 | The Czar |  |
71
EPILOGUE, IN THE CHARACTER OF CATHARINE.
Well—I've said all I can—but 'tis the vogue,
And, Ladies, I must speak some Epilogue;
Must yield to custom's all controuling sway,
And turn to jest some Heroine of the Play;
Must “pluck bright Honour” from its throne and state,
And sink Queen Catharine down to vulgar Kate.
And, Ladies, I must speak some Epilogue;
Must yield to custom's all controuling sway,
And turn to jest some Heroine of the Play;
Must “pluck bright Honour” from its throne and state,
And sink Queen Catharine down to vulgar Kate.
Yet say, ye Fair, have Titles then no charms?
The very question female hearts alarms;
Titles, for which we barter real sway,
And deck December with the gifts of May;
Titles, for which, each earthly bliss resign'd,
We yield a willing empire o'er the mind.
The very question female hearts alarms;
Titles, for which we barter real sway,
And deck December with the gifts of May;
Titles, for which, each earthly bliss resign'd,
We yield a willing empire o'er the mind.
For these, the Maid, such is the modern rule,
Fraught with sage maxims from a boarding-school,
Is hawk'd about in Fashion's dull parade,
From Church to Court, from Court to Masquerade:
“Lord! how delicious! what a charming creature!
“Such symmetry of limb, such grace, such feature,
“E'en frozen age, such ripen'd charms must move,—
“To gaze, is here, another phrase for Love.”
Fraught with sage maxims from a boarding-school,
Is hawk'd about in Fashion's dull parade,
From Church to Court, from Court to Masquerade:
“Lord! how delicious! what a charming creature!
“Such symmetry of limb, such grace, such feature,
“E'en frozen age, such ripen'd charms must move,—
“To gaze, is here, another phrase for Love.”
Straight to the wish some Mummy Lord appears,
Fraught with experience of full fourscore years;
The Peer, 'tis true, has somewhat pass'd his prime,
But Bath repairs the ravages of time;
Relations then are summon'd, writings made,
In all the unmeaning round of law-parade;
The Title only Miss's doubts removes,
Papa still hesitates—Mamma approves:
At length vast Settlements secure her power,
And Special License crowns the midnight hour.
Fraught with experience of full fourscore years;
The Peer, 'tis true, has somewhat pass'd his prime,
But Bath repairs the ravages of time;
72
In all the unmeaning round of law-parade;
The Title only Miss's doubts removes,
Papa still hesitates—Mamma approves:
At length vast Settlements secure her power,
And Special License crowns the midnight hour.
My Lord, whom youthful beauty still inspires,
“For in his ashes live their wonted fires,”
In whose enraptur'd breast the embers glow,
Like Ætna glimmering through a shield of snow,
Unable to repress the ardent flame,
Using each soft, each sympathizing name,
In extacy supreme, while Wits deride,
Tottering and boastful, dares essay the Bride.
“For in his ashes live their wonted fires,”
In whose enraptur'd breast the embers glow,
Like Ætna glimmering through a shield of snow,
Unable to repress the ardent flame,
Using each soft, each sympathizing name,
In extacy supreme, while Wits deride,
Tottering and boastful, dares essay the Bride.
Their happiness complete is then the boast,
Till hints besiege each circulating post;
“Pray have you heard?—the world does say it's so,”
“Caught in her chamber,—nay, I do not know,”
“Pistol and Thorax ” then complete the blow.
Such is the scene that gilds their married life,
Till hints besiege each circulating post;
“Pray have you heard?—the world does say it's so,”
“Caught in her chamber,—nay, I do not know,”
“Pistol and Thorax ” then complete the blow.
A nauseous fondness, and a peevish strife,
Ills heap'd on ills, and force repell'd by force,
Till a third winter crowns the wish'd divorce;
The Brother Cuckolds the dead Lord deride,
The living Fair one blooms again a Bride.
Have Titles then no charms?—Must the Fair scorn them?
Titles add lustre, when the Great adorn them.
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