Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

These thy Commands, my candid Friend, receive,
Attentive read, and if you can, believe.
This fertile Town with shoals of Fools abounds,
Tho' pointed Satyr walks her constant rounds;
Aloft imperious Vice maintains her sway;
Let Moralists declaim, and Churchmen pray.
For Thee, thy Hours in peaceful motion run,
(Serene the setting as the rising sun)
Thy Seat retir'd affords a sweet Repose,
Remote from painted Dames and powder'd Beaus.
With Patience view the Picture if you can,
Contain the Spleen, and bear it like a Man.

To good designs apply'd was once the Stage,
With wholsom Satyr fraught, and Manly Rage:
Presiding Virtue rul'd the Poet's Pen,
And crowded theatres were fill'd with Men.
Sincere Attention crown'd the Writers cause,
And Reformation was his best applause.
How fall'n! how chang'd! behold our Modern Scenes;
No Heroes lord it there, but Harlequins:

No Cato now for Liberty can plead;
No Brutus lift his hand, nor Cæsar bleed;
Imperious Faustus must in triumph sit,
For silent rhet'ric fam'd, and active wit;
Applauding hands their noisy praise declare,
And hopeful Coxcombs emulate his Air.
But these are Follies of a trifling kind,
These but enervate and unbend the mind;
The foremost rank the Masquerade should bear,
Since Vice as well as Folly triumphs there;
That dear, amusing, necessary place,
Where evr'y Thing's expos'd, except the Face:
To this resort all wand'ring Dames repair,
The wanton widow, and the rip'ning fair:
The flippant wives, whom jealous fools immure,
If they elope but hither, are secure:
Here undisturb'd they pay the Husband's Spite,
And glut at once their Vengeance and Delight.
What Charms can in these midnight Revels be?
Why, Curiosity's the only plea.
Bane of the softer sex! Disease accurst!
Of all their Passions Thou art sure the worst:
Thy Poyson first infected Woman's Will;
Thou comprehensive word for ev'ry Female Ill.

The Fields of Ombre let us next survey,
How Beaux may win and needy Beauties pay.

Here uncontroul'd Spadille exerts his reign,
Supreme dispenser of delight and pain;
From him so much the happy card is priz'd,
Toupets are scorn'd, and Coxcombs are despis'd:
Ev'n Scandal for the Time forsakes the field,
And Pride it self to Avarice will yield.

How fatal this to every Female Charm!
Not Age it self more fully can disarm.
Beware, ye Fair, for Beauty's sake beware,
Nor trust the danger of the Night too far:
Small were the loss of Husband or Estate,
But that of Beauty is compleatly great:
I urge no pleas for Family, or Race;
But spare, oh! spare the Glories of the Face.

While Chremes hoards up Gold with daily Pain,
And indefatigably toils for gain,
His tender Helpmate looses all at Play,
And finds him work for the succeeding day.
Chremes, compleatly curs'd as Man can be,
Not Sisyphus would change his Hell with Thee.
These Trifles serve to chase a Lady's spleen;
But Bacchus enters to compleat the scene:
From Tea, insipid weed! no Mirth can rise;
Nay, it hath brought the Vapours to their eyes:
But brisk Champagne can nobler Thoughts inspire,
And add new Vigour to their native Fire:

To Joys untasted prompt the tim'rous Fair,
Or bring despairing Families an Heir.

Farewel; thy Patience I'll no more abuse,
For Railing is but awkward to the Muse;
Who only half the Monster has exprest,
Your copious Fancy must supply the rest.