 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
125
THE TABULA VOTIVA,
Occasioned by a Visit received from two young Ladies, while under Confinement with a swelled Eye.
The sharpness of the cutting Bize,
Too apt the human Frame to seize,
Which blowing o'er this beauteous Lake,
Can each soft muscle pris'ner take,
Had so clos'd up Amyntor's eye,
He scarce could any object spy;
A cambric handkerchief around
The weak side of his head was bound;
Like Justice, whom we often find
By Artists painted as half blind.—
Three days he breath'd the chamber air,
And idled in his elbow chair;
Nay e'en the fourth had done the same,
But that to Rumour's Ears it came,
Who whisper'd it around the town,
Till 'twas a serious matter grown;
Enlarging as she went about,
First 'twas one eye,—then both were out.—
Too apt the human Frame to seize,
Which blowing o'er this beauteous Lake,
Can each soft muscle pris'ner take,
Had so clos'd up Amyntor's eye,
He scarce could any object spy;
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The weak side of his head was bound;
Like Justice, whom we often find
By Artists painted as half blind.—
Three days he breath'd the chamber air,
And idled in his elbow chair;
Nay e'en the fourth had done the same,
But that to Rumour's Ears it came,
Who whisper'd it around the town,
Till 'twas a serious matter grown;
Enlarging as she went about,
First 'twas one eye,—then both were out.—
But, Reader, let me here express
My wish a little to digress,
That I may paint this Gossip, Rumour,
Offspring of Mischief and Ill-Humour;
Of Truth regardless, none she'll spare,
But spreads her Falshoods ev'ry where.
Drop but a hint, she forms a Tale,
And with it instantly sets sail;
In circulation swift it flies,
Indors'd by fifty other Lies.—
Now at the Change her stand she takes,
There groans, and Public Credit shakes;
And e'er the imposition's known,
The mischief's done, the Beldame flown.—
Sometimes at Routs you'll see her flaunt,
A tawdry, sharp-nos'd, Maiden Aunt;
Who steady to her lov'd vocation,
Whispers away a Reputation.
“So, Ma'am, you've hear'd, no doubt, Miss Prue
“Is gone with Col'nel you know who,
“Lord who'd have thought it!—but her Mother
“Was, between friends, just such another;
“Our Sex have lost all shame, I think;
“Poor Lady Grace has ta'en to drink,
“Few will believe it, but I clearly
“Have seen it,—tho I love her dearly.—
“Pray, Madam, what do People say
“Of our griev'd friend, the Widow Gray?
“I hear, tho' broken-hearted reckon'd,
“Her Footman's talk'd of for her Second,”—
Rumour by turns all dresses tries,
Now splendid—now in mean disguise;
Beneath the latter shape, you'll meet
The Wand'rer oft in London Street
As ragged as a Russian Bear,
With Ginshop voice, and matted Hair,
Proclaiming, while her head she louses,
The King's Harangue to both the Houses;
Or bawling with more dismal screech
The Tyburn Hero's dying Speech,
As how he clos'd his guilty life,
With the last letter sent his wife.—
And this is She the Æneid sings,
With fifty mouths, and fifty wings,
Who flew about, than wind much faster,
To tell of Dido's sad Disaster.—
My wish a little to digress,
That I may paint this Gossip, Rumour,
Offspring of Mischief and Ill-Humour;
127
But spreads her Falshoods ev'ry where.
Drop but a hint, she forms a Tale,
And with it instantly sets sail;
In circulation swift it flies,
Indors'd by fifty other Lies.—
Now at the Change her stand she takes,
There groans, and Public Credit shakes;
And e'er the imposition's known,
The mischief's done, the Beldame flown.—
Sometimes at Routs you'll see her flaunt,
A tawdry, sharp-nos'd, Maiden Aunt;
Who steady to her lov'd vocation,
Whispers away a Reputation.
“So, Ma'am, you've hear'd, no doubt, Miss Prue
“Is gone with Col'nel you know who,
“Lord who'd have thought it!—but her Mother
“Was, between friends, just such another;
128
“Poor Lady Grace has ta'en to drink,
“Few will believe it, but I clearly
“Have seen it,—tho I love her dearly.—
“Pray, Madam, what do People say
“Of our griev'd friend, the Widow Gray?
“I hear, tho' broken-hearted reckon'd,
“Her Footman's talk'd of for her Second,”—
Rumour by turns all dresses tries,
Now splendid—now in mean disguise;
Beneath the latter shape, you'll meet
The Wand'rer oft in London Street
As ragged as a Russian Bear,
With Ginshop voice, and matted Hair,
Proclaiming, while her head she louses,
The King's Harangue to both the Houses;
Or bawling with more dismal screech
The Tyburn Hero's dying Speech,
129
With the last letter sent his wife.—
And this is She the Æneid sings,
With fifty mouths, and fifty wings,
Who flew about, than wind much faster,
To tell of Dido's sad Disaster.—
The Trojan Horse, as Virgil notes,
Was cramm'd with Men instead of Oats,
Rumour, like him, cannot digest
What is for common stomachs drest;
In her's, fresh News you still must throw in,
To keep her mouth for ever going.—
Was cramm'd with Men instead of Oats,
Rumour, like him, cannot digest
What is for common stomachs drest;
In her's, fresh News you still must throw in,
To keep her mouth for ever going.—
Amyntor's Case now being known,
As we've remark'd, throughout the Town,
A Thought came into Fanny's mind,
A Thought benevolent and kind,
To bring with her her Sister Kitty,
And cheer his roof in gentle pity:
For sure great Condescension is it,
When the Fair make the Blind a visit!
Good Nature led them by the hand,
And close behind, in social band,
The blooming Graces debonair
Came tripping round this lively Pair.
As we've remark'd, throughout the Town,
A Thought came into Fanny's mind,
A Thought benevolent and kind,
130
And cheer his roof in gentle pity:
For sure great Condescension is it,
When the Fair make the Blind a visit!
Good Nature led them by the hand,
And close behind, in social band,
The blooming Graces debonair
Came tripping round this lively Pair.
And here again I might digress,
To sing their Beauty and Address,
Their polish'd Manners, and their Ease,
Sweet Power, and sweeter Wish, to please;
But I conceive 'twould better run,
If by a Simile 'twere done.
Thus, when the Queen of Love, and Juno,
Who was a greater Queen as you know,
On Ida's Top their Rival met
To see who could the Pippen get,
Beauty There won the Judge's eyes—
Here Sense and Beauty shar'd the Prize.—
To sing their Beauty and Address,
Their polish'd Manners, and their Ease,
Sweet Power, and sweeter Wish, to please;
But I conceive 'twould better run,
If by a Simile 'twere done.
Thus, when the Queen of Love, and Juno,
Who was a greater Queen as you know,
131
To see who could the Pippen get,
Beauty There won the Judge's eyes—
Here Sense and Beauty shar'd the Prize.—
And now behold them with the Squire,
Sipping their tea beside the fire,
With sprightly wit, and cheerful joke
That liveliest converse could provoke.
No more Amyntor felt his Pain,
'Twas Ease, 'twas Joy return'd again:
The Eye disdaining to be bound,
Impatient felt to peep around,
Like a good Fencer play'd its part,
And boldly push'd in Tierce and Quart;
Its ardour made each fibre play,
Gave it new strength to force its way,
And exercis'd its pow'r so well
That down the cambric bandage fell:
Nor is it strange,—for where's the Eye
That would be clos'd when Beauty's by?
Beauty can by its magic spell
The gath'ring Gloom of Life repel,
Its beams their radiant brightness dart,
And make each hov'ring shade depart.—
Sipping their tea beside the fire,
With sprightly wit, and cheerful joke
That liveliest converse could provoke.
No more Amyntor felt his Pain,
'Twas Ease, 'twas Joy return'd again:
The Eye disdaining to be bound,
Impatient felt to peep around,
Like a good Fencer play'd its part,
And boldly push'd in Tierce and Quart;
Its ardour made each fibre play,
Gave it new strength to force its way,
132
That down the cambric bandage fell:
Nor is it strange,—for where's the Eye
That would be clos'd when Beauty's by?
Beauty can by its magic spell
The gath'ring Gloom of Life repel,
Its beams their radiant brightness dart,
And make each hov'ring shade depart.—
Thus Phoebus in a misty morning,
Upon the Eastern Mountains yawning,
Just risen out of Thetis' Bed,
Throws off his cap, and shakes his head;
His Eyes he rubs, his Arms he stretches,
Calls for his Nags and Leather Breeches;
Night's Vapours all before him fly,
And well they know the reason why:
In Prose or Verse Truth must be told,
This Phoebus is a Sportsman bold,
And hunts the Clouds throughout the Air
As Men on Earth hunt Fox and Hare.—
Upon the Eastern Mountains yawning,
Just risen out of Thetis' Bed,
Throws off his cap, and shakes his head;
His Eyes he rubs, his Arms he stretches,
Calls for his Nags and Leather Breeches;
Night's Vapours all before him fly,
And well they know the reason why:
133
This Phoebus is a Sportsman bold,
And hunts the Clouds throughout the Air
As Men on Earth hunt Fox and Hare.—
The Cure perform'd, what can I less
Than warmest Gratitude express?
I would a Votive Chaplet twine
With Myrtle, and with Eglantine,
The vary'd Hyacinth so sweet,
The Moss-Rose, and the Violet,
Which when arrang'd with Art and Grace,
I at these Ladies' feet would place;
But this I can't, and just the reason,
There's not a Flow'r as yet in season:
Our circling Alps still hid in snow,
And bound in frost the Vales below—
What's to be done in such a time?
I'll e'en relate my case in rhyme,
And tho' but little skill'd to write,
Transmit my Thanks in black and white;
And their kind Service to repay,
These Lines upon their Toilet lay.—
Than warmest Gratitude express?
I would a Votive Chaplet twine
With Myrtle, and with Eglantine,
The vary'd Hyacinth so sweet,
The Moss-Rose, and the Violet,
Which when arrang'd with Art and Grace,
I at these Ladies' feet would place;
But this I can't, and just the reason,
There's not a Flow'r as yet in season:
Our circling Alps still hid in snow,
And bound in frost the Vales below—
134
I'll e'en relate my case in rhyme,
And tho' but little skill'd to write,
Transmit my Thanks in black and white;
And their kind Service to repay,
These Lines upon their Toilet lay.—
The Pilgrim thus for mercies shewn,
His grateful sentiments to own,
Journeys to seek the Altar, where
The Saint's inshrin'd who heard his Pray'r;
With zeal suspending at its side
(Where fifty other such are ty'd)
A Tabula Votiva, that
Describes his Story very pat;
Whence all who view it may confess
The Saint hath pow'r to cure and bless.
His grateful sentiments to own,
Journeys to seek the Altar, where
The Saint's inshrin'd who heard his Pray'r;
With zeal suspending at its side
(Where fifty other such are ty'd)
A Tabula Votiva, that
Describes his Story very pat;
Whence all who view it may confess
The Saint hath pow'r to cure and bless.
| The poetical works of George Keate | |