 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
An Epistle to the Reverend Mr. ---.
Dear Crape, 'tis with regret and sorrow,
We think of losing you to-morrow;
When you, once more, must hurry down,
To booby squire, and country clown;
Nor mingle here, your joyous soul,
With social friends, o'er flowing bowl.
Bless'd, if on Sundays you regale,
With Gaffer Nobs, o'er foggy ale;
Or chance, on week-day, to espy,
As haply you are saunt'ring by,
A Tithe-pig, in your neighbour's sty.
We think of losing you to-morrow;
When you, once more, must hurry down,
To booby squire, and country clown;
Nor mingle here, your joyous soul,
With social friends, o'er flowing bowl.
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With Gaffer Nobs, o'er foggy ale;
Or chance, on week-day, to espy,
As haply you are saunt'ring by,
A Tithe-pig, in your neighbour's sty.
But not to rally thus and sneer,
On subjects which you dread to hear;
Say—e're you ramble, God knows whither;
Shall we not crack one pint together?
As for your friend, by stress of gout,
Or something else!—he can't stir out,
But you, in verbo sacerdotis,
Which you will freely own, for so 'tis,
Did promise to comehere at seven,—
Keep but your word—it makes all even.
Bring honest Otway in your pocket,
Within my chest I'll safely lock it;
Bring Juv'nal, notis variorum,
Translators should have these before 'em.
If the appointment you neglect,
We our epistles can't direct;
All correspondence then must fail;
A thing we sorely should bewail:
Advice will therefore be expedient,
To, Sir, your humble and obedient.
From my apartments, June the second,
May twenty first, by old stile reckon'd.
On subjects which you dread to hear;
Say—e're you ramble, God knows whither;
Shall we not crack one pint together?
As for your friend, by stress of gout,
Or something else!—he can't stir out,
But you, in verbo sacerdotis,
Which you will freely own, for so 'tis,
Did promise to comehere at seven,—
Keep but your word—it makes all even.
Bring honest Otway in your pocket,
Within my chest I'll safely lock it;
Bring Juv'nal, notis variorum,
Translators should have these before 'em.
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We our epistles can't direct;
All correspondence then must fail;
A thing we sorely should bewail:
Advice will therefore be expedient,
To, Sir, your humble and obedient.
From my apartments, June the second,
May twenty first, by old stile reckon'd.
An Answer to the foregoing Epistle.
I am oblig'd this night, dear Sam,
To go with Mercury, and cram
My heron-gut, with Master T---s;
And thank him for his former favours;
But, by to-morrow noon, will hop
To you, and eat a mutton-chop;
Where I could wish to meet Sir Francis,
That rhyming writer of romances;
And with you chat an hour or two,
Then take a sad, and long adieu.
To go with Mercury, and cram
My heron-gut, with Master T---s;
And thank him for his former favours;
But, by to-morrow noon, will hop
To you, and eat a mutton-chop;
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That rhyming writer of romances;
And with you chat an hour or two,
Then take a sad, and long adieu.
B---ps? a tyrant generation!
Good heav'n, excuse th'exclamation!
But I must rail, for I am undone,
In being forc'd to leave dear London,
And lose so long your chearful tattle;
But sure by letter we may prattle;
And freely talk of all these fellows.
Who strut about in rich prunellas;
And with rank pride and folly stock'd are;—
A hated race to yours, the D---r.
Good heav'n, excuse th'exclamation!
But I must rail, for I am undone,
In being forc'd to leave dear London,
And lose so long your chearful tattle;
But sure by letter we may prattle;
And freely talk of all these fellows.
Who strut about in rich prunellas;
And with rank pride and folly stock'd are;—
A hated race to yours, the D---r.
F. J.
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ON A LADY SINGING.
Inscribed to Miss ---
As Silvia fill'd the vocal air,
With sounds that banish'd ev'ry care;
The neighb'ring hills, the vallies round,
The rocks, the thrilling notes resound;
The satyrs wild, enraptur'd stood,
And Fauns and Dryads left the wood;
The bounding doe, the savage bear,
Unite the melody to hear.
With sounds that banish'd ev'ry care;
The neighb'ring hills, the vallies round,
The rocks, the thrilling notes resound;
The satyrs wild, enraptur'd stood,
And Fauns and Dryads left the wood;
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Unite the melody to hear.
Thames, hoary sire! uprears his head,
Attentive to the rapt'rous maid;
And fill'd with wonder and surprize,
Upon the surface resting lies.
Attentive to the rapt'rous maid;
And fill'd with wonder and surprize,
Upon the surface resting lies.
Apollo listen'd in a shade,
And thus the God of music said;
And thus the God of music said;
My Orpheus, sure, whom long I've mourn'd,
Is from Elysian shades return'd;
None, none but Orpheus could bestow
The transports from these sounds that flow.
Is from Elysian shades return'd;
None, none but Orpheus could bestow
The transports from these sounds that flow.
But when he saw from whence they sprung,
The hand that play'd, the nymph that sung;
Low at her feet his lyre he laid,
And plac'd a chaplet on her head;
Hence, matchless and unrival'd, she,
Reigns over love and harmony.
The hand that play'd, the nymph that sung;
Low at her feet his lyre he laid,
And plac'd a chaplet on her head;
Hence, matchless and unrival'd, she,
Reigns over love and harmony.
The plan of this trifling piece is founded on a Latin poem inscribed to Damon, to be found in the Poemata Italorum, which Mr. Pope published; the original contains some things more properly adapted to an Italian than an English taste, which here by changing the compliment to a female are happily lost. The modesty of the lady to whom they are inscribed, would have suppress'd them; but I fear'd depriving some of our modern genii of an opportunity of passing for poets; who if their mistress sing well, and either her christian or sirname be two syllables, may copy these, and pass them for his own.
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The UNIVERSAL MISTAKE.
My fair Flavilla, t'other nightWith garlands deck'd, appear'd so bright,
The world mistook her sparkling eyes
For morning's unexpected rise;
And at the sight, the teeming earth
Gave to the sweetest odours birth;
While music eccho'd thro' the air,
Tribute of ev'ry dancing sphere;
The stars with fainter glimm'ring burn'd,
And fondly thought the day return'd;
Sol stretch'd upon his osier bed,
Where Thetis lap sustain'd his head,
Rous'd, after her his race to turn;
He too mistook her for the morn;
While Neptune, monarch of the main,
Could scarce within his bounds contain;
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Unable to sustain the sight,
“'Tis death, he cry'd, for him that views!”
And instant sunk beneath the ooze.
VENUS and ADONIS.
A CANTATA
Recitative.
Venus and Mars confess'd an equal flame;Their hopes, their wishes, and their joys the same;
Till green-ey'd jealousy disturb'd his rest,
Watchful he scoul'd, and peevishly carest;
Conduct like this the Goddess must displease,
Freedom, her province, her perfection, ease.
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Air.
Swains avoid the rigid air,The prying look, the brow severe,
If you'd have the nymph approve,
Shun these foes to female love.
Jealousy's a friend to care,
Close connected with despair;
Its companions are constraint,
Disappointment and complaint.
To secure a woman's heart,
This you'll find the only art;
In her honour still confide,
She'll preserve it out of pride.
Recitative.
This rous'd th'Idalian queen to seek abroad,Some kinder object to displace the God;
Adonis seen his potent charms invade,
A form more lovely nature never made:
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When Ariadne bless'd the youthful God.
Air.
The Naiads cold the youth desire,For him the Dryads feel desire;
And sportive Fauns with smile approve,
The choice of Cytherea's love:
Struck with his beauty Pan retir'd,
And broke his reeds; but yet admir'd:
Adonis all unrivall'd reigns,
The darling of the rustic plains.
Recitative.
And now the youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,Awe in his heart, and blushes in his face,
Approach'd; while Cupid hov'ring in the sky,
View'd, and an arrow thro' his heart let fly;
For Beauty's queen the raptur'd mortal burns,
As fond a passion beauty's queen returns;
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His fault, and imprecates his hapless fate.
Air.
Thou who would'st charm the virgin's ear,To soft consenting mutual fire;
This short this lasting maxim hear,
'Twill mould her to thy warm desire:
Be kind,—and thou shalt kindness prove,—
The first great mystery of love.
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The PREPARATION.
AN ODE.
Here let the violets disclose
Its odours, strew the blushing rose;
Carnations, jessamine, and thyme,
With perfumes from Arabia's clime.
Chorus.
Its odours, strew the blushing rose;
Carnations, jessamine, and thyme,
With perfumes from Arabia's clime.
The mistress of my heart is near,
With love and wine the hours I'll cheer.
And here with verdant boughs exclude
The beams of Phœbus, scorching rude;
Let zephires soft refreshment shed,
And beeches cooling leaf be spread.
Chorus.
The beams of Phœbus, scorching rude;
Let zephires soft refreshment shed,
And beeches cooling leaf be spread.
The mistress, &c.
To animate my sprightly soul,
Set on the board the icy bowl;
With claret be the glasses crown'd,
While laughing pleasure dances round.
Chorus.
Set on the board the icy bowl;
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While laughing pleasure dances round.
The mistress, &c.
Thus let me ever spend my life,
Remote from care, and free from strife;
Enjoy its sweets, while life I have,
Perhaps to-morrow brings a grave.
Chorus.
Remote from care, and free from strife;
Enjoy its sweets, while life I have,
Perhaps to-morrow brings a grave.
The mistress of my heart is near,
With love and wine the hours I'll cheer.
A SONG.
While with labour and toil,Mars travers'd the isle
Of Cnidus, his goddess to find;
He storm'd, and he swore,
That she never more
Should tyrannize over his mind.
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The Goddess was laid,
Adonis close clap'd in her arms;
While in raptures she glows,
Secure of repose,
Nor thought of opposing alarms.
While the God roughly chaff'd,
Sly Cupid, who laugh'd,
Flew quick with the news, as desire,
She starts from her bow'r,
Exerts all her pow'r,
And fac'd him while swelling with ire.
She look'd; he relented;
She sigh'd; he repented;
She spoke; to her bosom he flew,
There melting with love,
Forgot to reprove,
And fancy'd her constant and true.
100
The REQUEST, to MYRA.
A RURAL ODE.
The God of love, to courts alone,
Did ne'er confine his fires;
The swain in rustic cot has known
To pant with warm desires.
Did ne'er confine his fires;
The swain in rustic cot has known
To pant with warm desires.
Beneath yon verdant shade behold,
A gloomy shepherd lies;
Why does he thus his arms enfold?
'Tis written in his eyes.
A gloomy shepherd lies;
Why does he thus his arms enfold?
'Tis written in his eyes.
The lovely Myra has his heart,
'Tis she has stolen his ease;
And now he meditates the art,
Of knowing how to please.
'Tis she has stolen his ease;
And now he meditates the art,
Of knowing how to please.
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While she, o'er th'enamel'd plain,
Like Cynthia drives the deer;
Or Clio-like chants forth a strain,
Minerva's self might hear.
Like Cynthia drives the deer;
Or Clio-like chants forth a strain,
Minerva's self might hear.
Myra be kind, as thou art fair,
Raise the desponding youth,
From melancholy and despair,
To bless thee with his truth.
Raise the desponding youth,
From melancholy and despair,
To bless thee with his truth.
So shall the nymphs and swains, who press
The lawn, in sportive maze;
Still Myra as their queen caress,
And carol forth her praise.
The lawn, in sportive maze;
Still Myra as their queen caress,
And carol forth her praise.
102
EPIGRAMMA OWENI. translated.
If truth's in wine, as proverbs make no doubt,Smith has, or surely will, the truth find out.
To Mr. GENTLEMAN,
On reading his Play of Sejanus, inscribed to John Earl of Orrery.
'Tis thine, thou rising wonder of the age!
To banish dullness from the tortur'd stage;
To fill the scene with true poetic fire;
Fair virtue's gen'rous precepts to inspire;
Lash'd by thy pen, each hell-sprung vice shall fly,
Fast as fall vapours from an evening sky.
To banish dullness from the tortur'd stage;
To fill the scene with true poetic fire;
Fair virtue's gen'rous precepts to inspire;
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Fast as fall vapours from an evening sky.
When dread ambition swells Sejanus' breast,
Who does not weep for liberty opprest?
Madly aspiring, who but weeps, that he
With brutal force attacks ev'n royalty?
While injur'd Rome mourns her degen'rate race,
Who share his crimes,—their ancestry debase—
Dishonest statesmen canton out her pow'r,
Her fairest hopes destroy'd in one sad hour;
Who does not weep for liberty opprest?
Madly aspiring, who but weeps, that he
With brutal force attacks ev'n royalty?
While injur'd Rome mourns her degen'rate race,
Who share his crimes,—their ancestry debase—
Dishonest statesmen canton out her pow'r,
Her fairest hopes destroy'd in one sad hour;
So nipping eastern blasts at once consume,
The promis'd fruits of nature's early bloom:
But ripe with crimes, with pride and pomp elate,
When the swift whirl of still presiding fate,
Throws the fell monster from his tow'ring height;
Then pleasure sparkles in each honest eye,
And ev'ry free-born heart expands with joy.
The promis'd fruits of nature's early bloom:
But ripe with crimes, with pride and pomp elate,
When the swift whirl of still presiding fate,
Throws the fell monster from his tow'ring height;
Then pleasure sparkles in each honest eye,
And ev'ry free-born heart expands with joy.
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Britons, who in their happier soil behold,
Her high-rais'd banners liberty unfold;
Who feel the joys her influence bestows,
What sweet content from her protection flows,
Shall hail the happy bard, who wisely knew
To drag the traitor into public view;
To point the thunder at his impious head,
And strike th'aspiring bold offender dead.
Her high-rais'd banners liberty unfold;
Who feel the joys her influence bestows,
What sweet content from her protection flows,
Shall hail the happy bard, who wisely knew
To drag the traitor into public view;
To point the thunder at his impious head,
And strike th'aspiring bold offender dead.
Oh! ne'er, in Britain, may the wretch be found,
With rufsian hands who dare his country wound:
May freedom ever boast her lenient sway,
And only with a mouldring world decay.
With rufsian hands who dare his country wound:
May freedom ever boast her lenient sway,
And only with a mouldring world decay.
If rays so lively gild thy early morn,
What lustre must thy brighter noon adorn;
When he, whom wit, whom learning, virtue loves,
Judgment's true standard, Orrery approves!
What lustre must thy brighter noon adorn;
When he, whom wit, whom learning, virtue loves,
Judgment's true standard, Orrery approves!
105
An EPIGRAM.
Dost mean an affront?—cries humorous WillTo Hodge, who was driving his calves up to town;
Indeed, sir, says Hodge, if ought I've done ill,
Pray pardon my error, but fault I see none:
See none, replies Will, in a seeming great heat;
Yet thus drive before you, the council and state.
A SONG,
In Fashionable Taste.
Yes! behold th'egregious charmer,Sweetly wound my tender heart;
Gentle God of love, disarm her!
And bestow on me her art.
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Down the course of yonder hill;
While Apollo warmly beaming,
Melts the rock like frozen rill.
See the stately elm, high waving,
Taper branches in the air;
While the madden'd lover raving,
Deafens eccho with despair.
Deep in yonder arbor lying,
Harken, don't you hear his moan;
He adores yon charmer flying;
But pursues not, vigour gone.
Sweetest odours round arising,
Gratify the grateful sense;
These the swain contented prizing,
Sorrow bids them, “far from hence.”
Zephyr, thou of winds the sweetest,
When you rustle thro' the wood;
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Flies, as if in chace pursu'd.
While the tender powers of passion
Captivate my wounded breast,
Why should I resist the fashion,
Welcome love! be thou my guest.
On a MEDAL,
With the Impression of Christina Queen of Sweden, on one Side; on the Reverse, the Sun.
Christina's form, when Phœbus saw,The lovely portrait struck his view;
The hand, he cry'd, such charms can draw,
May well attempt my glories too.
108
A HYMN to BACCHUS.
Written in 1746.
Without love and wine, wit and beauty are vain,
All transport insipid, and pleasure a pain;
The most splendid palace grows dark as the grave:
Love and wine give, ye Gods, or take back what ye gave.
Comus.
All transport insipid, and pleasure a pain;
The most splendid palace grows dark as the grave:
Love and wine give, ye Gods, or take back what ye gave.
Comus.
Let others, in more lofty verse,
The sounding deeds of arms rehearse;
Sardinia's views, and Prussia's schemes,
My Muse delights in happier themes;
Let others Russia's councils tell,
And vainly labour to reveal,
The sounding deeds of arms rehearse;
Sardinia's views, and Prussia's schemes,
My Muse delights in happier themes;
Let others Russia's councils tell,
And vainly labour to reveal,
From France, with infidels combin'd,
Against the German eagle join'd,
How anxious Europe waits her doom,
How frowns the fate of Christendom:
I sing a more delightful strain,
Bacchus inspiring ev'ry vein.
Against the German eagle join'd,
How anxious Europe waits her doom,
How frowns the fate of Christendom:
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Bacchus inspiring ev'ry vein.
Blithe dispenser of my joy,
Thou who do'st my vows employ,
Bacchus, guardian of the Nine,
On me, oh! propitious shine;
With hallow'd ivy crown my brow;
Quick let the inspiration flow:
Thine can the soul from sadness raise,
To thee I consecrate my lays.
Thou who do'st my vows employ,
Bacchus, guardian of the Nine,
On me, oh! propitious shine;
With hallow'd ivy crown my brow;
Quick let the inspiration flow:
Thine can the soul from sadness raise,
To thee I consecrate my lays.
Thine's the choicest, richest blessing,
Poor the rest, nor worth possessing;
Thine the gen'rous purple flood,
That warms the heart, and fires the blood:
Poor the rest, nor worth possessing;
Thine the gen'rous purple flood,
That warms the heart, and fires the blood:
Inspir'd by thee, we more than live,
You to the Gods new glories give;
And ever blooming, young and fair,
Banish heart-corroding care.
You for the melting conflict arm,
Enhance the bliss, improve the charm;
You to the Gods new glories give;
And ever blooming, young and fair,
Banish heart-corroding care.
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Enhance the bliss, improve the charm;
When Love and Wine their pow'rs unite,
The bosom's fill'd with soft delight.
What pleasures thrill thro' ev'ry vein,
While Love and Wine their pow'rs sustain;
Cupid's soft pleasures pall and die,
Should Wine's gay God his aid deny:
The bosom's fill'd with soft delight.
What pleasures thrill thro' ev'ry vein,
While Love and Wine their pow'rs sustain;
Cupid's soft pleasures pall and die,
Should Wine's gay God his aid deny:
He the warrior's breast inspires;
He the poet's fancy fires.
Queen of Love, invok'd, appear,
Bring thy fair attendants here;
Bring the nimble hours along;
Round thee let the graces throng;
He the poet's fancy fires.
Queen of Love, invok'd, appear,
Bring thy fair attendants here;
Bring the nimble hours along;
Round thee let the graces throng;
Laughing Cupids grace thy train:
Let us not invoke in vain.
Haste, Goddess, haste, nor thus delay,
Complete our joys!—Oh come away;
So shall thy vot'ries lowly bend,
Thy presence owning—quick descend.
Let us not invoke in vain.
Haste, Goddess, haste, nor thus delay,
Complete our joys!—Oh come away;
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Thy presence owning—quick descend.
For thee I touch the trembling string;
The rapture that I feel, I sing:
Pleasure here shall none control,
Thee awaits the sprightly bowl;
Bacchus, guardian of the feast,
Begs it may by thee be grac'd:
The rapture that I feel, I sing:
Pleasure here shall none control,
Thee awaits the sprightly bowl;
Bacchus, guardian of the feast,
Begs it may by thee be grac'd:
War's rough God too long detains;
Oh! list to our inviting strains;
Hark!—the cooing doves proclaim
The coming of the Cyprian dame.
Yonder mark the frolic swain,
Chaces Doris o'er the plain;
Oh! list to our inviting strains;
Hark!—the cooing doves proclaim
The coming of the Cyprian dame.
Yonder mark the frolic swain,
Chaces Doris o'er the plain;
Love within his bosom high,
Bacchus sparkling in his eye;
Deep in yonder shady grove,
Doris soon shall taste of love;
Free from witness, free from noise,
Cupid likes to pour his joys.
Bacchus sparkling in his eye;
Deep in yonder shady grove,
Doris soon shall taste of love;
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Cupid likes to pour his joys.
From our feast is banish'd far,
Rude contest, and party war;
Hence, who with insulting strain,
Would our sacred rites profane!
For the bully's haughty air,
We have here no room to spare;
Sons of folly, sons of noise,
Fly, nor mar our hallow'd joys!
Rude contest, and party war;
Hence, who with insulting strain,
Would our sacred rites profane!
For the bully's haughty air,
We have here no room to spare;
Sons of folly, sons of noise,
Fly, nor mar our hallow'd joys!
With our transports we dispense
Ease, and mirth, and wit, and sense;
These our festive board supply,
Blest with love and jollity.
Ease, and mirth, and wit, and sense;
These our festive board supply,
Blest with love and jollity.
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EPIGRAMMA AUDONEI Translated
The hairs upon thy beard encrease,Thy head's a naked sight;
Hence is thy beard so heavy grown,
Thy head so very light.
The RESOLUTION.
AN ODE.
Love shall no more my soul molest;Nor triumph in my peaceful breast;
I'll sigh no more for Celia's charms;
Nor bliss expect from Myra's arms.
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Bright glory claims my ev'ry ardent vow.
My mind from Cupid's setters free,
Superior soars to luxury;
To all the pleasures that controll
The efforts of th'aspiring soul.
'Tis brighter, &c.
'Tis gen'rous glory thus inspires
My soul, with martial fierce desires;
Tis glory gives the warrior fame,
'Tis glory gives the lasting name.
'Tis brighter, &c.
A willing slave was once my heart
To love, and bless'd the pleasing smart;
But Cupid now my soul disdains,
Alike his pleasures, or his pains.
'Tis brighter glory fires my bosom now,
Bright glory claims my ev'ry ardent vow.
115
A Defence of female Inconstancy.
In an Epistle to Robert Tracy, of Coscomb, in Gloucestershire, Esq;
To thee so skill'd in ev'ry softer art,
To form th'intrigue, and lure the female heart,
The Muse obedient sweeps the sounding wire,
And suits the subject to thy fond desire.
Light as tho vane that shifts with ev'ry wind,
Women are to inconstancy inclin'd;
Nor this a blemish; since by nature's laws,
Successive changes most perfection cause.
From light and shade life's gayest scenes arise,
Nor always is it happy—to be wise;
Mix'd is our lot in what we lose or gain;
Hope,—fear,—in human breasts, alternate reign,
Grief springs from joy, and pleasure grows on pain.
To form th'intrigue, and lure the female heart,
The Muse obedient sweeps the sounding wire,
And suits the subject to thy fond desire.
Light as tho vane that shifts with ev'ry wind,
Women are to inconstancy inclin'd;
Nor this a blemish; since by nature's laws,
Successive changes most perfection cause.
From light and shade life's gayest scenes arise,
Nor always is it happy—to be wise;
Mix'd is our lot in what we lose or gain;
Hope,—fear,—in human breasts, alternate reign,
Grief springs from joy, and pleasure grows on pain.
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If we allow the systems of the wise,
The purest air, for ever shifting, flies;
Time in his rapid progress all devours,—
Can art impede the nimbly dancing hours?
The purest air, for ever shifting, flies;
Time in his rapid progress all devours,—
Can art impede the nimbly dancing hours?
This fragile globe around its axis moves,
And the chaste moon inconstancy approves;
Else, why her changes? why her monthly wain?
Nor she alone, but all the starry train;
The genial sun, and yonder blazon'd sky,
For ever move, impervious to the eye.
And the chaste moon inconstancy approves;
Else, why her changes? why her monthly wain?
Nor she alone, but all the starry train;
The genial sun, and yonder blazon'd sky,
For ever move, impervious to the eye.
Oh! thou of gentle manners, taste refin'd!
Variety's the darling of the mind;
For greatly spurning ev'ry servile tie,
Inconstant still, from joy to joy you fly;
Blest each new day with some new happy love;
You emulate in pleasure thund'ring Jove;
Nor form'd alone to win the female ear,
Poignant your wit, your judgment, too, is clear;
Whether more solid argument you chuse,
Or court with sprightly vein, the willing muse;
Whether instructive hist'ry you pursue;
Or deep philosophy attracts your view.
A truce—the Muse withholds the loosen'd rein,
And female praise awaits your ready pen.
Variety's the darling of the mind;
For greatly spurning ev'ry servile tie,
Inconstant still, from joy to joy you fly;
Blest each new day with some new happy love;
You emulate in pleasure thund'ring Jove;
Nor form'd alone to win the female ear,
Poignant your wit, your judgment, too, is clear;
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Or court with sprightly vein, the willing muse;
Whether instructive hist'ry you pursue;
Or deep philosophy attracts your view.
A truce—the Muse withholds the loosen'd rein,
And female praise awaits your ready pen.
What gifts soe'er our lordly sex may boast,
In woman's brighter excellence are lost;
For o'er her acts inconstancy presides,
Her dictates governs, and her footsteps guides.
In woman's brighter excellence are lost;
For o'er her acts inconstancy presides,
Her dictates governs, and her footsteps guides.
The purest air corrupts, when close confin'd;
And poison in the standing pool you'll find:
Gold, in the miser's coffer rusty grows,
Disease, inaction on the body throws.
And poison in the standing pool you'll find:
Gold, in the miser's coffer rusty grows,
Disease, inaction on the body throws.
Then why in woman should it counted be,
A vice to patronize inconstancy?
Alas! the cause is easily explor'd,
By him, who ever has like thee ador'd:
Oft you have known them trap th'unwary heart,
Gracing with truth, dissimulation's art:
Perhaps they lov'd; if worthier objects rise,
You cannot blame them, to withdraw the prize,
A vice to patronize inconstancy?
Alas! the cause is easily explor'd,
By him, who ever has like thee ador'd:
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Gracing with truth, dissimulation's art:
Perhaps they lov'd; if worthier objects rise,
You cannot blame them, to withdraw the prize,
This you call falshood, yet you will excuse
The jugler's gambols, which your sense abuse;
Nay secret pleasure find in being beguil'd;
Why then should female craft be treach'ry stil'd?
The jugler's gambols, which your sense abuse;
Nay secret pleasure find in being beguil'd;
Why then should female craft be treach'ry stil'd?
What can this light capricious humour mean?
Would you still have your mistress neat and clean;
Or else be doom'd for ever to embrace,
A nymph with cloath sun chang'd, and unwash'd face?
Would you still have your mistress neat and clean;
Or else be doom'd for ever to embrace,
A nymph with cloath sun chang'd, and unwash'd face?
Then lov'd inconstancy no longer blame,
But learn to value right the fickle dame!
But learn to value right the fickle dame!
Sages affix a motion to the sun,
Describe each course the planets are to run;
And Luna's age is known to ev'ry swain,
Who tends his bleating flocks upon the plain.
Describe each course the planets are to run;
And Luna's age is known to ev'ry swain,
Who tends his bleating flocks upon the plain.
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But tell me, can the deepest learning shew,
The changes female hearts can undergo?
In this they, stars, and sun, and moon excel,
No human wisdom can their motions tell;
When knowledge vainly tries, to form a rule
For female minds;—ev'n knowledge is a fool.
Nor can the laws of art, or nature fix,
Nor wise philosophy, the wondrous sex:
By these 'tis prov'd, that light things upward tend.
And heavy bodies centrally descend;
But woman's nature contradicts them all,
For she that's lightest, most inclines to fall.
The changes female hearts can undergo?
In this they, stars, and sun, and moon excel,
No human wisdom can their motions tell;
When knowledge vainly tries, to form a rule
For female minds;—ev'n knowledge is a fool.
Nor can the laws of art, or nature fix,
Nor wise philosophy, the wondrous sex:
By these 'tis prov'd, that light things upward tend.
And heavy bodies centrally descend;
But woman's nature contradicts them all,
For she that's lightest, most inclines to fall.
Woman's a science, he who studies most,
Shall in the end find all his labours lost;
Wisdom's ambition, and the pride of wit,
Still stoop to her, and, as they ought, submit.
Shall in the end find all his labours lost;
Wisdom's ambition, and the pride of wit,
Still stoop to her, and, as they ought, submit.
Fools, in the attempt to win her, are made wise
The sage turns fool; who the adventure tries;
When grave philosophers against them write;
Say—is it wisdom guides them? no, 'tis spite—
That sophs so deeply learn'd in ancient lore,
Cannot the dephs of woman-kind explore.
The sage turns fool; who the adventure tries;
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Say—is it wisdom guides them? no, 'tis spite—
That sophs so deeply learn'd in ancient lore,
Cannot the dephs of woman-kind explore.
'Old age condemns them, because years destroy,
The pow'r, tho' not the itching, to enjoy.
The pow'r, tho' not the itching, to enjoy.
Why does Malvolio libel them?—he knows
In his own nature, nothing lovely grows;
He but inveighs, because he cannot gain;
He rails, because he never can obtain;
Vainly would he endeavour to persuade
He knows their wiles—but when the truth's betray'd,
Too plain it seems to all, he never knew
The love of woman, whether feign'd or true;
None of the lofty sex e'r stoop'd so low;
Hence then his gall, and rank invectives flow.
She, like the eagle, seeks on high to tow'r,
And tries on nobler game her dazling pow'r;
Steps o'er the wretch, should he her course retard;
Such insolence contempt should still reward.
In his own nature, nothing lovely grows;
He but inveighs, because he cannot gain;
He rails, because he never can obtain;
Vainly would he endeavour to persuade
He knows their wiles—but when the truth's betray'd,
Too plain it seems to all, he never knew
The love of woman, whether feign'd or true;
None of the lofty sex e'r stoop'd so low;
Hence then his gall, and rank invectives flow.
She, like the eagle, seeks on high to tow'r,
And tries on nobler game her dazling pow'r;
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Such insolence contempt should still reward.
Sure he inconstancy could never prove,
Whom never female honour'd with her love.
Whom never female honour'd with her love.
Happy it is, for such as these, to find,
Some females to variety inclin'd;
For whim, not choice, may sometimes give them charms,
And love of change, with beauty fill their arms.
Some females to variety inclin'd;
For whim, not choice, may sometimes give them charms,
And love of change, with beauty fill their arms.
Why to one man, should woman be confin'd?
Why not unfetter'd, like his freeborn mind?
Is it not better she should numbers bless?
All smell the rose—but are its sweets the less?
Besides, restriction palls the jaded taste;
And in one man few virtues can be trac'd;
Why not unfetter'd, like his freeborn mind?
Is it not better she should numbers bless?
All smell the rose—but are its sweets the less?
Besides, restriction palls the jaded taste;
And in one man few virtues can be trac'd;
If all should in one prodigy unite,
Could such a monster give the least delight?
As well might we endure Sol's raging beams,
And bear, of hot, or cold, the fierce extreams—
Can there be order, where such numbers meet;
Or worth be minded, in a crouded street?
Could such a monster give the least delight?
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And bear, of hot, or cold, the fierce extreams—
Can there be order, where such numbers meet;
Or worth be minded, in a crouded street?
Henceforth, uncensur'd, then, let woman range,
And due reflection be a friend to change.
And due reflection be a friend to change.
The chain of causes upon change depends,
If rest invade it, then all order ends;
Confusion's o'er the face of nature hurl'd,
And chaos rushes o'er a shatter'd world.
If rest invade it, then all order ends;
Confusion's o'er the face of nature hurl'd,
And chaos rushes o'er a shatter'd world.
Those nearest still to bright perfection soar,
Who the most vary'd scenes of life run o'er,
That woman does, is prov'd beyond a jest;
Then woman is of nature's works the best.
Who the most vary'd scenes of life run o'er,
That woman does, is prov'd beyond a jest;
Then woman is of nature's works the best.
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EPIGRAMMA AUDONEI.
You to your ancestors your honours owe,But none you'll on posterity bestow.
The ADVICE.
A CANTATA
Recitative.
By no rude blasts disturb'd, Thames calmly roll'd,While to the stream, his griefs thus Damon told;
124
Sought with regret the mazes of the vale.
Air.
I flourish'd like the summer rose,Was blooming, young, and fair,
Each frolic scene of pleasure chose,
My heart was free from care:
Love was a stranger to my breast;
I knew no passion, to disturb my rest,
Till Celia, like the Indian sun,
Her blaze of beauty pour'd;
I gaz'd, I sigh'd, my heart was gone,
Love every sense devour'd;
I pine, I languish in the toil:
She has my heart, and glories in the spoil.
Recitative.
Sage Isabella, who long since had known,Love's ev'ry art, by chance o'erheard his moan;
125
Taught him to triumph o'er the nymph's disdain.
Air.
Wherefore, swain, the flooded eye?Why the soul-distracting sigh?
These will never win her heart,
Prythee, try some other art.
If your Celia you'd secure,
If you'd of her love be sure;
Teize her wheresoe'er she goes,
She'll oblige you for repose.
From her force the balmy kiss;
If she should refuse the bliss,
To repeat it, boldly try;
Pleas'd the nymph will soon comply.
If to anxious grief a prey,
Thus you waste the summer's day,
She'll but smile at your despair;
Courage only wins the fair.
126
An EPIGRAM.
Paul bribes the Muse, then burning to rehearse,Claims the rich honours of the purchas'd verse;
Yet Paul in this has strictest justice shewn,
For what he buys he justly calls his own.
The JEALOUS LOVER.
A SONG.
When Colin came to see the fair,The door was shut, she was not there;
His jealous heart misgives the swain,
He sighs, but still he won't complain.
Attentive now he plants his ear,
To try if Celia be sincere;
127
He heard her say, her legs were cramp'd.
Again he lists, again he's vex'd;
A manly voice he fancies next,
Cry, “Madam, hold your body still,”
Such sounds would any lover kill.
Another voice disturb'd his mind,
“Nay Celia now you're quite unkind;
An easier posture pray assume;
Or else, in troth, I'll quit the room.”
Was ever swain in such a plight?
He knows not how to act aright;
Whether to quit the faithless dame;
Or forcing in, expose her shame.
But while he thus debates, behold,
The maid comes out, the doors unfold;
She's sitting for her picture seen;
The cause of all the chat within.
128
A Defence of Women painting.
The Thought from Dr. Donne.
Since you confess that beauty's your delight,
That what's unseemly's hateful to the sight,
Marcus, I pray, the gentle maiden spare,
Who tries, by art, more lovely to appear:
Condemn her not, if to improve her waist,
You find her straitly by the stays embrac'd;
If she the hand of gentle Crispin prove,
The fault of halting nature to remove;
If Greenough's tincture whiten o'er her teeth,
Or to perfume she owes her sweeter breath:
To please thy eye, she adds to ev'ry grace,
And with vermilion blooms her tempting face;
There Cupid sits, thron'd in the orb of sight
Unseen, secure in all the glare of light;
Thence he exulting flings the fatal dart,
Unerring still to wound the lover's heart:
Thence do we pluck the soul-inspiring kiss,
The grateful prelude of ecstatic bliss;
The kiss to sympathy the bosom warms,
And ev'ry faculty to love alarms.
That what's unseemly's hateful to the sight,
Marcus, I pray, the gentle maiden spare,
Who tries, by art, more lovely to appear:
Condemn her not, if to improve her waist,
You find her straitly by the stays embrac'd;
If she the hand of gentle Crispin prove,
The fault of halting nature to remove;
If Greenough's tincture whiten o'er her teeth,
Or to perfume she owes her sweeter breath:
To please thy eye, she adds to ev'ry grace,
And with vermilion blooms her tempting face;
There Cupid sits, thron'd in the orb of sight
Unseen, secure in all the glare of light;
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Unerring still to wound the lover's heart:
Thence do we pluck the soul-inspiring kiss,
The grateful prelude of ecstatic bliss;
The kiss to sympathy the bosom warms,
And ev'ry faculty to love alarms.
Why should the use of paint be disallow'd?
Beauty's but colour properly bestow'd;
And when for this the female you contemn,
'Tis not the art—the knowledge you condemn.
Beauty's but colour properly bestow'd;
And when for this the female you contemn,
'Tis not the art—the knowledge you condemn.
Hence, Marcus, learn that ignorance is best,
Knowledge is irksome, while the fool is bless'd;
Beneath a Hudson's, or a Wilson's hand,
Should the lov'd Charlotte rise at your command,
Th' enliven'd canvass glow with ev'ry grace,
Seen in her form, and smiling in her face,
No pleasure would your nicer taste receive,
Because 'tis Art that bids the picture live?
Knowledge is irksome, while the fool is bless'd;
Beneath a Hudson's, or a Wilson's hand,
Should the lov'd Charlotte rise at your command,
Th' enliven'd canvass glow with ev'ry grace,
Seen in her form, and smiling in her face,
No pleasure would your nicer taste receive,
Because 'tis Art that bids the picture live?
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Do'st thou admire yon blazing orb on high,
Yon twinkling stars that gild the evening sky?
Yes! yes! their vivid colours charm your eye:
Yet search, and 'tis illusion all, you'll find,
'Tis fancy only has these colours join'd;
And if your Charlotte paints, of this be sure,
Her actions too she well can varnish o'er;
A trick you little ween'd—nor knew before.
Yon twinkling stars that gild the evening sky?
Yes! yes! their vivid colours charm your eye:
Yet search, and 'tis illusion all, you'll find,
'Tis fancy only has these colours join'd;
And if your Charlotte paints, of this be sure,
Her actions too she well can varnish o'er;
A trick you little ween'd—nor knew before.
Let delicacy then the maiden spare,
Who tries, by art, more lovely to appear.
Who tries, by art, more lovely to appear.
To Miss POTIER.
Written in 1755.
'Tis music's pow'r to charm the soul,
Each savage motion to control;
To civilize the human frame,
Or fill the breast with tender flame;
To lift the anxious heart from woe,
Or let the strain of rapture flow.
Each savage motion to control;
To civilize the human frame,
Or fill the breast with tender flame;
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Or let the strain of rapture flow.
Music inanimates has mov'd,
As well-told tales have aptly prov'd;
And stones and trees pursu'd a sound,
That led to circle Thebes around:
A dolphin, judge of harmony,
Rescu'd Amphion from the sea;
Who knows not Orpheus did compel
To own his art, the powers of hell?
A task, I fancy, very few,
Would, for a wife, at this time do:
Cæcilia, with her voice, did more
Than ever mortal did before;
Her more than magic pow'r to prove,
She charm'd an Angel from above.
As well-told tales have aptly prov'd;
And stones and trees pursu'd a sound,
That led to circle Thebes around:
A dolphin, judge of harmony,
Rescu'd Amphion from the sea;
Who knows not Orpheus did compel
To own his art, the powers of hell?
A task, I fancy, very few,
Would, for a wife, at this time do:
Cæcilia, with her voice, did more
Than ever mortal did before;
Her more than magic pow'r to prove,
She charm'd an Angel from above.
But farther still can music reach
Than e'er did bard or story teach;
Not long from Helicon has stray'd
A frolic Muse, in yonder maid,
Who taught the God of Love, that she
Is far more powerful than he;
Ere while I met the immortal boy,
Who sorrow can dispense for joy;
Pale was his cheek, I heard him sigh,
The tear stood trembling in his eye.
I'd fain have stop'd his tide of grief;
I flew t' administer relief.—
Ah me! he cry'd—the task is done—
Of pow'r bereft, his arrows gone,
What comfort now for Venus' son?
Not Venus' son, but Potier reigns,
And rules o'er all my wide domains;
For late I heard her chaunt an air,
That might to peace have sooth'd despair:
While o'er the melody I hung,
Enraptur'd as the charmer sung,
She slyly stole my bow, my darts,
And hence derives my sway o'er hearts:
Yet freely I'd the theft forgive,
Nor wish dominion to retrieve,
If in exchange I could obtain
A voice, commanding such a strain.
Than e'er did bard or story teach;
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A frolic Muse, in yonder maid,
Who taught the God of Love, that she
Is far more powerful than he;
Ere while I met the immortal boy,
Who sorrow can dispense for joy;
Pale was his cheek, I heard him sigh,
The tear stood trembling in his eye.
I'd fain have stop'd his tide of grief;
I flew t' administer relief.—
Ah me! he cry'd—the task is done—
Of pow'r bereft, his arrows gone,
What comfort now for Venus' son?
Not Venus' son, but Potier reigns,
And rules o'er all my wide domains;
For late I heard her chaunt an air,
That might to peace have sooth'd despair:
While o'er the melody I hung,
Enraptur'd as the charmer sung,
133
And hence derives my sway o'er hearts:
Yet freely I'd the theft forgive,
Nor wish dominion to retrieve,
If in exchange I could obtain
A voice, commanding such a strain.
A SONG.
To Cælia.
'Tis true, my Cælia, thou art fair,
As snows yet hov'ring in the air;
That in the lilly we may find
An emblem of thy virtuous mind;
The stars of yonder firmament,
The lustre of thine eyes present.
As snows yet hov'ring in the air;
That in the lilly we may find
An emblem of thy virtuous mind;
The stars of yonder firmament,
The lustre of thine eyes present.
Yon blooming peach is like thy lip,
Where Cupid takes delight to sip;
And if the blushing rose we seek,
We find it pictur'd in thy cheek;
The jetty ringlets of thy hair,
A thousand lovers hearts ensnare.
Where Cupid takes delight to sip;
134
We find it pictur'd in thy cheek;
The jetty ringlets of thy hair,
A thousand lovers hearts ensnare.
But as the lilly and the rose,
The peach that with such fragrance glows,
Shall with'ring fall to quick decay;
So shall thy beauties fleet away:
Snows melt, and meteors in the skies,
Set like thy youth, no more to rise.
The peach that with such fragrance glows,
Shall with'ring fall to quick decay;
So shall thy beauties fleet away:
Snows melt, and meteors in the skies,
Set like thy youth, no more to rise.
Then while thou hast it in thy pow'r,
My fairest seize the present hour;
Take, take me blushing to thy arms,
And bless my love with all thy charms;
Else the sad time may come, when thou
In vain shalt beg, as I do now.
My fairest seize the present hour;
Take, take me blushing to thy arms,
And bless my love with all thy charms;
Else the sad time may come, when thou
In vain shalt beg, as I do now.
135
An Epistle to the Rev. Mr. W--- L---
By Way of Invitation.
Most reverend sir, if you can spareAn hour, from sacerdotal care;
Before the morrow sun shall set,
The knight, and you and I, will wet
Our thirsty throats, with humming beer;
Or better, chuse you better cheer:
You know I cannot stir abroad,
And you will find in this abode,
The juice of Lusitanian wine,
(I hate French laces, and French wine)
Or arrack, from Batavia's shore,
Right neat, as when 'twas first brought o'er;
Haply you'll find a little rum,
From fam'd Jamaica lately come;
136
Seldom displeasing to a vicar;
Then, by sagacious argument,
We'll settle how elections went;
Prove cits or peers, are ninnyhammers,
Who 'gainst the Jew-bill made such clamors;
Puzzle o'er Canning's strange affair;
For, spite of good Sir Gascoign's care,
We're not much wiser than we were;
Thence will we pass to France and Spain,
To see if war or peace they mean;
Or only to invest the city,
Possess'd by Algerine banditti:
On these, or other subjects fit,
Or high, or low, nor thought of yet,
We'll chat a while, or grave, or gay—
So brush your bever, and away.
137
To the AUTHOR.
In Answer to the foregoing Epistle.
I have not leisure, honest Derrick,To answer yours in diction cleric;
But yet must let you know, in rhyme,
That near to the appointed time,
The tall, heroic gallic fencer,
Will meet the small dramatic censor;
And swallow, near his cinder fire,
O'er a pot of right entire,
The liquor that I most admire;
His smart remarks on ev'ry sage,
Both of the last and present age;
138
To the more wretched scrawler,—
Laugh at the mob, so idly scanning
The black affair of Betsy Canning;
And at more follies, than now tumble
Into the pate of, sir, your humble, &c. &c.
This and the succeeding line allude to some private anecdotes relating to the author of this letter, and the person to whom it is addressed.
Durfey and ---, two wretched scriblers, the former was famous in the days of Charles the second, the latter breath'd in the days of George the second, and was cobler of several scurrilous pieces, which he did not dare to own, being for courage, a very Falstaff, for intrigue, a Petulant, and for wit, a Witwou'd.
139
EPIGRAMMA
In vain, I praise, and you condemn;Both miss the credit due;
The world that thinks no ill of me,
Believes no good of you.
140
Woman's Wit; or, The Friar fobb'd,
A Tale.
In Spain, where sound catholics strictly obey
The commands of the church, a poor carrier lay
On his death-bed: he was of some substance possess'd,
Whether well or ill got, is not ours to contest;
But peace in the grave he most willingly sought,
Which conscience suggested was hard to be bought:
A not'ry was sent for, to draw up his will,
The Imprimis was ready, and nought but to fill.
The commands of the church, a poor carrier lay
On his death-bed: he was of some substance possess'd,
Whether well or ill got, is not ours to contest;
But peace in the grave he most willingly sought,
Which conscience suggested was hard to be bought:
A not'ry was sent for, to draw up his will,
The Imprimis was ready, and nought but to fill.
Imprimis, My house, worth five pounds ev'ry year,
Which, when paid, from all other incumbrance is clear;
With my bed and my blanket, my cat and my hound,
And all goods and chattles of mine that be found,
Except what's hereafter, to wife I bequeath;
And as for my issue, Francisco and Ralph,
Eliza and Moll, I leave each of them heir
To God's blessing and mine, and my good woman's care.
But as many have been the sad crimes of my youth,
As I strangers deceiv'd, and was fond of untruth;
Lov'd women and wine; was careless of bliss;
Nor masles frequented—and sermons did miss;—
To deliver my soul from the vigilant hand
Of the fiend, I by this my last will do command,
That Sweepstakes, my horse, whom I've lov'd as my life,
And to all living creatures prefer'd but—my wife,
Be sold, and the money arising from sale,
Be giv'n (I beg that in this you won't fail)
To the Franciscan fathers who live three miles hence;
Nor be it neglected on any pretence.
Which, when paid, from all other incumbrance is clear;
With my bed and my blanket, my cat and my hound,
And all goods and chattles of mine that be found,
Except what's hereafter, to wife I bequeath;
And as for my issue, Francisco and Ralph,
141
To God's blessing and mine, and my good woman's care.
But as many have been the sad crimes of my youth,
As I strangers deceiv'd, and was fond of untruth;
Lov'd women and wine; was careless of bliss;
Nor masles frequented—and sermons did miss;—
To deliver my soul from the vigilant hand
Of the fiend, I by this my last will do command,
That Sweepstakes, my horse, whom I've lov'd as my life,
And to all living creatures prefer'd but—my wife,
Be sold, and the money arising from sale,
Be giv'n (I beg that in this you won't fail)
To the Franciscan fathers who live three miles hence;
Nor be it neglected on any pretence.
Here ceas'd the good man, in few hours he dy'd,
He was bury'd, the tears of his wife almost dry'd;
She began to reflect what in time might betide;
Her dependance was small, and her family great,
For land she had none, neither money nor plate;
She plucks up a spirit, and hies her to John,
Who had witness'd the will, while her tears one by one,
Stole down from her eyes, thus she open'd her case:
“You best know my loss; it has pleas'd the good grace
Of th' Almighty, to call my poor husband from life;
You know I was always a dutiful wife;
Yet from me he has left my poor Sweepstakes, the horse;
And substance I've none, be it better, or worse;
My children are four, and I think it is plain
Four children with nothing I cannot maintain
Think not my intention's his will to dispute,
I sooner would death undergo than I'd do't;
I'll dispose of the horse, and if you will assist,
We'll have money sufficient to do what we list—
Then, perhaps, I may give you a thing worth your while,—
For sometimes a woman can pay a man's toil.”
He was bury'd, the tears of his wife almost dry'd;
She began to reflect what in time might betide;
142
For land she had none, neither money nor plate;
She plucks up a spirit, and hies her to John,
Who had witness'd the will, while her tears one by one,
Stole down from her eyes, thus she open'd her case:
“You best know my loss; it has pleas'd the good grace
Of th' Almighty, to call my poor husband from life;
You know I was always a dutiful wife;
Yet from me he has left my poor Sweepstakes, the horse;
And substance I've none, be it better, or worse;
My children are four, and I think it is plain
Four children with nothing I cannot maintain
Think not my intention's his will to dispute,
I sooner would death undergo than I'd do't;
I'll dispose of the horse, and if you will assist,
We'll have money sufficient to do what we list—
143
For sometimes a woman can pay a man's toil.”
John, leering, assur'd her he'd act as she'd please:
“Then, says she, the task you may compass with ease:
With the horse take to market the cat in your hand;
And if any the price of the horse should demand,
Say a ducat; but then, in the sale, there's a cat
Of such value, you'd rate her at ninety times that.”
“Then, says she, the task you may compass with ease:
With the horse take to market the cat in your hand;
And if any the price of the horse should demand,
Say a ducat; but then, in the sale, there's a cat
Of such value, you'd rate her at ninety times that.”
The horse was dress'd up, and John soon brought him forth;
Nor was long e'er a chapman demanded his worth:
“This horse, Sir, says John, is the best in all Spain;
Here's my cat, too, you'll ne'er see her equal again.
The bargain is cheap; for a ducat he's thine;
But with him you'll purchase the cat, or he's mine:
For my cat I must have ninety ducats in gold;
If the terms you approve, be the money strait told.”
Nor was long e'er a chapman demanded his worth:
“This horse, Sir, says John, is the best in all Spain;
Here's my cat, too, you'll ne'er see her equal again.
The bargain is cheap; for a ducat he's thine;
But with him you'll purchase the cat, or he's mine:
For my cat I must have ninety ducats in gold;
If the terms you approve, be the money strait told.”
144
The money was paid, and the chapman content
While home to his mistress John joyfully went;
The friars were sent for, the testament read,
And a ducat bestow'd them, to pray for the dead;
'Twas the price of the horse, they no more could demand;
Then to John, for his service, she gave up her hand,
To have and to hold; and both fully content
With the price of their bargains, were stedfastly bent,
In concord to live, and the children to breed
In a manner much better than father decreed.
While home to his mistress John joyfully went;
The friars were sent for, the testament read,
And a ducat bestow'd them, to pray for the dead;
'Twas the price of the horse, they no more could demand;
Then to John, for his service, she gave up her hand,
To have and to hold; and both fully content
With the price of their bargains, were stedfastly bent,
In concord to live, and the children to breed
In a manner much better than father decreed.
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A SONG, upon Hope.
Ye friends of true mirth, come to Ryan's, away!
Here's what cheers the heart and adds light to the day;
Say who would refuse to give pleasure full scope?
As long as he finds he has something to hope.
Here's what cheers the heart and adds light to the day;
Say who would refuse to give pleasure full scope?
As long as he finds he has something to hope.
Sing tantarrara, hope all.
In vain may distresses attempt to perplex,
And the spleen and the vapours assemble to vex;
We'll laugh at a pistol, or poison, or rope,
For who'd chuse to die, that has something to hope.
And the spleen and the vapours assemble to vex;
We'll laugh at a pistol, or poison, or rope,
For who'd chuse to die, that has something to hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
Let the world look askance, we disdain to repine,
If our spirits are low, then we'll raise them with wine;
Tho' fortune may frown, she'll ne'er make me a mope,
Nor can I be sad, while enliven'd by hope.
If our spirits are low, then we'll raise them with wine;
Tho' fortune may frown, she'll ne'er make me a mope,
Nor can I be sad, while enliven'd by hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
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The fancy can plague, or for losses attone;
Make a palace a jail, or a prison a throne;
And from thrones often princes have wish'd to elope,
At a summit so high, having nothing to hope.
Make a palace a jail, or a prison a throne;
And from thrones often princes have wish'd to elope,
At a summit so high, having nothing to hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
Let monarchs unenvy'd, enjoy regal state,
The man of true sense, is resign'd to his fate;
I aim not at being a king, or a pope;
I'm greater than Cæsar, while cherish'd by hope.
The man of true sense, is resign'd to his fate;
I aim not at being a king, or a pope;
I'm greater than Cæsar, while cherish'd by hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
Tho' Polly complain that I'm noisy and rude,
Whom long I have courted, whom long I've pursu'd;
I'll tell her, in short, without figure, or trope,
There are women enough for whose love I may hope.
Whom long I have courted, whom long I've pursu'd;
I'll tell her, in short, without figure, or trope,
There are women enough for whose love I may hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
My brethren, let care in a bumper be drown'd,
True happiness seldom is any where found;
In vain for the bliss may philosophers grope,
In the end they must rest them contented with hope.
True happiness seldom is any where found;
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In the end they must rest them contented with hope.
Sing tantarrara, &c.
'Tis hope that can drive discontent from the soul,
And the chace we'll complete, with a full brimming bowl.
While with each man around us, we're able to cope,
And despise the dull wretch that abandons his hope.
And the chace we'll complete, with a full brimming bowl.
While with each man around us, we're able to cope,
And despise the dull wretch that abandons his hope.
Sing tantarrara, hope all.
148
STELLA.
AN ODE.
A very heathen in the carnal part,
And yet a sad good christian at the heart;
Whether the charmer sinner-it, or saint-it,
Where folly grows romantic, we must paint it.
Pope.
And yet a sad good christian at the heart;
Whether the charmer sinner-it, or saint-it,
Where folly grows romantic, we must paint it.
Pope.
My Stella is divinely fair,
Love sparkles in her eye;
With Helen Stella may compare;
With Venus' self may vie.
Radiant as the God of day,
Who lights this earthly ball;
Like him, too, with indulgent ray,
She smiles alike on all.
A thousand arts the fair one tries,
To gain extensive sway;
149
In wanton gambols play.
Behold, at Strephon how she leers,
With signs of ardent love;
Thro' partial eyes the nymph appears,
As gentle as a dove.
And yet deceitful as the stream,
Tho' deep, that gently flows;
She never is what she would seem,
For truth and she are foes.
Now see her cast the tender glance,
When Damon passes by;
Lo! in her eyes what Cupids dance,
How heaves the melting sigh.
Palæmon, next, by artful clue,
Is drawn into her net,
And vainly thinks his conquest sure,
Beyond the frowns of fate.
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By turns the charmer view;
Enflam'd by one ambitious fire,
One prize they all pursue.
While, like poor Tantalus in hell,
Each pines 'twixt hope and grief;
Her eyes a thousand falshoods tell,
And promise each relief.
Stella take counsel with a friend,
For once let me advise;
Then check, more sure, to gain your end,
The wand'ring of your eyes.
What tho', perhaps, your tender breast,
No guilty thoughts inspire;
The wanton in the looks impress'd;
May kindle impious fire.
'Tis like, you say, you chuse to reign;
To make mankind your slaves;
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Of what?—of fools, or knaves.
But ah! the short-liv'd sway, how poor,
When bought at honour's cost;
How shrinks the triumph of an hour,
When reputation's lost!
Reflect that men will conquests boast,
And favours never granted;
That worth of reputation lost,
Is never known till wanted.
Tho' beauties now your face adorn,
Tho' charms are now display'd,
Which emulate the blushing morn;
Those charms too soon must fade.
How much soe'er love's softest bloom,
May catch the wond'ring eye;
When hoary age, and wrinkles come,
The transient raptures die.
Consider that the fairest flow'rs,
Run swiftest to decay;
152
Nor knows a moment's stay.
'Tis virtue gives the tranquil mind,
In nature's last sad stage,
'Tis she supports all human kind;
Youth's pride—and prop of age.
Tho' to time's wide tyrannic sway,
Nature herself must yield;
Virtue her ensigns will display,
And dauntless keep the field.
That jewel, Stella, guard with care,
Let caution still preside,
And if you would be truly fair,
Take virtue for your guide.
So shall your eyes with gen'rous love inspire,
And like B**r**d**t teach mankind t'admire;
You may, like her, dispense celestial flame;
Make willing slaves, and yet preserve your fame;
Perfect like her, in person, and in mind,
Leave graceless Dutchesses in state behind;
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And men are taught to wonder and adore.
An ODE to Eblana,
on entering the Harbour of Dublin, after a long Absence.
Eblana! much lov'd city, hail!
Where first I saw the light of day,
Soon as declining life shall fail,
To thee shall I resign my clay.
Where first I saw the light of day,
Soon as declining life shall fail,
To thee shall I resign my clay.
Muses, who saw me first your care;
Ye trees, that fostering shelter spred;
The fate of man, you'll see me share;
Soon number'd with forgotten dead.
Ye trees, that fostering shelter spred;
The fate of man, you'll see me share;
Soon number'd with forgotten dead.
Unless my lines protract my fame,
And those who chance to read them, cry
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
In yonder tomb his ashes lie.
And those who chance to read them, cry
I knew him! Derrick was his name,
In yonder tomb his ashes lie.
154
SMART and DERRICK.
AN EPIGRAM.
Contradiction we find both in Derrick and Smart,Which manifests neither can write from the heart;
The latter, which readers may think some what odd,
Tho' devoted to wine, sings the glories of God:
The former lives sober, altho' no divine;
Yet merrily carrols the praises of wine;
Here let us a moment lay by our surprize;
And calmly survey where the preference lies:
Derrick foolishly revels in fancy'd delights;
But Smart, for the sake of a legacy, writes.
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On the Death of Dr. B***ll**ie, Physician to the English Army in Flanders;
Who died at Ghent, December 1743.
Hunc saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere.
Virg.
Munere.
Virg.
O thou best skill'd my ev'ry grief t'assuage,
Frail, flatt'ring hope of my declining age!
Scarce had the Muse, who kindled at thy name,
Clapp'd her glad wings, exulting in thy fame,
Ere pensive, chearless, in complaining verse,
She pays her last sad tribute o'er thy herse.
Frail, flatt'ring hope of my declining age!
Scarce had the Muse, who kindled at thy name,
Clapp'd her glad wings, exulting in thy fame,
Ere pensive, chearless, in complaining verse,
She pays her last sad tribute o'er thy herse.
Ah! why to thee was ev'ry virtue giv'n?
Or why those virtues doom'd the scourge of heav'n?
Severely kind—indulgent to excess—
Deepest to wound, when most it seem'd to bless—
Gilding thy mid-day sun with fairest light,
To add new horrors to the brown of night—
Ah! never more shall worth like thine inspire
My feeble voice, and my neglected lyre!
Yet, doom'd to weep thy short, but shining span,
Still shall the Muse, nor more her fondness can,
Revere an angel—whom she lov'd, a man.
Or why those virtues doom'd the scourge of heav'n?
Severely kind—indulgent to excess—
Deepest to wound, when most it seem'd to bless—
Gilding thy mid-day sun with fairest light,
To add new horrors to the brown of night—
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My feeble voice, and my neglected lyre!
Yet, doom'd to weep thy short, but shining span,
Still shall the Muse, nor more her fondness can,
Revere an angel—whom she lov'd, a man.
On the Same.
Occasioned by the Death of Mr. Pope, Anno 1744.
Round Ball**ll**ie's urn, while streaming eyes o'erflow,With social grief and tributary woe;
From melting sounds some comfort we receive;
A transient joy, which reason cannot give;
The Muse suspends the anguish we endure,
And sooths the heart-felt wound she cannot cure:
But, ah! in vain we ask the Muse's aid,
Since Harmony itself—with Pope is fled.
157
VIRTUE.
An Ode.
I
Bright guardians of the forked hill,Sprung from Mnemosyne and Jove,
With happy inspiration fill;
Let me thy sacred rapture prove.
II
Pour your blest spirit o'er the page,Immortal foes of keen despair;
And while your services engage,
Oh! snatch me from myself and care.
III
Bid grief, that vulture to my breast,Sharper than what Prometheus knows,
Avaunt! and leave the bard at rest:
Grant, heav'nly maids, the wish'd repose.
158
IV
'Tis done! aloof misfortunes stand!While ev'ry thought on you is bent;
You can the healing balm command,
Which gives the troubled mind content.
V
But the wish'd blessing will not hold,For, oh! when I resign my pen,
Again, in mourning weeds behold!
My woe-fraught genius come again.
VI
To shield me from the gloomy scene,To Cowper's patronage I fly;
Nor evil then shall intervene,
Nor heave the heart-extorted sigh.
VII
Merit yet never su'd in vain,When Cowper could extend his aid,
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Of virtues happily display'd.
VIII
Virtue! how seldom art thou knownIn gorgeous palaces to dwell;
You oftener elevate your throne
Within the peasant's humble cell.
IX
Thither nor wealth nor titles roam,To tempt the mind with gaudy glare,
For vice can never six her home
In poverty's rough frigid air.
X
Various the forms that you assume,To regulate the active soul,
When the rais'd passions dare presume
The check of reason to controul.
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XI
You teach us to avoid the shelves,Where else our happiness were lost,
If we, abandon'd to ourselves,
On life's inconstant sea were tost.
XII
You o'er our acts discretion pour,Adorn with unaffected grace;
As spring with a refreshing show'r
Adds gayer bloom to nature's face.
XIII
When thro' infirmity or fear,The mind dejected falls from good,
Your presence but acknowledg'd near,
It's innate strength's again renew'd.
XIV
Or if the emanating mindSuperior soar to narrow rule,
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Ambition's slave, vain fortune's fool.
XV
So, pilots all their canvas spread,To court the coy reluctant breeze,
When Thetis rears her dropping head,
And smiling, smooths the furrow'd seas.
XVI
Or if loud storms the sky assail,And o'er the angry ocean sweep,
He quickly furls the flowing sail,
Or ploughs with naked poles the deep.
XVII
Virtue immortal and divine,Surmounts the clouds of stormy fate;
Sickness and care and years combine,
In vain, against her happy mate.
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XVIII
The God of War, with savage train,Pours quick destruction o'er the field;
Wealth, honours, pow'r resist in vain,
Ev'n valour is compell'd to yield.
XIX
While virtue fix'd as either pole,Indignant views the rapid race,
Above each shock, and thro' the whole
Maintains her own exalted place.
XX
Diogenes, in tub immur'd,Laugh'd at the various turns of life,
By virtue of affliction cur'd,
Fenc'd from calamity and strife.
XXI
This clears the vitiated sightFrom the false glare that shadows wealth,
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And gives the mind internal health.
XXII
Thus optic glasses help the eye,By nature but imperfect made,
And seem to draw those objects nigh,
That in the vale of distance fade.
XXIII
What tho' a parent should neglectHer duty, thro' some false pretence,
Shall grief for that my soul infect,
While I'm secure in innocence.
XXIV
Shall I complain if Fortune frown,Curse the long day, or wish me dead,
When 'tis to ev'ry school-boy known,
Homer sung ballads for his bread.
164
XXV
In virtue I'll a refuge find,A sure asylum from distress;
Virtue will nerve my ruffled mind,
And fate may frown, tho' not oppress.
XXVI
With Cowper dwells th' immortal maid,That lifts her votary to the skies,
Her shield is probity display'd,
And peaceful happiness her prize.
To Ashley Cowper, Esq;
Occasioned by reading some Poetry of his writing.
Cowper, in some illustrious roll, shall fame,
To future times deliver down thy name,
Lov'd as a man and reverenc'd as a bard;
Nor less thy gen'rous talents should reward:
With strict attention on thy lines I've dwelt,
And as you painted different passions felt,
Whether you emulate Ovidian lays,
And wreath Clarissa's charms with boundless praise,
Or delicately touch th' effects of love,
That modesty may read, nor yet reprove;
Here you beyond your classic pattern rise,
Nor chaster diction Mantua's boast supplies;
And while we're taught the charmer to admire,
Tho' we are bound to own th' immortal fire,
No gross idea springs, no gross desire.
To future times deliver down thy name,
Lov'd as a man and reverenc'd as a bard;
Nor less thy gen'rous talents should reward:
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And as you painted different passions felt,
Whether you emulate Ovidian lays,
And wreath Clarissa's charms with boundless praise,
Or delicately touch th' effects of love,
That modesty may read, nor yet reprove;
Here you beyond your classic pattern rise,
Nor chaster diction Mantua's boast supplies;
And while we're taught the charmer to admire,
Tho' we are bound to own th' immortal fire,
No gross idea springs, no gross desire.
While you to Baillie modestly excuse
The want of genius, you display the Muse
Vig'rous and strong, as when by Flaccus drest,
Friendship and Wine th' Aonian Maid carest?
Thus real merit still to shades withdraws,
And blushing flies the well-deserv'd applause;
While ev'ry verse with glowing fancy teems,
All grieve that you decline the proffer'd themes.
The want of genius, you display the Muse
Vig'rous and strong, as when by Flaccus drest,
Friendship and Wine th' Aonian Maid carest?
Thus real merit still to shades withdraws,
And blushing flies the well-deserv'd applause;
While ev'ry verse with glowing fancy teems,
All grieve that you decline the proffer'd themes.
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Oh, more than Pope! since with benevolence,
Superior far, with wit and temper'd sense;
Free from satiric sneer and Cynic rage,
You mildly pour instruction o'er the page,
Shewing what virtue is; thus to allure
With her bright form, and make thy precepts sure,
Nor from fix'd hate, deceitfully intend
To damn the character you should commend.
Superior far, with wit and temper'd sense;
Free from satiric sneer and Cynic rage,
You mildly pour instruction o'er the page,
Shewing what virtue is; thus to allure
With her bright form, and make thy precepts sure,
Nor from fix'd hate, deceitfully intend
To damn the character you should commend.
Or when to lighter measures you advance,
And thro' blithe song, or merry fable dance,
My shaken sides thy hum'rous pow'r confess;
Yet ev'ry stroke so nicely you express,
With such auspicious fancy, yet so free
From vice's darling child, Impurity,
That Modesty ne'er hangs her bashful head,
No blushes o'er the virgin's visage spread.
And thro' blithe song, or merry fable dance,
My shaken sides thy hum'rous pow'r confess;
Yet ev'ry stroke so nicely you express,
With such auspicious fancy, yet so free
From vice's darling child, Impurity,
That Modesty ne'er hangs her bashful head,
No blushes o'er the virgin's visage spread.
Prior and Swift must here the bays resign
To thee, and own the excellence is thine:
For no loose images distain the page;
Their want of manners oft provokes my rage.
To thee, and own the excellence is thine:
167
Their want of manners oft provokes my rage.
To spleen's dull province now the scene you change,
Thro' her abandon'd avenues you range;
The Muse leads on, her weary step I trace,
My pulse beats slow, and flushes dye my face;
A thousand melancholy objects croud,
Life is a burden, and my wish a shroud:
Quit, Cowper, quit the subject e'er I fall,
Ere ev'ry sense the demon's wiles enthrall;
Obedient to my wish, the varied strain
Dispels the gloom, nor gives me to complain.
The alter'd notes pour rapture to my heart,
Such is the energy of Cowper's art,
Anew I feel them all my breast inspire,
My blood run quicker, and my spirits higher;
Now from the grave, just dropping o'er its verge,
Anew created sudden I emerge.
Thro' her abandon'd avenues you range;
The Muse leads on, her weary step I trace,
My pulse beats slow, and flushes dye my face;
A thousand melancholy objects croud,
Life is a burden, and my wish a shroud:
Quit, Cowper, quit the subject e'er I fall,
Ere ev'ry sense the demon's wiles enthrall;
Obedient to my wish, the varied strain
Dispels the gloom, nor gives me to complain.
The alter'd notes pour rapture to my heart,
Such is the energy of Cowper's art,
Anew I feel them all my breast inspire,
My blood run quicker, and my spirits higher;
Now from the grave, just dropping o'er its verge,
Anew created sudden I emerge.
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Thus was it once when fam'd Timotheus sung;
All on his harmony attentive hung,
Just as he rapture or despair express'd,
The sympathetic notes their souls confess'd.
All on his harmony attentive hung,
Just as he rapture or despair express'd,
The sympathetic notes their souls confess'd.
An Apology to an angry Rival, declining a Challenge.
'Tis not the fear of death, nor smart,
Makes me averse to fight,
But to preserve a faithful heart,
Not mine, but Celia's right.
Makes me averse to fight,
But to preserve a faithful heart,
Not mine, but Celia's right.
Let then your anger be suppress'd;
Not me, but Celia spare;
Your sword is welcome to my breast,
When Celia is not there.
Not me, but Celia spare;
Your sword is welcome to my breast,
When Celia is not there.
169
ADVICE to an Old Maid.
Nunc, aut nunquam.
For once, Dorinda, lend an ear,
And let the Muse advise;
Consider 'tis your fiftieth year,
A time you should be wise.
Lay washes, patches, paint aside,
Since useless these you find;
Then quit your face, and rather hide,
The wrinkles of her mind.
Your fav'rite scandal first forsake,
To censure still be slow,
Till then you must not hope t'escape
The leading apes below.
170
VERSES, from a Certain Club, to some Scriblers against it.
Ye little wits, who aim at Bays,
By venting spleen in rhymes,
Who torture dullness fifty ways,
And chuckle when it chimes.
By venting spleen in rhymes,
Who torture dullness fifty ways,
And chuckle when it chimes.
Be kind—go on—pursue your theme,
Your scribling serves our ends;
For know that mirth is all our scheme,
And they who raise it, friends.
Your scribling serves our ends;
For know that mirth is all our scheme,
And they who raise it, friends.
As such on those, we still shall look,
Who senseless satires write;
And fair transcribe 'em in a book,
To laugh at every night.
Who senseless satires write;
And fair transcribe 'em in a book,
To laugh at every night.
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The CHARACTER of ---
Hic niger est—hunc, tu, Romane, caveto.
Hor.
Hor.
An inveterate heart, fraught with malice and spleen,
With a face that betrays what he harbours within;
With a smile that discloses no gleam of good-nature;
With Shylock impress'd upon ev'ry feature;
With too little sense to dispose of his gall,
Where with some shew of reason the venom might fall;
Too vain of the wit, which he never possess'd,
Not to launch the dull weapon at every breast;
With envy the toad ever prompt at his ear,
To direct him when mildness and virtue appear,
“Here level the point—let it penetrate here.”
Overlooking affronts with a real intent,
Still spying them out, where they never were meant;
Too proud to forgive an offence, and too mean
To resent, when a shadow of danger is seen:
Still affecting to rule, with no title to pow'r,
Tho' pre-eminence does but expose him the more;
Yet a dupe to the sycophant, only caress'd
By the wretch, like himself, whom all others detest;
With the lust of a satyr, and the craft of a Jew,
With Change-alley wisdom, and wit from a stew.
With a face that betrays what he harbours within;
With a smile that discloses no gleam of good-nature;
With Shylock impress'd upon ev'ry feature;
With too little sense to dispose of his gall,
Where with some shew of reason the venom might fall;
Too vain of the wit, which he never possess'd,
Not to launch the dull weapon at every breast;
With envy the toad ever prompt at his ear,
To direct him when mildness and virtue appear,
“Here level the point—let it penetrate here.”
Overlooking affronts with a real intent,
Still spying them out, where they never were meant;
172
To resent, when a shadow of danger is seen:
Still affecting to rule, with no title to pow'r,
Tho' pre-eminence does but expose him the more;
Yet a dupe to the sycophant, only caress'd
By the wretch, like himself, whom all others detest;
With the lust of a satyr, and the craft of a Jew,
With Change-alley wisdom, and wit from a stew.
Oh! Eve, had but Satan this figure put on,
This figure so nearly resembling his own,
He had then been detected, his scheme had been cross'd;
And the blessings of Eden had never been lost.
This figure so nearly resembling his own,
He had then been detected, his scheme had been cross'd;
And the blessings of Eden had never been lost.
173
Florio;
or, The Plagiary.
But more provoking still—here comes the wight,Who glories in the verse he cannot write;
Who anxious to procure a spurious name,
Fondly mistakes his infamy for fame;
Who to his fav'rite-self attempts to raise,
With pilfer'd song, a monument of praise;—
On his own stock, who labours not to thrive,
But lives by plund'ring th'industrious hive;
Like the rude Indian, strips the feather'd race,
With the gay spoil his meaner brow to grace;
His titles such to the poor fame he gets,
As Wards, or Japhets, were to their estates;
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Yes—when at school, he was a hopeful lad;
But like too forward plants that early shoot,
Soon sapless grew, and wither'd at the root;
Yet still might pass for a consummate wit,
Allow him but those pieces Marcus writ,
Which as his own he can so well repeat.
Tun'd by his voice, how sweet the numbers flow,
Nay 'twas extempore, too, he'd have you know;
Pity—'twas writ so many years ago.
Florio, in one thing, surely does excel,
If stealing wisely's next to writing well.
175
An EPIGRAM on the same.
Florio, for thee, what wrath's in store,Apollo's fruitful heir!
Since pilferers, however poor,
Justice is deaf to spare.
To Miss ---
Fair queen of love, thy pow'r I own;To thee a suppliant bow;
And offer up at thy blest shrine,
My first, my infant vow.
No nymph, but you, how bright soe'er,
My stubborn heart could move;
No 'twas the charms of Celia's eyes,
That taught me first to love.
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Sin's pleasing mazes trod;
By Jove reclaim'd, great Jove adores,
And prostrate owns the God.
To DELIA:
Occasion'd by her telling the Author, he seem'd insensible of Love.
Stella, the blooming Delia cry'd,Your heart is cold as snow;
Yet long that heart in friendship try'd,
Has felt the warmest glow.
Why should'st thou wish, unthinking maid,
To see her in love's snare,
Who know'st the lordly sex upbraid,
The girl who is not fair.
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They'd triumph in the chain;
But should he pierce poor Stella's heart,
The nymph must sigh in vain.
Unerring Nature, kind in all,
To each assign'd her part;
Gave thee, to hold the world in thrall,
Her, a well guarded heart.
On OLD AGE.
A Soliloquy.
Happy the man—his giddy circuit run,
Who virtue's purer joys can call his own;
In peaceful thought, who thinks his follies o'er,
By youth's strong passion tost, and vext no more;
Without one wish, those follies to repeat,
Without one sigh, prepar'd this world to quit,
And risk the next, without the least regret.
Or long—or short the date, it matters not;
Be this, kind heav'n, thy humble creature's lot!—
Who virtue's purer joys can call his own;
In peaceful thought, who thinks his follies o'er,
By youth's strong passion tost, and vext no more;
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Without one sigh, prepar'd this world to quit,
And risk the next, without the least regret.
Or long—or short the date, it matters not;
Be this, kind heav'n, thy humble creature's lot!—
So when the setting sun's more sober light,
Slopes downward, and brings on the sable night;
Chearful we bless his mild, his parting ray,
Too strongly dazzled with his brighter day.
Slopes downward, and brings on the sable night;
Chearful we bless his mild, his parting ray,
Too strongly dazzled with his brighter day.
The Garden of Eden.
In Eden's garden, such was God's decree,
God the great parent of eternity!
Where rising oaks their ample shade extend;
And rip'ning fruits the loaded branches bend;
Where various flowers their mingled sweets exhale;
Expanded wide by Zephyrs gentle gale;
O'er shining pebbles slide the circling rills,
And swift cascades come rushing from the hills.
God the great parent of eternity!
Where rising oaks their ample shade extend;
And rip'ning fruits the loaded branches bend;
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Expanded wide by Zephyrs gentle gale;
O'er shining pebbles slide the circling rills,
And swift cascades come rushing from the hills.
Here Adam, bless'd with more than mortal ease,
Bloom'd like the flow'rs, and flourish'd like the trees;
Calm as the stream, his equal reason flow'd,
He look'd on Nature, and he thought on God:
Strong as the earth, with health and vigour blest,
Serene his labour, undisturb'd his rest:
He liv'd undaunted, for he knew no ill;
Woman unborn, then, man had been so still:
Such his beginning—but his latter doom,
Alas! I feel the exercise to come.
Bloom'd like the flow'rs, and flourish'd like the trees;
Calm as the stream, his equal reason flow'd,
He look'd on Nature, and he thought on God:
Strong as the earth, with health and vigour blest,
Serene his labour, undisturb'd his rest:
He liv'd undaunted, for he knew no ill;
Woman unborn, then, man had been so still:
Such his beginning—but his latter doom,
Alas! I feel the exercise to come.
180
A Hymn to Contentment.
By the late Dr. B***ll***e.
Come, thou lovely peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heav'nly nymphs, more beauteous far
Than the Sister graces are!
All around, where'er thou tread'st
Soft repose, sweet nymph, thou spread'st;
What the shady bow'rs retreat,
From the noon-tide's scorching heat;
What the bow'r with woodbine drest,
Without thee, celestial guest?
Not the mildest western sun,
When it's destin'd course is run,
Can refresh the wearied sight,
With a beam so soft of light,
As those purpling rays which spread,
Mildness round thy shining head.
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heav'nly nymphs, more beauteous far
Than the Sister graces are!
All around, where'er thou tread'st
Soft repose, sweet nymph, thou spread'st;
What the shady bow'rs retreat,
From the noon-tide's scorching heat;
What the bow'r with woodbine drest,
Without thee, celestial guest?
Not the mildest western sun,
When it's destin'd course is run,
Can refresh the wearied sight,
With a beam so soft of light,
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Mildness round thy shining head.
Where, O nymph, dost thou resort?
Never, O never seen at court!
There the noisy, and the proud,
There tumultuous passions croud:
Dost thou, then, affect to dwell
With poverty, in lonely cell?
Pinching hunger, wrinkled care,
Meagre aspects threaten there;
These thy fav'rites cannot be,
Nought like care can dwell with thee:
Chearful, and of easy mien,
Are thy glad companions seen;
Wreathed smiles with pleasing grace,
Play about each joyous face;
Pleasing smiles, which laughter vain,
(Folly of loud mirth) disdain.
Never, O never seen at court!
There the noisy, and the proud,
There tumultuous passions croud:
Dost thou, then, affect to dwell
With poverty, in lonely cell?
Pinching hunger, wrinkled care,
Meagre aspects threaten there;
These thy fav'rites cannot be,
Nought like care can dwell with thee:
Chearful, and of easy mien,
Are thy glad companions seen;
Wreathed smiles with pleasing grace,
Play about each joyous face;
Pleasing smiles, which laughter vain,
(Folly of loud mirth) disdain.
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The COQUET. To Chloe.
By the same Hand.
Why, Chloe, tempt me to engage,Yet still refuse to meet?
Why throw the gauntlet on the stage,
Yet make a sly retreat?
Your eye, which in perpetual dance,
Darts forth its am'rous fires;
Whene'er I meet the ogling glance,
Beneath its lid retires.
Your little breast, which wanton heaves,
My roving heart to lure,
Slyly my wand'ring hand deceives,
And sinks within your stays secure.
Your hand, with seeming heedlessness,
On mine, you careless lay;
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Flies from the equal touch away.
Perhaps, you'll say, you mean no ill;
Why, then, ensnare my heart?
And thus, with tantalizing skill,
Coquet, and jilt, with ev'ry part?
Or promise less, or more perform,
Chloe—is my advice;
For, surely, I shall take by storm,
If you continue to entice.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |