The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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PALÆMON to CÆLIA, at Bath;
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 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
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PALÆMON to CÆLIA, at Bath;
or the TRIUMVIRATE; 1717.
Cælia, you rule with such despotic sway,
Though your commands displease us, we obey:
Inclin'd to praise, averse to censure still,
The task, you give me, suits my genius ill:
To paint the Town, requires a sullen Muse;
'Tis the worst-natur'd subject Verse can chuse:
Whatever rises in the mingled scene,
Or makes our virtue blush, or stirs our spleen:
To prosperous counterfeits all arts submit;
And now th' infectious ill has reach'd to Wit:
Wit was ordain'd to recreate the heart,
With sprightly strokes of Nature and of Art;
The charming talent for delight was born;
But now our pleasure is become our scorn;
To lawless licence Fame now owes its rise,
And Dulness brightens when 'tis dress'd in vice.
Though your commands displease us, we obey:
Inclin'd to praise, averse to censure still,
The task, you give me, suits my genius ill:
To paint the Town, requires a sullen Muse;
'Tis the worst-natur'd subject Verse can chuse:
Whatever rises in the mingled scene,
Or makes our virtue blush, or stirs our spleen:
To prosperous counterfeits all arts submit;
And now th' infectious ill has reach'd to Wit:
Wit was ordain'd to recreate the heart,
With sprightly strokes of Nature and of Art;
The charming talent for delight was born;
But now our pleasure is become our scorn;
To lawless licence Fame now owes its rise,
And Dulness brightens when 'tis dress'd in vice.
Of Nature's gifts no excellence we find,
But is resembled in a spurious kind;
Whate'er is shining, has some copy still,
Which imitates the genuine picture ill.
So awkward Mucius, with impure desires,
To elegant Petronio's fame aspires;
So Learning is in S---n and Salter seen,
And Cloe's amble mocks Clarissa's mien.
One truth I would conceal from Love and Thee,
Ev'n Beauty from imposture is not free:
Our shining Picts with borrow'd lustre reign,
And o'er our hearts felonious conquests gain:
They buy the artful beauties which they wear,
And every Nymph, that is not poor, is fair:
To blend with skill the blushing red, is known,
And glaze the neck with lilies not its own,
To teach the coral on the lip to stand,
And polish with eburnean white the hand:
The swains, whose souls in dying murmurs waste,
See not, they pine for wash, and sigh for paste:
Each the complection, that she loves, can frame,
And is at will another or the same:
Her whom the evening saw a gay brunette,
The morning oft admires in lovely jett;
The same that sleeps with eye-brows of japan,
To-morrow shines more snowy than the swan;
She on whose cheek too high the colour glows,
Mingles the softer olive with the rose;
Her lover views, with doubts perplexing tost,
Another face, and mourns his mistress lost.
But is resembled in a spurious kind;
Whate'er is shining, has some copy still,
Which imitates the genuine picture ill.
So awkward Mucius, with impure desires,
To elegant Petronio's fame aspires;
So Learning is in S---n and Salter seen,
And Cloe's amble mocks Clarissa's mien.
One truth I would conceal from Love and Thee,
Ev'n Beauty from imposture is not free:
Our shining Picts with borrow'd lustre reign,
And o'er our hearts felonious conquests gain:
They buy the artful beauties which they wear,
And every Nymph, that is not poor, is fair:
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And glaze the neck with lilies not its own,
To teach the coral on the lip to stand,
And polish with eburnean white the hand:
The swains, whose souls in dying murmurs waste,
See not, they pine for wash, and sigh for paste:
Each the complection, that she loves, can frame,
And is at will another or the same:
Her whom the evening saw a gay brunette,
The morning oft admires in lovely jett;
The same that sleeps with eye-brows of japan,
To-morrow shines more snowy than the swan;
She on whose cheek too high the colour glows,
Mingles the softer olive with the rose;
Her lover views, with doubts perplexing tost,
Another face, and mourns his mistress lost.
When you, lov'd Nymph, came forth the public care,
And grac'd the bright assemblies of the fair;
An upright Censor sway'd the realms of Wit,
And Virtue gain'd a friend whene'er he writ;
In such engaging lights the Goddess rose,
She drew applauses from her wondering foes:
Now in the myrtle garden thistles grow,
And streams impure from vicious fountains flow;
The province of delight two Bards invade,
With mock astrology and emp'ric aid:
No satyr starts, no humour, or intrigue,
But still we owe it to this triple league:
O listen, while the Muse their triumphs sings;
Nor vulgar toils we write, nor common things.
And grac'd the bright assemblies of the fair;
An upright Censor sway'd the realms of Wit,
And Virtue gain'd a friend whene'er he writ;
In such engaging lights the Goddess rose,
She drew applauses from her wondering foes:
Now in the myrtle garden thistles grow,
And streams impure from vicious fountains flow;
The province of delight two Bards invade,
With mock astrology and emp'ric aid:
No satyr starts, no humour, or intrigue,
But still we owe it to this triple league:
O listen, while the Muse their triumphs sings;
Nor vulgar toils we write, nor common things.
Near Dunstan's rising pile, where crowds repair,
The young for assignations, th' old for prayer;
Where two grim giants strike the vocal blow,
While damsels sell their toys and love below;
A noted Bibliopole great cares sustains,
Fam'd for his sufferings, envy'd for his gains,
Who venal Learning courts with low rewards,
And hires with promis'd pence ill-fated Bards,
A Mercury in ingenious frauds expert,
Renown'd for witty wiles and stealths of art:
This harmless Artist fell a destin'd prey
To the Triumvirs' unrelenting sway;
By secret stratagem they subtly wrought,
And couch'd their satyr in a purging draught;
The poisonous juice, with vellicating pains,
Successful Wits! ferments in all his veins;
He speaks his anguish in distorted looks:
Ah! what avail his copies or his books!
At length, the dwindled Hero rais'd his head:
“O frolic Bard, severely blythe,” he said,
“What Patriot shall from pungent pains be free,
“If such facetious drugs are known to thee?
“Keen thy resentments are, and operate soon:
“O say, is this a Protestant lampoon?
“Now, Dennis, learn, learn from your foe to write;
“Mix jalap with your satyr, and 'twill bite:
“And you, my friends, when call'd to chearful bowls,
“By me take warning, and shun rhubarb-drolls:
“I faint; no Art my sickening life can save:
“The Quack prescrib'd the purge the Poet gave.”
The young for assignations, th' old for prayer;
Where two grim giants strike the vocal blow,
While damsels sell their toys and love below;
A noted Bibliopole great cares sustains,
Fam'd for his sufferings, envy'd for his gains,
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And hires with promis'd pence ill-fated Bards,
A Mercury in ingenious frauds expert,
Renown'd for witty wiles and stealths of art:
This harmless Artist fell a destin'd prey
To the Triumvirs' unrelenting sway;
By secret stratagem they subtly wrought,
And couch'd their satyr in a purging draught;
The poisonous juice, with vellicating pains,
Successful Wits! ferments in all his veins;
He speaks his anguish in distorted looks:
Ah! what avail his copies or his books!
At length, the dwindled Hero rais'd his head:
“O frolic Bard, severely blythe,” he said,
“What Patriot shall from pungent pains be free,
“If such facetious drugs are known to thee?
“Keen thy resentments are, and operate soon:
“O say, is this a Protestant lampoon?
“Now, Dennis, learn, learn from your foe to write;
“Mix jalap with your satyr, and 'twill bite:
“And you, my friends, when call'd to chearful bowls,
“By me take warning, and shun rhubarb-drolls:
“I faint; no Art my sickening life can save:
“The Quack prescrib'd the purge the Poet gave.”
Here, as he paus'd, he felt returning ease,
And found the torture lessen by degrees;
Then thus went on, his anguish to relieve:
“Sarcastic Youth,” said he, “I give thee leave
“In artless low obscenities to shine:
“The fertile realms of Drury shall be thine:
“Design with deep contrivance plotless plays,
“And teem with comets which no wonder raise;
“Be still licentious, and still teaze the age
“With feeble malice, and with hectic rage:
“To all thy pen shall threaten I submit;
“But let not Cornakina aid thy wit.
“Thy friend, unrival'd, undisturb'd, by me,
“Gleans an insipid fame, from envy free;
“His verse, like countries nor polite nor rude,
“Keeps the dull medium between bad and good;
“As other works for energy and strength,
“His are, like May-poles, famous for their length:
“Canorous trifles let him still pursue;
“Second to none but Arbuthnot or you:
“But let him this unnatural war decline;
“His trade was here an enemy to mine.
“What spoils, what trophies, on that joyful day,
“You and your spruce apprentice shall display,
“In which one Pirate by the treachery dies
“Of two Twin-bards, assisted from the skies!”
And found the torture lessen by degrees;
Then thus went on, his anguish to relieve:
“Sarcastic Youth,” said he, “I give thee leave
“In artless low obscenities to shine:
“The fertile realms of Drury shall be thine:
“Design with deep contrivance plotless plays,
“And teem with comets which no wonder raise;
“Be still licentious, and still teaze the age
“With feeble malice, and with hectic rage:
“To all thy pen shall threaten I submit;
“But let not Cornakina aid thy wit.
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“Gleans an insipid fame, from envy free;
“His verse, like countries nor polite nor rude,
“Keeps the dull medium between bad and good;
“As other works for energy and strength,
“His are, like May-poles, famous for their length:
“Canorous trifles let him still pursue;
“Second to none but Arbuthnot or you:
“But let him this unnatural war decline;
“His trade was here an enemy to mine.
“What spoils, what trophies, on that joyful day,
“You and your spruce apprentice shall display,
“In which one Pirate by the treachery dies
“Of two Twin-bards, assisted from the skies!”
At length the potion's influences stop;
Restor'd at length to Learning and his Shop,
To just revenge the valiant Sufferer slies,
Seeks the support of Protestant Allies,
And to his aid victorious Ridpath draws,
The famous Champion of the Whiggish cause:
Fierce strife succeeds, and paper-wars are writ,
With doubtful fortune, and with equal wit.
Restor'd at length to Learning and his Shop,
To just revenge the valiant Sufferer slies,
Seeks the support of Protestant Allies,
And to his aid victorious Ridpath draws,
The famous Champion of the Whiggish cause:
Fierce strife succeeds, and paper-wars are writ,
With doubtful fortune, and with equal wit.
Oh, when wilt thou thy Lover's joys renew,
And place thy beauties in the public view?
All mourn thy absence with a thousand sighs,
For all behold thee with Palæmon's eyes:
Leave the digressing Muse a while to rove,
And lose her subject in the thought of love.
Through Latian plains, when, cautious of delay,
The traveller pursues his pleasing way;
If, wrought with skill, he sees a Venus rise,
On the soft statue oft he turns his eyes;
He finds his wishes with his cares at strife,
And grieves, the melting marble is not life.
And place thy beauties in the public view?
All mourn thy absence with a thousand sighs,
For all behold thee with Palæmon's eyes:
Leave the digressing Muse a while to rove,
And lose her subject in the thought of love.
Through Latian plains, when, cautious of delay,
The traveller pursues his pleasing way;
If, wrought with skill, he sees a Venus rise,
On the soft statue oft he turns his eyes;
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And grieves, the melting marble is not life.
Seldom I visit our declining Stage,
The scene of noise, and sunk to party rage,
Where, privileg'd by time, old Authors reign,
And new ones live three languid days with pain:
Sometimes my heart to social joys inclines,
When friendship calls, or conversation shines:
Late, with a chosen set, I pass'd the night;
Gay were the hours, and conscious of delight:
As the wine flow'd, as mirth more freely ran,
On Wit, the common topic, I began;
“Who shines in prose, or who in polish'd rhimes?
“What bright productions rise in Brunswick's times?”
The scene of noise, and sunk to party rage,
Where, privileg'd by time, old Authors reign,
And new ones live three languid days with pain:
Sometimes my heart to social joys inclines,
When friendship calls, or conversation shines:
Late, with a chosen set, I pass'd the night;
Gay were the hours, and conscious of delight:
As the wine flow'd, as mirth more freely ran,
On Wit, the common topic, I began;
“Who shines in prose, or who in polish'd rhimes?
“What bright productions rise in Brunswick's times?”
When Fopling, in his known plain-dealing way,
“Writings of every sort the times display,
“Works by no power nor any Muse inspir'd,
“Yet, by a fate unheard before, admir'd:
“Stupidity may thrive in other arts,
“And plodding Cits grow rich by want of parts;
“'Tis natural, nor do we think it strange,
“If Plumb succeeds at Garraway's or Change:
“But Poets now, to flourish, Wit disclaim;
“And Dullness prospers in the Land of Fame.”
“Writings of every sort the times display,
“Works by no power nor any Muse inspir'd,
“Yet, by a fate unheard before, admir'd:
“Stupidity may thrive in other arts,
“And plodding Cits grow rich by want of parts;
“'Tis natural, nor do we think it strange,
“If Plumb succeeds at Garraway's or Change:
“But Poets now, to flourish, Wit disclaim;
“And Dullness prospers in the Land of Fame.”
“Some praise,” gay Wildair with a smile reply'd,
“To Archness is allow'd, where Wit's deny'd;
“But late Aspirers want this little art,
“The low Plebeian talent to be smart.
“Spleen to poor quibbles through their satyr runs;
“O rage! to persecute unhappy puns!
“Burlesqu'd you see the tuneful Hebrew's strain,
“And David is both Bard and Saint in vain.”
“To Archness is allow'd, where Wit's deny'd;
“But late Aspirers want this little art,
“The low Plebeian talent to be smart.
“Spleen to poor quibbles through their satyr runs;
“O rage! to persecute unhappy puns!
“Burlesqu'd you see the tuneful Hebrew's strain,
“And David is both Bard and Saint in vain.”
“The Stage,” said Bruce, “yet feels a harder fate;
“We see and mourn in vain its drooping state:
“E'er since the town to Cato rung applause,
“And Roman Virtue sav'd the British Laws;
“No Hero wakes our pity, or our fears,
“No soft distress dissolves the soul to tears.”
“We see and mourn in vain its drooping state:
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“And Roman Virtue sav'd the British Laws;
“No Hero wakes our pity, or our fears,
“No soft distress dissolves the soul to tears.”
“The Comic Muse,” here Wildair, “hides her head;
“The Comic Mufe with Steele and Congreve fled:
“Just strokes of humour Steele can best impart,
“And picture human life with truest art:
“They who have genius, our applauses shun;
“They labour to obtain them, who have none.”
“The Comic Mufe with Steele and Congreve fled:
“Just strokes of humour Steele can best impart,
“And picture human life with truest art:
“They who have genius, our applauses shun;
“They labour to obtain them, who have none.”
“'Tis plain,” Sir Fopling cry'd, “'tis plainly so:
“For me, I have not writ, of late, you know:
“This province the Triumvirs only claim,
“Crown'd, by The Wife of Bath, with thundering fame;
“To see their first essay, the House was full;
“None fear'd a secret to make Chaucer dull:
“This damn'd, absurder projects they disclose,
“And raise preposterous mirth from human woes:
“From generous minds th' unhappy claim relief,
“And Virtue sees a dignity in grief;
“But they, with sport unknown to human breast,
“Laugh in distresses, and in horrors jest.”
“For me, I have not writ, of late, you know:
“This province the Triumvirs only claim,
“Crown'd, by The Wife of Bath, with thundering fame;
“To see their first essay, the House was full;
“None fear'd a secret to make Chaucer dull:
“This damn'd, absurder projects they disclose,
“And raise preposterous mirth from human woes:
“From generous minds th' unhappy claim relief,
“And Virtue sees a dignity in grief;
“But they, with sport unknown to human breast,
“Laugh in distresses, and in horrors jest.”
These censures sounded harsh in Bruce's ear:
“O fie, fie! Fopling, you are too severe.”
“O fie, fie! Fopling, you are too severe.”
“He speaks blunt truths,” says Wildair; “'tis his use.”
“Nay, it's not worth contesting,” answer'd Bruce;
“Their last attempt, I own, I least commend;
“'Tis hard to please, though easy to offend.”
“Their last attempt, I own, I least commend;
“'Tis hard to please, though easy to offend.”
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“That Play,” retorted Fopling, “was so lewd,
“Ev'n Bullies blush'd, and Beaux astonish'd stood;
“But gentle Widows with soft Maids prevail,
“And kindly save the Alligator's tail:
“Ill-fated, in a barren age, we stand;
“And Poetry no more shall bless the land.”
“Ev'n Bullies blush'd, and Beaux astonish'd stood;
“But gentle Widows with soft Maids prevail,
“And kindly save the Alligator's tail:
“Ill-fated, in a barren age, we stand;
“And Poetry no more shall bless the land.”
“Soft,” cry'd Sir Harry; “Poets we can name,
“In other kinds, the glorious Heirs of Fame:
“The Wit he praises, happier Garth improves,
“And is himself the Ovid whom he loves:
“When Philips through the tuneful groves complains,
“Arcadian softness melts in English strains:
“Like Titian's finish'd work is Tickell's song,
“The colouring beauteous, and the figures strong:
“Ev'n Pope (I speak the judgement of his foes)
“The sweets of rhime and easy measures knows.”
“In other kinds, the glorious Heirs of Fame:
“The Wit he praises, happier Garth improves,
“And is himself the Ovid whom he loves:
“When Philips through the tuneful groves complains,
“Arcadian softness melts in English strains:
“Like Titian's finish'd work is Tickell's song,
“The colouring beauteous, and the figures strong:
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“The sweets of rhime and easy measures knows.”
“This,” answered Fopling, “is a vulgar art,
“Which never wakes the soul, or warms the heart:
“He wants the spirit, and informing flame,
“Which breathes divine, and gives a Poet's name:
“His verse the mind to indolence may sooth;
“The strain is even, and the numbers smooth;
“But 'tis all level plain; no mountains rise,
“No startling line, that's pregnant with surprize.”
“Which never wakes the soul, or warms the heart:
“He wants the spirit, and informing flame,
“Which breathes divine, and gives a Poet's name:
“His verse the mind to indolence may sooth;
“The strain is even, and the numbers smooth;
“But 'tis all level plain; no mountains rise,
“No startling line, that's pregnant with surprize.”
Here some incline to praise what others blame;
So hard it is to fix Poetic Fame:
Bacchus no more the circling healths renews;
When, to divert our thoughts from critic views,
A flask I rear'd, whose sluice began to fail,
And told from Phædrus this facetious Tale.
So hard it is to fix Poetic Fame:
Bacchus no more the circling healths renews;
When, to divert our thoughts from critic views,
A flask I rear'd, whose sluice began to fail,
And told from Phædrus this facetious Tale.
“Sabina, very old, and very dry,
“Chanc'd, on a time, an empty flask to spy:
“The flask but lately had been thrown aside,
“With the rich grape of Tuscan vineyards dy'd;
“But lately, gushing from the slender spout,
“Its life, in purple streams, had issued out:
“The costly flavour still to sense remain'd,
“And still its sides the violet colour stain'd:
“A sight so sweet taught wrinkled age to smile;
“Pleas'd she imbibes the generous fumes a while,
“Then, downward turn'd, the vessel gently props,
“And drains with patient care the lucid drops:
“O balmy spirit of Etruria's vine,
“O fragrant flask, she said, too lately mine!
“If such delights, though empty, thou canst yield,
“What wondrous raptures didst thou give, when fill'd!”
“Chanc'd, on a time, an empty flask to spy:
“The flask but lately had been thrown aside,
“With the rich grape of Tuscan vineyards dy'd;
“But lately, gushing from the slender spout,
“Its life, in purple streams, had issued out:
“The costly flavour still to sense remain'd,
“And still its sides the violet colour stain'd:
“A sight so sweet taught wrinkled age to smile;
“Pleas'd she imbibes the generous fumes a while,
“Then, downward turn'd, the vessel gently props,
“And drains with patient care the lucid drops:
“O balmy spirit of Etruria's vine,
“O fragrant flask, she said, too lately mine!
“If such delights, though empty, thou canst yield,
“What wondrous raptures didst thou give, when fill'd!”
This merry Fable, obvious to explain,
Instructs the glass to flower and smile again;
Free from debates, unmingled joys we boast;
The theme was Love, and Beauty was the toast;
Each star appear'd with native lustre bright;
But Cælia was the Venus of the night.
Instructs the glass to flower and smile again;
Free from debates, unmingled joys we boast;
The theme was Love, and Beauty was the toast;
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But Cælia was the Venus of the night.
If numbers, and the power of verse I knew,
Now to the Palace I would guide thy view,
The pomp and grandeur of our Isle display,
And to thy thought each shining scene convey:
Here, round their Prince a valiant band are plac'd,
With wounds, and trophies torn from Rebels, grac'd:
There a bright train of smiling Beauties rise,
Who plead their Monarch's right with conquering eyes;
The smiles of Beauty legal power maintain,
And Liberty and Love together reign.
Now to the Palace I would guide thy view,
The pomp and grandeur of our Isle display,
And to thy thought each shining scene convey:
Here, round their Prince a valiant band are plac'd,
With wounds, and trophies torn from Rebels, grac'd:
There a bright train of smiling Beauties rise,
Who plead their Monarch's right with conquering eyes;
The smiles of Beauty legal power maintain,
And Liberty and Love together reign.
Still Walpole, not restor'd in vain to health,
Directs with frugal honour public wealth:
O Patriot, whom each Muse and Gift adorn!
With all the powers of great persuasion born!
Rais'd by the Muse, the Muse's cause defend;
Renown'd for Arts, oh, be to Arts a friend:
Propitious on thy own Minerva shine,
And prove to Her a Patron, who was thine:
Adorn'd with wit refin'd! possess'd of power!
Oh, let Imposture lift her brow no more:
Cherish'd by thee, the genuine bays shall spread,
And plant eternal honours round thy head:
'Tis thine to wake another Mantuan strain,
And raise a learned age in Brunswick's reign.
Directs with frugal honour public wealth:
O Patriot, whom each Muse and Gift adorn!
With all the powers of great persuasion born!
Rais'd by the Muse, the Muse's cause defend;
Renown'd for Arts, oh, be to Arts a friend:
Propitious on thy own Minerva shine,
And prove to Her a Patron, who was thine:
Adorn'd with wit refin'd! possess'd of power!
Oh, let Imposture lift her brow no more:
Cherish'd by thee, the genuine bays shall spread,
And plant eternal honours round thy head:
'Tis thine to wake another Mantuan strain,
And raise a learned age in Brunswick's reign.
Zeal to the public, and the Patriot's praise,
To other themes have led my erring lays:
Excuse the rapture, gentle Maid; nor blame
A loyal Muse, that pants for England's fame:
Two equal slames Palæmon's breast refine;
One is his Country's, and the other thine.
To other themes have led my erring lays:
Excuse the rapture, gentle Maid; nor blame
A loyal Muse, that pants for England's fame:
Two equal slames Palæmon's breast refine;
One is his Country's, and the other thine.
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |