anticipation:
Yet you wot here what Homer, or Maro wou'd say;
And in Staticks perhaps I'm as learned, as they.
Well! behold the Don Donna depriv'd of her Arms!
What remains for Defence, but to mumble her Charms?
Thrice she stampt—and invok'd all the Furies below,
Or to open her Eyes, or to fetch off her Foe;
Or to change the old Knight to a little grey Rat,
And herself (such she often hath been) to a Cat.
But a Dæmon, when call'd for, but rarely attends,
And, as Sages remark, still betrays his best Friends.
This she prov'd to her Cost: Nor her Curses, nor Prayers
Aught availing to raise him, the Hockle despairs,
Moving cautious and slow, or to this or that Side;
As a Whale among Rocks, when he loses his Guide.
Now to seize the old Warrior, or find out a Chair,
She extends both her Arms; but she fill's 'em with Air:
And the Knight, as around her thus darkling she feels,
Steals behind her on Tip-toe, and trips up her Heels.
Heavy falls the vast Lump with a greater rebound,
Than the Giant, who cover'd nine Acres of Ground.
By so rude a Blow stun'd, without Motion she lies,
And indignant her Soul seems to rush from her Eyes.
What remains for Defence, but to mumble her Charms?
Thrice she stampt—and invok'd all the Furies below,
Or to open her Eyes, or to fetch off her Foe;
Or to change the old Knight to a little grey Rat,
And herself (such she often hath been) to a Cat.
But a Dæmon, when call'd for, but rarely attends,
And, as Sages remark, still betrays his best Friends.
This she prov'd to her Cost: Nor her Curses, nor Prayers
Aught availing to raise him, the Hockle despairs,
189
As a Whale among Rocks, when he loses his Guide.
Now to seize the old Warrior, or find out a Chair,
She extends both her Arms; but she fill's 'em with Air:
And the Knight, as around her thus darkling she feels,
Steals behind her on Tip-toe, and trips up her Heels.
Heavy falls the vast Lump with a greater rebound,
Than the Giant, who cover'd nine Acres of Ground.
By so rude a Blow stun'd, without Motion she lies,
And indignant her Soul seems to rush from her Eyes.
But the Hero well judging, that masculine Wives
Often rise from the Dead, and like Cats have nine Lives,
To assure his Success, and the Conquest compleat,
With her Garters fast bound both her Hands, and her Feet:
Singing loud Io Pæans, when thus he had tied her,
Like the Saint on the Dragon, he straddled astride her.
Happy Thought! For as thus stood triumphant our Knight,
The Virago recov'ring her Senses, and Sight,
Strives to break her new Bonds, and the Poker regain;
And applies all her Strength: But her Struggles are vain.
Such the impotent Effort, which makes an old Goat,
Lying bound on his Back, and the Knife at his Throat;
Or a Tortoise, when turn'd to secure the fresh Prey:
So indecent her Posture! so helpless she lay!
While the Victor insulting now whistles, now gibes;
And at length these Conditions of Ransom prescribes.
First, To beg in low Terms of Submission, her Life;
To renounce all the Rights, and the Title of Wife;
Restitution to make him in Bills, or in Gold,
For the Horses, and Patents, and Plate she had sold;
Never more to accuse him of Madness or Folly;
Or (Querelle d' Almand) to be jealous of Molly.
But the Hero's Demands, tho' so just they were fram'd,
The Virago rejecting, thus furious exclaim'd:
“O ye Powers of Dis be for ever accurst!
“False, ungrateful to all! To your own still the Worst!
“Have I conquer'd the Mighty, the Rich, and the Brave,
“Thus inglorious to fall by the Hands of my Slave?
“Ought ye not, ye foul Fiends, to prevent my Disgrace,
“When so oft, to oblige you, I've stood in your Place?
“Will ye suffer this Wretch on my Body to dance;
“Nor a Cloven-Foot now to my Succour advance?
“You! Who erst, to divert me, have come at a Call,
“To imprison Lord I---s, or to juggle old Vol;
“Or to sink a Rake's Nose, or to break a Fool's Shins;
“Or to pinch the fat Cook, and make Children spit Pins:
“But exert, Knight or Devils, your Malice and Wit!
“Yet my Mind is still free, and I'll never submit.
This enrag'd the Chevalier: He chang'd his mild Note;
And his Eyes, while he spake, were as red as his Coat.
“Is it thus, when my Offers are civil, you dare me?
“Do you think, at Noon-Day, that your Goblins can scare me?
“Or submit—Or by Styx (here he drew the broad Blade)
“Shall your Manhood as smooth, as black Eunuch's, be made.
Friga heard him, and trembled: The same Panick Fear
Seiz'd the Imp in her Hole; if the Imp was still there!
Often rise from the Dead, and like Cats have nine Lives,
190
With her Garters fast bound both her Hands, and her Feet:
Singing loud Io Pæans, when thus he had tied her,
Like the Saint on the Dragon, he straddled astride her.
Happy Thought! For as thus stood triumphant our Knight,
The Virago recov'ring her Senses, and Sight,
Strives to break her new Bonds, and the Poker regain;
And applies all her Strength: But her Struggles are vain.
Such the impotent Effort, which makes an old Goat,
Lying bound on his Back, and the Knife at his Throat;
191
So indecent her Posture! so helpless she lay!
While the Victor insulting now whistles, now gibes;
And at length these Conditions of Ransom prescribes.
First, To beg in low Terms of Submission, her Life;
To renounce all the Rights, and the Title of Wife;
Restitution to make him in Bills, or in Gold,
For the Horses, and Patents, and Plate she had sold;
Never more to accuse him of Madness or Folly;
Or (Querelle d' Almand) to be jealous of Molly.
But the Hero's Demands, tho' so just they were fram'd,
The Virago rejecting, thus furious exclaim'd:
192
“False, ungrateful to all! To your own still the Worst!
“Have I conquer'd the Mighty, the Rich, and the Brave,
“Thus inglorious to fall by the Hands of my Slave?
“Ought ye not, ye foul Fiends, to prevent my Disgrace,
“When so oft, to oblige you, I've stood in your Place?
193
“Nor a Cloven-Foot now to my Succour advance?
“You! Who erst, to divert me, have come at a Call,
“To imprison Lord I---s, or to juggle old Vol;
“Or to sink a Rake's Nose, or to break a Fool's Shins;
“Or to pinch the fat Cook, and make Children spit Pins:
“But exert, Knight or Devils, your Malice and Wit!
“Yet my Mind is still free, and I'll never submit.
This enrag'd the Chevalier: He chang'd his mild Note;
And his Eyes, while he spake, were as red as his Coat.
194
“Do you think, at Noon-Day, that your Goblins can scare me?
“Or submit—Or by Styx (here he drew the broad Blade)
“Shall your Manhood as smooth, as black Eunuch's, be made.
Friga heard him, and trembled: The same Panick Fear
Seiz'd the Imp in her Hole; if the Imp was still there!
195
As a bold British Sailor, far distant the Shore,
All the Sea-Gods defies, bids the Elements roar;
But descends to his Prayers, is confounded, aghast,
When he hears the dire Order to cut down the Mast:
So the mighty Virago, whom nought cou'd affright;
Nor the Duns of the Day, nor the Dæmons of Night;
Nor Diseases, old Age, nor a Satire cou'd move,
Nor the Anger of Phœbus, nor Thunder of Jove,
Was appal'd at the Sight of a rusty short Sword,
And alas! was subdu'd by the Force of one Word.
Me an Eunuch! she cries; And with suppliant Hands,
Yet indignant submits to the Victor's Demands.
All the Sea-Gods defies, bids the Elements roar;
But descends to his Prayers, is confounded, aghast,
When he hears the dire Order to cut down the Mast:
So the mighty Virago, whom nought cou'd affright;
Nor the Duns of the Day, nor the Dæmons of Night;
Nor Diseases, old Age, nor a Satire cou'd move,
Nor the Anger of Phœbus, nor Thunder of Jove,
196
And alas! was subdu'd by the Force of one Word.
Me an Eunuch! she cries; And with suppliant Hands,
Yet indignant submits to the Victor's Demands.
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