 | Poetical essays on Several Occasions |  |
17
Modern Courtship:
Inscrib'd to Miss W***t.
You ask me, Delia, why Papillio reigns
The Darling of the Fair, and mocks the Swains?
You are a Stranger to his Charms; for know,
He powders, prates, and bows profoundly low;
He dresses, dances, dallies, daubs with Snuff,
What think you, Delia? is not this enough?
Pert, pretty, proud, and of a pliant Size,
In Laces, Modes, and Treats extremely wise:
No Sin so great, as Ignorance of Fashion,
Clowns, in his Creed, will scarce obtain Salvation;
Whate'er he says,—is with an Air so bright,
Drury grows chaste, and Dullness sounds polite.
He laughs, he prays, he sneezes with a Grace,
Each Muscle knows its Post, each Curl its Place.
As froths the Yeast fermenting from the Bung,
So lambent Nonsense trickles from his Tongue.
Thus Dross refin'd glides purer thro' the Still,
And Rags are whiten'd in the Paper-Mill.
The Darling of the Fair, and mocks the Swains?
You are a Stranger to his Charms; for know,
He powders, prates, and bows profoundly low;
He dresses, dances, dallies, daubs with Snuff,
What think you, Delia? is not this enough?
Pert, pretty, proud, and of a pliant Size,
In Laces, Modes, and Treats extremely wise:
No Sin so great, as Ignorance of Fashion,
Clowns, in his Creed, will scarce obtain Salvation;
18
Drury grows chaste, and Dullness sounds polite.
He laughs, he prays, he sneezes with a Grace,
Each Muscle knows its Post, each Curl its Place.
As froths the Yeast fermenting from the Bung,
So lambent Nonsense trickles from his Tongue.
Thus Dross refin'd glides purer thro' the Still,
And Rags are whiten'd in the Paper-Mill.
I know you'll deem Papillio but a Fop,
And all his Furniture a gew-gaw Shop,
A Shop of Toys to please a dazzled Eye,
Which some admire, and some pass wisely by.
Women like Widgeons are decoy'd by Show,
Where one the plain, ten like the painted Beau.
Delia, let Phillis spend each gaudy Day,
In Balls, Ridottos, Puppet-shows, and Play:
As Kate with Rattles lulls the Babe to sleep,
Thus one eternal Lullaby they keep.
Like Squirrels pleas'd with their own tinkling Sound,
And still in Motion ring one airy Round.
And all his Furniture a gew-gaw Shop,
A Shop of Toys to please a dazzled Eye,
Which some admire, and some pass wisely by.
Women like Widgeons are decoy'd by Show,
Where one the plain, ten like the painted Beau.
Delia, let Phillis spend each gaudy Day,
In Balls, Ridottos, Puppet-shows, and Play:
As Kate with Rattles lulls the Babe to sleep,
Thus one eternal Lullaby they keep.
19
And still in Motion ring one airy Round.
The Wise in decent Bounds restrain their Gust,
Season their Joys, nor drink but when they thirst.
He tastes most Bliss who husbands well his store,
We only pall our Appetite with more.
Like Prodigals, the Frolick and the Gay
Lavish their Stock in one short Holiday.
Papillio thus, fantastically vain,
Flies his own Company, and courts a Train
Of low Amusements, to delude the Sense,
And cheat poor Life with gay Impertinence.
Thus he humms Tunes, and trifles with the Fair,
Now Riddles tells, now capers in the Air.
Now suddenly in love, he swears he dies,
And who wou'd think,—so fine a Lover lyes?
Now on his Dinner dwells, and now his Dreams
Of Coffee-Grounds, Flow'rs, Weddings and whipt Creams.
Season their Joys, nor drink but when they thirst.
He tastes most Bliss who husbands well his store,
We only pall our Appetite with more.
Like Prodigals, the Frolick and the Gay
Lavish their Stock in one short Holiday.
Papillio thus, fantastically vain,
Flies his own Company, and courts a Train
Of low Amusements, to delude the Sense,
And cheat poor Life with gay Impertinence.
Thus he humms Tunes, and trifles with the Fair,
Now Riddles tells, now capers in the Air.
Now suddenly in love, he swears he dies,
And who wou'd think,—so fine a Lover lyes?
Now on his Dinner dwells, and now his Dreams
Of Coffee-Grounds, Flow'rs, Weddings and whipt Creams.
20
If such Perfections must obtain a Wife,
Give me, ye Gods! a Cave, and private Life.
How soft the Slumber, how secure the Shade,
Safe, where no Coxcombs rush, no Fools invade?
While some fair Nymph, with kind, but artless Air,
Governs each rustic Song, and sooths each Care.
And if some learned Friend his Stock will join,
And mingle Cares with Cares, and Wit with Wine,
W**lp**le, I wou'd not change my Lot for thine.
Give me, ye Gods! a Cave, and private Life.
How soft the Slumber, how secure the Shade,
Safe, where no Coxcombs rush, no Fools invade?
While some fair Nymph, with kind, but artless Air,
Governs each rustic Song, and sooths each Care.
And if some learned Friend his Stock will join,
And mingle Cares with Cares, and Wit with Wine,
W**lp**le, I wou'd not change my Lot for thine.
Pray Ladies, listen to a country Tale,
John treats his Lass with Nutmeg and with Ale;
Clad in new Sunday Clothes, struts thro' the Wake,
And gives her sometimes Kisses, sometimes Cake.
John treats his Lass with Nutmeg and with Ale;
Clad in new Sunday Clothes, struts thro' the Wake,
And gives her sometimes Kisses, sometimes Cake.
I love thee, charming Joan! with all my heart,
A Love which Death, and Death alone can part;
For let me tell thee with a faithful Sigh,
For thee, my Dear, I willingly wou'd die:
Thy yielding Breasts, like new-press'd Cheeses shew,
And thy blue Eyes are like the glossy Sloe.
A-field I have ten Ewes, and ten milch Kine,
Had I a hundred more, they all were thine.
When home from Plough the weary Team I goad,
And ease the lab'ring Oxen of their Load,
While on our Elm the peaceful Poultry rest,
I find a greater Burden in my Breast.
Their Toil is ended with the setting Sun,
But far from thee,—my Toil is just begun;
Thro' all the live-long Night no rest I find,
Still something lies so heavy on my Mind.
Musing on thee my Sheep are wont to stray,
And I with them have often lost my way;
'Twas strange at first! but I'm surpriz'd no more
To lose my way, who lost my Heart before.
A Love which Death, and Death alone can part;
For let me tell thee with a faithful Sigh,
For thee, my Dear, I willingly wou'd die:
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And thy blue Eyes are like the glossy Sloe.
A-field I have ten Ewes, and ten milch Kine,
Had I a hundred more, they all were thine.
When home from Plough the weary Team I goad,
And ease the lab'ring Oxen of their Load,
While on our Elm the peaceful Poultry rest,
I find a greater Burden in my Breast.
Their Toil is ended with the setting Sun,
But far from thee,—my Toil is just begun;
Thro' all the live-long Night no rest I find,
Still something lies so heavy on my Mind.
Musing on thee my Sheep are wont to stray,
And I with them have often lost my way;
'Twas strange at first! but I'm surpriz'd no more
To lose my way, who lost my Heart before.
John's Love is homely, but sincere his Heart,
This Nature is, the other is but Art.
For all the tinsel Courtship of the Town,
Give me the honest Passion of the Clown.
But oh! to dress, to dance, to sigh, to sing,
To prate, to play—is so polite a thing—
Thus Moderns love—Delia! you smile at this,
But who thus loves, will seldom love amiss.
Alas! for me there is no room for Hope,
I cannot play Quadrille—nor dance the Rope.
Delia, you say Baboons will do the same,
Ev'n Elephants their Gambols learn when tame.
How fine the Jay, how active is the Ape!
Sure Fops are Monkeys in a human Shape:
Birds have their Notes, and Lap-dogs know their Airs,
There have been dying Polls, and dancing Bears.
If Phillis smiles on such Gallants as these,
I thank my Stars—I was not born to please.
Others like me have felt a fruitless Pain,
Granville for Myra sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain.
Still sounds the Shade with Sacharissa's Name,
And Thames still weeps her injur'd Cowley's Flame.
Then foolish Muse! thy fond Complaints give o'er;
If Delia says 'tis right, I ask no more.
Now hail! ye dusky Groves, ye Fair farewel,
I envy not your Bliss; nor envy you my Cell.
This Nature is, the other is but Art.
22
Give me the honest Passion of the Clown.
But oh! to dress, to dance, to sigh, to sing,
To prate, to play—is so polite a thing—
Thus Moderns love—Delia! you smile at this,
But who thus loves, will seldom love amiss.
Alas! for me there is no room for Hope,
I cannot play Quadrille—nor dance the Rope.
Delia, you say Baboons will do the same,
Ev'n Elephants their Gambols learn when tame.
How fine the Jay, how active is the Ape!
Sure Fops are Monkeys in a human Shape:
Birds have their Notes, and Lap-dogs know their Airs,
There have been dying Polls, and dancing Bears.
If Phillis smiles on such Gallants as these,
I thank my Stars—I was not born to please.
Others like me have felt a fruitless Pain,
Granville for Myra sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain.
Still sounds the Shade with Sacharissa's Name,
And Thames still weeps her injur'd Cowley's Flame.
23
If Delia says 'tis right, I ask no more.
Now hail! ye dusky Groves, ye Fair farewel,
I envy not your Bliss; nor envy you my Cell.
| Poetical essays on Several Occasions | |