The Poetical Works of Robert Lloyd :: :: University of Virginia Library

Venus, of laughter queen and love,
The greatest demirep above,
Who scorn'd restriction, hated custom,
Knew her own sex too well to trust 'em,
Proceeded on the noble plan,
At any rate, to have her man;
Look'd on decorum, as mere trash,
And liv'd like --- and ---
From Paphos, where they her revere
As much as we do Cælia here,
Or from Cythera, where her altars
Are deck'd with daggers, true-love halters,
Garters yclept, and other trophies,
Which prove that man in love an oaf is,
According to appointment, came
To see Cæcilia, tuneful dame,
Whose praise by Dryden's Ode is grown
Bright and immortal as his own,
And who hath been for many years
The chief directress of the spheres.

Thomas, who rode behind the car,
And for a flambeau held a star,
Who, in the honest way of trade,
Hath forg'd more horns, and cuckolds made,
Than Vulcan and his brawny dolts
Ever for Jove forg'd thunderbolts,
Slipt gently down, and ran before 'em,
Ringing the bell with due decorum.

But, truth to say, I cannot tell
Whether it Knocker was or Bell,
(This for vertù an anecdote is,)
Which us'd to give Cæcilia notice,
When any lady of the sky
Was come to bear her company.
But this I'm sure, be which it will,
Thomas perform'd his part with skill.

Methinks I hear the reader cry—
His part with skill? why, You or I,
Or any body else, as well
As Thomas, sure, could ring a bell,
Nor did I ever hear before
Of skill in knocking at a door.

Poor low-liv'd creature! I suppose,
Nay, and am sure, you're one of those
Who, at what door soe'er they be,
Will always knock in the same key.
Thinking that Bell and Knocker too
Were found out nothing else to do,
But to inform the house, no doubt,
That there was somebody without,
Who, if they might such favour win,
Would rather chuse to be within.

But had our servants no more sense,
Lord! what must be the consequence?
Error would error still pursue,
And strife and anarchy ensue,
Punctilio from her altar hurl'd,
Whence she declares unto the world
Whate'er by fancy is decreed,
Thro' all her niceties must bleed.

For if there was not to be found
Some wholesome difference of sound,
But the same rap foretold th' approach
Of him who walk'd, or rode in coach,
A poor relation now and then,
Might to my lord admittance gain,

When his good lordship hop'd to see
Some rascal of his own degree;
And, what is more unhappy still,
The stupid wretch who brings a bill,
Might pass thro' all the motley tribe,
As free as one, who brings a bribe.

My lady too might pique her grace
With carriage stiff and formal face,
Which, she deceiv'd, had taken care
For some inferior to prepare;
Or might some wretch from Lombard-street
With greater ease and freedom meet,
Than sense of honour will admit
Between my lady and a cit.

Those evils wisely to prevent,
And root out care and discontent,
Ev'ry gay smart, who rides behind,
With rose and bag in taste refin'd,
Must musick fully understand,
Have a nice ear and skilful hand;
At ev'ry turn be always found
A perfect connoisseur in sound;
Thro' all the gamut skilful fly
Varying his notes, now low, now high,

According as he shifts his place;
Now hoarsely grumbling in the base,
Now turning tenor, and again
To treble raising his shrill strain;
So to declare, where'er he be,
His master's fortune and degree,
By the distinguishing address
Which he'll upon the door express.

Thomas, whom I have nam'd before
As ringing at Cæcilia's door,
Was perfect master of this art,
And vers'd alike in ev'ry part:
So that Cæcilia knew, before
Her footman came unto the door,
And in due form had told her so,
That Madam Venus was below.

The doors immediate open flew,
The Goddess, without more ado,
Displaying beauty's thousand airs,
Skim'd thro' the hall, and trip'd up stairs.

Cæcilia met her with a smile
Of great delight, when all the while

If her false heart could have been seen,
She wish'd she had at Cyprus been.

But ladies, skill'd in forms and arts,
Don't in their faces wear their hearts,
And those above, like those below,
Deal frequently in outside show,
And always to keep up parade,
Have a smile by them ready-made.

The forms, which ladies when they meet
Must for good-manners' sake repeat,
As bumble servant, how d'you do,
And in return, pray how are you?
Enrich'd at ev'ry proper space
With due integuments of lace,
As Madam, Grace, and Goddeship,
Which we for brevity shall skip,
Happily past, in elbow-chair
At length our ladies seated are.

Indiff'rent subjects first they chuse,
And talk of weather and the news.
That done, they sit upon the state,
And snarl at the decrees of fate,

Invectives against Jove are hurl'd,
And They alone should rule the world.

Dull politicks at length they quit,
And by ill-nature shew their wit;
For hand in hand, too well we know,
These intimates are said to go,
So that where either doth preside
T' other's existence is implied.
The man of wit, so men decree,
Must without doubt ill-natur'd be;
And the ill-natur'd scarce forgets
To rank himself among the wits.

Malicious Venus, who by rote
Had ev'ry little anecdote,
And most minutely could advance
Each interesting circumstance,
Which unto all intrigues related,
Since Jupiter the world created,
Display'd her eloquence with pride,
Hinted, observ'd, enlarg'd, applied;
And not the reader to detain
With things impertinent and vain,
She did, as ladies do on earth
Who cannot bear a rival's worth,

In such a way each tale rehearse
As good made bad, and bad made worfe:

Cæcilia too, with saint-like air,
But lately come from evening pray'r,
Who knew her duty, as a saint,
Always to pray, and not to faint,
And, rain or shine, her church ne'er mist,
Prude, devotee, and methodist,
With equal zeal the cause promoted,
Misconstru'd things, and words misquoted,
Misrepresented, misapplied,
And, inspiration being her guide,
The very heart of man dissected,
And to his principles objected.
Thus, amongst us, the sanctified,
In all the spirituals of pride,
Whose honest consciences ne'er rested,
Till, of carnalities divested,
They knew and felt themselves t'inherit
A double portion of the spirit:
Who from one church to t'other roam,
Whilst their poor children starve at home,
Consid'ring they may claim the care
Of Providence, who sent them there,

And therefore certainly is tied
To see their ev'ry want supplied;
Who unto preachers give away,
That which their creditors should pay,
And hold that chosen vessels must
Be generous before they're just,
And that their charity this way
Shall bind o'er heaven their debts to pay,
And serve their temp'ral turn, no doubt,
Better than if they'd put it out,
Whilst nought hereafter can prevent,
Their sure reward of cent. per cent.
Who honest labour scorn, and say
None need to work who love to pray,
For heav'n will satisfy their cravings,
By sending of Elijah's ravens,
Or rain down, when their spirits fail,
A dish of manna, or a quail;
Who from Moorfields to Tottenham Court
In furious fits of zeal resort,
Praise what they do not understand,
Turn up the eye, stretch out the hand,
Melt into tears, whilst------blows
The twang of nonsense thro' his nose,
Or------deals in speculation,
Or------hums his congregation,

Or------talks with the lord of hosts,
------with pillars and with posts;
Who strictly watch, lest Satan shou'd,
Roaring like lion for his food,
Ensnare their feet his fatal trap in,
And their poor souls be taken napping;
Who strictly fast, because they find,
The flesh still wars against the mind,
And flesh of saints, like sinner's, must
Be mortified, to keep down lust;
Who, four times in the year at least,
Join feast of love to love of feast,
Which, tho' the profligate and vain
In terms of blasphemy prophane,
Yet all the ceremony here is
Pure as the mysteries of Ceres;
Who, God's elect, with triumph feel
Within themselves salvation's seal,
And will not, must not, dare not doubt,
That heav'n itself can't blot it out;
After they've done their holy labours,
Return to scandalize their neighbours,
And think they can't serve heav'n so well,
As with its creatures filling hell:
So that, inflam'd with holy pride,
They save themselves, damn all beside.

For persons, who pretend to feel
The glowings of uncommon zeal,
Who others scorn, and seem to be
Righteous in very great degree,
Do, 'bove all others, take delight
To vent their spleen in tales of spite,
And think they raise their own renown
By pulling of a neighbour's down;
Still lying on with most success,
Because they charity profess,
And make the out-side of religion,
Like Mahomet's inspiring pigeon,
To all their forgeries gain credit,
'Tis enough sure that------said it.

But what can all this rambling mean?
Was ever such an hodge-podge seen?
Venus, CÆcilia, Saints, and Whores,
Thomas, Vertù, Bells, Knockers, Doors,
Lords, Rogues, Relations, Ladies, Cits,
Stars, Flambeaux, Thunderbolts, Horns, Wits,
Vulcan, and Cuckold-maker, Scandal,
Music, and Footmen, Ear of Handel,
Weather, News, Envy, Politicks,
Intrigues, and Women's Thousand Tricks,

Prudes, Methodists, and Devotees,
Fastings, Feasts, Pray'rs, and Charities,
Ceres, with her mysterious train,
------,------,------, and------,
Flesh, Spirit, Love, Hate, and Religion,
A Quail, a Raven, and a Pigeon,
All jumbled up in one large dish,
Red-Herring, Bread, Fowl, Flesh, and Fish.

Where's the connection, where's the plan?
The devil sure is in the man.
All in an instant we are hurl'd
From place to place all round the world,
Yet find no reason for it—mum—
There, my good critic, lies the hum—
Well, but methinks, it wou'd avail
To know the end of this—A TALE.