The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance Done from the Original By a Gentleman-Commoner of Oxford. The Second Edition Corrected. To which are added Several Occasional Poems. By the same Author [i.e. Samuel Croxall] |
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Heathen Priestcraft.
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 | The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance |  |
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Heathen Priestcraft.
FROM THE First Book of Ovid's Fastorum.
I grant that ever since the World began
The Gods claim'd Worship from their Creature Man.
But then, in Offerings frugal as in Food,
Their Altars stood unstain'd with Victim Blood;
They offer'd best who practis'd to be Good.
As yet no foreign Ship with Spices fraught
Had Myrrh and Frankincense from India brought.
Far off conceal'd along Euphrates Shore
Those balmy Shrubs their fragrant Blossoms bore.
Unvalu'd the rich Cordial Crocus grew,
Or only valued for it's purple Hue.
The Priest their Virtues first perceiv'd, and then
The Gods requir'd 'em at the Hands of Men.
Before, green Potherbs of good savory Smell,
The Product of each Garden, serv'd as well;
Or branching Laurel, crackling as it blaz'd,
In blueish Fumes the angry Gods appeas'd.
Fresh Garlands, woven from the flowery Bank,
Were deem'd Oblations of sufficient Rank:
Violets, if twisted in among the rest,
Brib'd high, and ev'n pronounc'd the Suppliant blest.
The Gods claim'd Worship from their Creature Man.
But then, in Offerings frugal as in Food,
Their Altars stood unstain'd with Victim Blood;
They offer'd best who practis'd to be Good.
As yet no foreign Ship with Spices fraught
Had Myrrh and Frankincense from India brought.
Far off conceal'd along Euphrates Shore
Those balmy Shrubs their fragrant Blossoms bore.
Unvalu'd the rich Cordial Crocus grew,
Or only valued for it's purple Hue.
The Priest their Virtues first perceiv'd, and then
The Gods requir'd 'em at the Hands of Men.
Before, green Potherbs of good savory Smell,
The Product of each Garden, serv'd as well;
Or branching Laurel, crackling as it blaz'd,
In blueish Fumes the angry Gods appeas'd.
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Were deem'd Oblations of sufficient Rank:
Violets, if twisted in among the rest,
Brib'd high, and ev'n pronounc'd the Suppliant blest.
Sharp Tools to kill and carve the slaughter'd Beast,
Were since invented by some Butcher Priest;
Who wisely finding that the Flesh was good,
Feign'd that the Gods must be appeas'd with Blood.
Ceres in Wrath demands the routing Swine,
Bacchus the Goat, for nibbling of his Vine.
The Sheep and Ox, accus'd of no Offence.
Would seem to dye without the least Pretence:
But our discreet Divines declare that these
Do, best of all, the Pow'rs immortal please,
That the Gods leave their Heaven for such a Treat;
True; For broil'd Cutlets are delicious Meat.
Were since invented by some Butcher Priest;
Who wisely finding that the Flesh was good,
Feign'd that the Gods must be appeas'd with Blood.
Ceres in Wrath demands the routing Swine,
Bacchus the Goat, for nibbling of his Vine.
The Sheep and Ox, accus'd of no Offence.
Would seem to dye without the least Pretence:
But our discreet Divines declare that these
Do, best of all, the Pow'rs immortal please,
That the Gods leave their Heaven for such a Treat;
True; For broil'd Cutlets are delicious Meat.
But yet sometimes, to shift the artful Scene,
Some Gods are honour'd with a Beast unclean:
If all which they requir'd were good to eat,
'Twou'd make Mankind suspect it all a Cheat;
Some Rites indifferent must be duly mixt,
To Shuffle with the rest, and come betwixt:
Thus argues the designing crafty Priest,
And thus conceals and carries on the Jest.
Therefore a Dog at Trivia's Altar dies;
Or a dead Horse may be a Sacrifice;
Such as the Persians offer to the Sun,
Because He's active and well-made to run.
For, whether all the jugling Pranks they do
Are advantageous to themselves, or no,
The Priesthood still give Reasons for each Trick,
And make 'em all significant alike.
Gallant Priapus, Gardian of our Fruit,
An Ass requires, that aukward heavy Brute.
But hear the Cause his reverend Clergy give;
'Tis no unpleasant Legend, as I live.
Some Gods are honour'd with a Beast unclean:
If all which they requir'd were good to eat,
'Twou'd make Mankind suspect it all a Cheat;
Some Rites indifferent must be duly mixt,
To Shuffle with the rest, and come betwixt:
Thus argues the designing crafty Priest,
And thus conceals and carries on the Jest.
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Or a dead Horse may be a Sacrifice;
Such as the Persians offer to the Sun,
Because He's active and well-made to run.
For, whether all the jugling Pranks they do
Are advantageous to themselves, or no,
The Priesthood still give Reasons for each Trick,
And make 'em all significant alike.
Gallant Priapus, Gardian of our Fruit,
An Ass requires, that aukward heavy Brute.
But hear the Cause his reverend Clergy give;
'Tis no unpleasant Legend, as I live.
When ancient Greece triennial Honours paid
To Bacchus with the Ivy-circled Head,
Each rural Deity was made a Guest,
And chear'd with mirthful Pleasantries the Feast.
Pan and his Crew of lustful Satyrs came,
Whose youthful Blood burnt with Venereal Flame:
For the bright Nymphs, from every Stream and Grove
Assembled there, inspir'd their Hearts with Love.
There old Silenus came, in usual State,
Astride his Ass, ridiculously great.
There the rough Patron of the Gardens too
With well-hung Ensign marcht expos'd to View;
And came where all the Company was laid
On mossy Beds beneath a spreading Shade.
Their Wine by Bacchus was supplied alone,
But each was crown'd with Garlands of his own.
A limpid Brook roll'd thro' the matted Grass,
At once to cool and qualify the Glass.
The woody Nymphs, Part with loose flowing Hair,
Their snowy Necks, and heaving Breasts all bare,
Part drest, and with embreded Tresses crown'd,
Their shapely Legs in Silver Buskins bound,
With Lilly Hands, the fragrant Dinner drest,
And added to the Flavour of the Feast.
The gentle Breeze that wav'd their thin Attire,
Fan'd in the rural Gods an amorous Fire.
There Pan, his Brow begirt with mountain Pines,
Ogling, in Sighs his captive Heart resigns.
Silenus too with untam'd Lust was stung,
Whose everlasting Lewdness keeps him Young.
But stiff Priapus, Warden of the Groves,
With Lotis smitten, only Lotis loves:
On her his Wishes and his Eyes are fixt,
And all his Talk with double Meanings mixt.
But Beauty's often temper'd with Disdain,
The Fair with Scorn regards her Lover's Pain:
She aws the Letcher with a distant Pride,
And haughty Smiles his public Flame deride.
To Bacchus with the Ivy-circled Head,
Each rural Deity was made a Guest,
And chear'd with mirthful Pleasantries the Feast.
Pan and his Crew of lustful Satyrs came,
Whose youthful Blood burnt with Venereal Flame:
For the bright Nymphs, from every Stream and Grove
Assembled there, inspir'd their Hearts with Love.
There old Silenus came, in usual State,
Astride his Ass, ridiculously great.
There the rough Patron of the Gardens too
With well-hung Ensign marcht expos'd to View;
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On mossy Beds beneath a spreading Shade.
Their Wine by Bacchus was supplied alone,
But each was crown'd with Garlands of his own.
A limpid Brook roll'd thro' the matted Grass,
At once to cool and qualify the Glass.
The woody Nymphs, Part with loose flowing Hair,
Their snowy Necks, and heaving Breasts all bare,
Part drest, and with embreded Tresses crown'd,
Their shapely Legs in Silver Buskins bound,
With Lilly Hands, the fragrant Dinner drest,
And added to the Flavour of the Feast.
The gentle Breeze that wav'd their thin Attire,
Fan'd in the rural Gods an amorous Fire.
There Pan, his Brow begirt with mountain Pines,
Ogling, in Sighs his captive Heart resigns.
Silenus too with untam'd Lust was stung,
Whose everlasting Lewdness keeps him Young.
But stiff Priapus, Warden of the Groves,
With Lotis smitten, only Lotis loves:
On her his Wishes and his Eyes are fixt,
And all his Talk with double Meanings mixt.
But Beauty's often temper'd with Disdain,
The Fair with Scorn regards her Lover's Pain:
She aws the Letcher with a distant Pride,
And haughty Smiles his public Flame deride.
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Now Night advanc'd, and Wine and Revels done,
Easy Repose with gentle Sleep came on.
The burning God observ'd where, tir'd with Play,
Lotis beneath a shady Maple lay;
Stretcht out supine upon a grassy Bed,
Upon a flowry Turf reclin'd her Head.
He rose, and, silent as the Steps of Death,
On Tiptoe softly stealing, held his Breath:
Till he had crept into the blissful Bow'r
That gave his utmost Wishes to his Pow'r.
And now, afraid lest every moving Air,
Ev'n her own Breath might wake the slumb'ring Fair,
The neighb'ring Turf with tender Care he prest;
Still lay the Nymph o'erwhelm'd in downy Rest:
O'erjoy'd the God her Vesture upward drew,
And to the Goal with furious Vigour flew;
When the grave Pad of old Silenus bray'd
And most unluckily his Plot betray'd.
The Nymph was wak'd, and strove with all her Might
To stop the eager Dotard's fond Delight,
And, rolling sidelong from his hot Embrace,
Scream'd out and fill'd with loud Alarms the Place.
The Silver Moon, just breaking from a Cloud,
Show'd where the God in strange Confusion stood,
Too well provided for the Feats of Love,
And quite expos'd to all the laughing Grove.
Easy Repose with gentle Sleep came on.
The burning God observ'd where, tir'd with Play,
Lotis beneath a shady Maple lay;
Stretcht out supine upon a grassy Bed,
Upon a flowry Turf reclin'd her Head.
He rose, and, silent as the Steps of Death,
On Tiptoe softly stealing, held his Breath:
Till he had crept into the blissful Bow'r
That gave his utmost Wishes to his Pow'r.
And now, afraid lest every moving Air,
Ev'n her own Breath might wake the slumb'ring Fair,
The neighb'ring Turf with tender Care he prest;
Still lay the Nymph o'erwhelm'd in downy Rest:
O'erjoy'd the God her Vesture upward drew,
And to the Goal with furious Vigour flew;
When the grave Pad of old Silenus bray'd
And most unluckily his Plot betray'd.
The Nymph was wak'd, and strove with all her Might
To stop the eager Dotard's fond Delight,
And, rolling sidelong from his hot Embrace,
Scream'd out and fill'd with loud Alarms the Place.
The Silver Moon, just breaking from a Cloud,
Show'd where the God in strange Confusion stood,
Too well provided for the Feats of Love,
And quite expos'd to all the laughing Grove.
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For this the Ass was victim'd, and from hence
All Asses suffer for that One's Offence.
All Asses suffer for that One's Offence.
The feather'd Warblers, whose melodious Lay
Gladdens the Shade from every leafy Spray,
With Love and Innocence securely blest,
Might hope to 'scape the bloody-minded Priest.
But these they say the Gods command to kill,
As Creatures that reveal the heavenly Will;
When in swift Flight they stretch their painted Wing,
Or when they raise their trilling Voice and sing.
Thus from her Mate the spotless Turtle torn
Is often to the flaming Altar born.
Thus Geese for Io's splendid Feast are carv'd,
Tho' once a Goose the Capitol preserv'd.
Nor ought avails the Cock his coral Crest,
His shining Plumes, and glossy varying Breast,
Since his shrill Note, which Wakes the Morning Light,
Offends the gloomy Goddess of the Night.
Gladdens the Shade from every leafy Spray,
With Love and Innocence securely blest,
Might hope to 'scape the bloody-minded Priest.
But these they say the Gods command to kill,
As Creatures that reveal the heavenly Will;
When in swift Flight they stretch their painted Wing,
Or when they raise their trilling Voice and sing.
Thus from her Mate the spotless Turtle torn
Is often to the flaming Altar born.
Thus Geese for Io's splendid Feast are carv'd,
Tho' once a Goose the Capitol preserv'd.
Nor ought avails the Cock his coral Crest,
His shining Plumes, and glossy varying Breast,
Since his shrill Note, which Wakes the Morning Light,
Offends the gloomy Goddess of the Night.
Thus says the Priest, providing at his Wish
A roasted Goose, that very special Dish.
And, to reward his sacerdotal Toil,
For him the Cock, for him the Pidgeons broil.
A roasted Goose, that very special Dish.
And, to reward his sacerdotal Toil,
For him the Cock, for him the Pidgeons broil.
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