The Modern Dunciad Virgil in London and Other Poems [by George Daniel] |
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| III. |
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| VI. | ECLOGUE VI.
LORD MAYOR'S DAY. |
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| VIII. |
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 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
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ECLOGUE VI. LORD MAYOR'S DAY.
------Quod optanti divûm promittere nemo
Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro.
VIRG. EN.
Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro.
VIRG. EN.
Scarce had Aurora chas'd the shades of night,
And ting'd the mountains with returning light,
Blythe Chanticleer proclaim'd the rising morn,
And woodlands echo'd to the winding horn;
Scarce had the dextrous housemaid twirl'd her mop,
Or slip-shod 'prentice swept his master's shop;
Or nymphs and shepherds left their dark retreats
To scream their various cries thro' London streets;
When lo! a City dame, Belinda hight,
Whom pleasing thoughts kept wakeful half the night,
Rose from her downy pillow, blythe and gay,
With anxious heart, impatient for the day.
Already was the toilet's task begun,
And eagerly she watch'd the ling'ring sun.
For now the time had come, so long desir'd,
When fair Belinda, gorgeously attir'd,
In ostrich feather, wig, and diamond brooch,
Should take her station in the City Coach;
For Goddess Chance, to make the people stare,
Had pitch'd upon her husband for a May'r.
And ting'd the mountains with returning light,
Blythe Chanticleer proclaim'd the rising morn,
And woodlands echo'd to the winding horn;
Scarce had the dextrous housemaid twirl'd her mop,
Or slip-shod 'prentice swept his master's shop;
Or nymphs and shepherds left their dark retreats
To scream their various cries thro' London streets;
When lo! a City dame, Belinda hight,
Whom pleasing thoughts kept wakeful half the night,
Rose from her downy pillow, blythe and gay,
With anxious heart, impatient for the day.
Already was the toilet's task begun,
And eagerly she watch'd the ling'ring sun.
For now the time had come, so long desir'd,
When fair Belinda, gorgeously attir'd,
In ostrich feather, wig, and diamond brooch,
Should take her station in the City Coach;
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Had pitch'd upon her husband for a May'r.
In ancient times, when Britain's laurels grew,
The rival City had her Poet too;
Then Laureat Settle, in harmonious lays,
Immortaliz'd her feasts and public days;
Her grand parades majestic roll'd along,
Supreme in ode, and mock-heroic song;
And while King Charles's praise was Dryden's care,
He found as many virtues in the May'r.
The rival City had her Poet too;
Then Laureat Settle, in harmonious lays,
Immortaliz'd her feasts and public days;
Her grand parades majestic roll'd along,
Supreme in ode, and mock-heroic song;
And while King Charles's praise was Dryden's care,
He found as many virtues in the May'r.
But times are chang'd; and many a tuneful strain
The civic bounty courts, but courts in vain—
E'en Virgil, who in British cap and gown,
Now humbly asks the favour of the town,
Shall find, perhaps, no market for his rhymes,
That pleas'd Mæcenas, in Augustan times;
And, forc'd by Dulness to his native home,
Without a patron travel back to Rome.
The civic bounty courts, but courts in vain—
E'en Virgil, who in British cap and gown,
Now humbly asks the favour of the town,
Shall find, perhaps, no market for his rhymes,
That pleas'd Mæcenas, in Augustan times;
And, forc'd by Dulness to his native home,
Without a patron travel back to Rome.
Now walk'd Belinda forth, superbly sheen,
“She look'd a goddess, and she mov'd a queen!”
To make her blooming, Art its colours lent,
And nought she lack'd that Fashion could invent.
Rare articles for show, and few for use,
Hat à-la-mode, and mantle à-la-russe;
Scarfs, furbelows, for routs and public days,
Racamian ringlets, and Parisian stays:
Ere yet, in gaudy pride, she join'd the Show,
While loudly rang the merry bells of Bow,
And eager crowds in gath'ring numbers press'd,
To Betty thus her feelings she express'd:
Aid me, Apollo, while I touch the string!
For what Belinda said—the Muse shall sing.
“She look'd a goddess, and she mov'd a queen!”
To make her blooming, Art its colours lent,
And nought she lack'd that Fashion could invent.
Rare articles for show, and few for use,
Hat à-la-mode, and mantle à-la-russe;
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Racamian ringlets, and Parisian stays:
Ere yet, in gaudy pride, she join'd the Show,
While loudly rang the merry bells of Bow,
And eager crowds in gath'ring numbers press'd,
To Betty thus her feelings she express'd:
Aid me, Apollo, while I touch the string!
For what Belinda said—the Muse shall sing.
“Let noble dames our pageants hold in sport,
And boast the soft refinements of a court,
Look down with pity on the sons of earth,
Who claim no title to superior birth;
Be theirs the joys of fashionable strife,
Be mine the pleasures of a City life!
What pleasing visions swim before my sight,
By day the dinner, and the dance by night!
A thousand glitt'ring tapers gild the Hall,
And lo! a young Adonis, straight and tall,
Perchance just landed from some foreign tour,
Asks me to dance a minuet-de-la-cour.
Methinks I hear th' admiring gazers cry,
‘Some Goddess has descended from on high,
To raise our wonder, and to charm our sight,
For sure no mortal ever stepp'd so light!’—
Then how 'twill give my enemies the vapours,
To see it mention'd in the public papers:—
—‘Last night my Lady danc'd with such an air,
Terpsichore had blush'd had she been there;
Her eyes discharg'd so many killing darts,
That half the common council lost their hearts!’—
A crown, or ten-and-sixpence at the most,
Will get a puff inserted in the Post.
And boast the soft refinements of a court,
Look down with pity on the sons of earth,
Who claim no title to superior birth;
Be theirs the joys of fashionable strife,
Be mine the pleasures of a City life!
What pleasing visions swim before my sight,
By day the dinner, and the dance by night!
A thousand glitt'ring tapers gild the Hall,
And lo! a young Adonis, straight and tall,
Perchance just landed from some foreign tour,
Asks me to dance a minuet-de-la-cour.
Methinks I hear th' admiring gazers cry,
‘Some Goddess has descended from on high,
To raise our wonder, and to charm our sight,
For sure no mortal ever stepp'd so light!’—
Then how 'twill give my enemies the vapours,
To see it mention'd in the public papers:—
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Terpsichore had blush'd had she been there;
Her eyes discharg'd so many killing darts,
That half the common council lost their hearts!’—
A crown, or ten-and-sixpence at the most,
Will get a puff inserted in the Post.
“It was my passion, I remember well,
My early pride and glory, to excel;
For when at school,—the governess confess'd
I sung, danc'd, play'd, far better than the rest.
In riper years I still retain'd my pride,
When rival Lovers woo'd me for their bride.—
My Father would have chosen for his heir,
A Buck of Fashion from St. James's Square;
But I, although no conjurer, could see
He lov'd himself too well, to die for me.
The Country Squire's politeness knew no bounds,
He swore he lov'd me better than his hounds,
Spoke his regard with emphasis and force,
And bid me dread no rival—but his Horse.—
The spruce Attorney, apeing Cupid's brogue,
Could hardly, in the lover, sink the rogue;
But he, too eager, overplay'd his cards,
I trick'd him—with a Captain in the Guards,
Whose pockets, while they strove my heart to win,
Had too much gold outside, t' have much within!
My early pride and glory, to excel;
For when at school,—the governess confess'd
I sung, danc'd, play'd, far better than the rest.
In riper years I still retain'd my pride,
When rival Lovers woo'd me for their bride.—
My Father would have chosen for his heir,
A Buck of Fashion from St. James's Square;
But I, although no conjurer, could see
He lov'd himself too well, to die for me.
The Country Squire's politeness knew no bounds,
He swore he lov'd me better than his hounds,
Spoke his regard with emphasis and force,
And bid me dread no rival—but his Horse.—
The spruce Attorney, apeing Cupid's brogue,
Could hardly, in the lover, sink the rogue;
But he, too eager, overplay'd his cards,
I trick'd him—with a Captain in the Guards,
Whose pockets, while they strove my heart to win,
Had too much gold outside, t' have much within!
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“How sweet to hear, when, as the barge we board,
The folks exclaim,—‘My Lady! and my Lord!’—
They shout!—and gladly welcome our approach!
And see! they drag the horses from our coach!
For free-born Britons love these low pursuits,
To show how well they imitate the brutes.
The folks exclaim,—‘My Lady! and my Lord!’—
They shout!—and gladly welcome our approach!
And see! they drag the horses from our coach!
For free-born Britons love these low pursuits,
To show how well they imitate the brutes.
“And, should the Regent in his grace (God bless him!)
When next the Court of Aldermen address him,
Think fit, (the thought transports me with delight!)
To dub my Spouse, by making him a Knight;
How will the glorious news, the tidings rare,
Make all our wond'ring City neighbours stare!
What busy scandal will their tongues employ,
They'll almost die with envy—I with joy!
When next the Court of Aldermen address him,
Think fit, (the thought transports me with delight!)
To dub my Spouse, by making him a Knight;
How will the glorious news, the tidings rare,
Make all our wond'ring City neighbours stare!
What busy scandal will their tongues employ,
They'll almost die with envy—I with joy!
“But hark! the trumpets and the horns below!—
The carriage waits!—I'm summon'd to the Show!—
O patience! what a flurry I am in!—
Here, Betty, put this patch upon my chin!—
A glass of water! I shall surely faint!—
Run, Betty!—you had nigh forgot the paint!—
My case is trying, and my nerves are weak;
Oh, shocking! here's a pimple on my cheek!
This sudden greatness overcomes me quite,
Heav'n keep me in my proper wits to-night!”
The carriage waits!—I'm summon'd to the Show!—
O patience! what a flurry I am in!—
Here, Betty, put this patch upon my chin!—
A glass of water! I shall surely faint!—
Run, Betty!—you had nigh forgot the paint!—
My case is trying, and my nerves are weak;
Oh, shocking! here's a pimple on my cheek!
This sudden greatness overcomes me quite,
Heav'n keep me in my proper wits to-night!”
| The Modern Dunciad | |