The Works of Richard Savage ... With an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author, by Samuel Johnson. A New Edition |
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FULVIA.
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 | The Works of Richard Savage |  |
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FULVIA.
A POEM.
Let Fulvia's wisdom be a slave to will,
Her darling passions, scandal and quadrille;
On friends and foes her tongue a satire known,
Her deeds a satire on herself alone.
On her poor kindred deigns she word or look?
'Tis cold respect, or 'tis unjust rebuke;
Worse when good-natur'd than when most severe;
The jest impure then pains the modest ear.
How just the sceptic? the divine how odd?
What turns of wit play smartly on her God?
Her darling passions, scandal and quadrille;
On friends and foes her tongue a satire known,
Her deeds a satire on herself alone.
On her poor kindred deigns she word or look?
'Tis cold respect, or 'tis unjust rebuke;
Worse when good-natur'd than when most severe;
The jest impure then pains the modest ear.
How just the sceptic? the divine how odd?
What turns of wit play smartly on her God?
The fates, my nearest kindred, foes decree:
Fulvia, when piqu'd at them, strait pities me.
She, like benevolence, a smile bestows,
Favours to me indulge her spleen to those.
The banquet serv'd, with peeresses I sit:
She tells my story, and repeats my wit.
With mouth distorted, thro' a sounding nose
It comes, now homeliness more homely grows.
With see-saw sounds and nonsense not my own,
She screws her features, and she cracks her tone.
How fine your Bastard? why so soft a strain?
What such a mother? Satirize again!
Fulvia, when piqu'd at them, strait pities me.
She, like benevolence, a smile bestows,
Favours to me indulge her spleen to those.
The banquet serv'd, with peeresses I sit:
She tells my story, and repeats my wit.
With mouth distorted, thro' a sounding nose
It comes, now homeliness more homely grows.
With see-saw sounds and nonsense not my own,
She screws her features, and she cracks her tone.
How fine your Bastard? why so soft a strain?
What such a mother? Satirize again!
Oft I object—but fix'd is Fulvia's will—
Ah! tho' unkind, she is my mother still!
Ah! tho' unkind, she is my mother still!
190
The verse now flows, the manuscript she claims.
'Tis fam'd—The fame each curious fair enflames:
The wild-fire runs; from copy, copy grows:
The Brets, alarm'd, a sep'rate peace propose.
'Tis ratified—How alter'd Fulvia's look?
My wit's degraded, and my cause forsook.
Thus she: What's poetry, but to amuse?
Might I advise—there are more solid views.
With a cool air she adds: This tale is old:
Were it my case, it should no more be told.
Complaints—had I been worthy to advise—
You know—But when are wits, like women, wise?
True, it may take, but think whate'er you list,
All love the satire, none the satirist.
'Tis fam'd—The fame each curious fair enflames:
The wild-fire runs; from copy, copy grows:
The Brets, alarm'd, a sep'rate peace propose.
'Tis ratified—How alter'd Fulvia's look?
My wit's degraded, and my cause forsook.
Thus she: What's poetry, but to amuse?
Might I advise—there are more solid views.
With a cool air she adds: This tale is old:
Were it my case, it should no more be told.
Complaints—had I been worthy to advise—
You know—But when are wits, like women, wise?
True, it may take, but think whate'er you list,
All love the satire, none the satirist.
I start, I stare, stand fix'd, then pause awhile;
Then hesitate, then ponder well, then smile.
Madam—a pension lost—and where's amends?
Sir (she replies) indeed you'll lose your friends.
Why did I start? 'twas but a change of wind—
Or the same thing—the lady chang'd her mind.
I bow, depart, despise, discern her all:
Nanny revisits, and disgrac'd I fall.
Then hesitate, then ponder well, then smile.
Madam—a pension lost—and where's amends?
Sir (she replies) indeed you'll lose your friends.
Why did I start? 'twas but a change of wind—
Or the same thing—the lady chang'd her mind.
I bow, depart, despise, discern her all:
Nanny revisits, and disgrac'd I fall.
Let Fulvia's friendship whirl with ev'ry whim!
A reed, a weather-cock, a shade, a dream:
No more the friendship shall be now display'd
By weather-cock, or reed, or dream, or shade;
To Nanny fix'd unvarying shall it tend,
For souls, so form'd alike, were form'd to blend.
A reed, a weather-cock, a shade, a dream:
No more the friendship shall be now display'd
By weather-cock, or reed, or dream, or shade;
To Nanny fix'd unvarying shall it tend,
For souls, so form'd alike, were form'd to blend.
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