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Mr. Cooke's Original Poems

with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language

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SATIRE the First. Love and Old Age.
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SATIRE the First. Love and Old Age.

No more, Melissa, 'tis too much to see.
What, not a Blush, and this Reproof from me?
O! where is all our antient Virtue fled!
What, at it still? Not mind a Word I've say'd!
These wanton Airs shall not uncensur'd pass:
Bear hence the Idol, or I'll break the Glass.
Thus rav'd Canidia, as the lovely Fair
Made the Position of a Patch her Care.
No sooner had the Nymph just step'd aside,
But from the Box, her Magazine of Pride,
A thousand Implements the Table spread,
Teeth, Eyes, the Perfume, and the liquid Red.
With paralytic Hands she pulls the Caul
From Head as naked as the Billiard-ball:
But see the Metamorphose of an Hour:
Her Forehead rises in a nutbrown Tow'r;

142

Her Cheeks are flush'd with a vermilion Dy;
And her Teeth shine of polish'd Ivory.
To whom, or what, is this Devotion pay'd?
All to the Lust of Youth, and Masquerade.
Behold Canidia with Melissa strive,
Soft tripping in the Bloom of Sixty-five;
Some unexperienc'd Fool her Eyes explore,
Just come to practice what he'd hear'd before;
Raw to the Town, and weary of his Wife,
He seeks the Pleasures of a rakish Life;
Him, by a forc'd Coquettry, she decoys
To be the Partner of her private Joys,
And the next Day, the virtuous Maid reproves,
For reading Acon's and Lavinia's Loves .
Pleas'd Gallus smil'd, hearing the Story told,
Gallus himself both impotent and old:
The Pride of Courts he shin'd in former Days,
Know'd well to give, and know'd to merit, Praise,
The Depths of Senates and Intrigues could scan;
And him the Women call'd a Woman's Man:
But why will Gallus against Nature strive
To keep the Flame, without the Pow'r, alive?

143

Have you not seen upon a burning Plain
Some glowing Embers of a Fire remain,
Which, without Matter, must inactive be?
Believe me, Gallus, 'tis the same with thee:
Think therefore when you jeer the wanton Dame,
As feeble is thy Pow'r, alike thy Flame.
 

A Tale by Mr. Welsted.