University of Virginia Library

CALLIPÆDIA.

Book the First.

Made English by N. Rowe, Esq;

What crowns the fruitful Marriage Bed with Joy,
What forms the Lovely Girl and Manly Boy,
What kindly Stars the juster Features trace,
What happy Influence bestows the Grace,
And breaths the Bloom Divine upon the beauteous Face;
What secret Springs the Forming Fancy move,
What Force the Mind exerts in genial Love,
How the fair Soul is in the Body seen,
And outward Beauty speaks the Worth within,
In flowing Verse attempts the willing Muse,
And tunefully the pleasing Theme pursues.
Hear oh! ye fairest of the Nymphs Divine,
Ye Graces hear, and to the Task incline:
And thou great Mother of Almighty Love,
If once in Phrygian Ida's sacred Grove
Thy Form victorious did the Prize obtain,
By the just Judgment of the Righteous Swain,
Hear and inspire thy soft Idalian Strain.
So shall Delight my happy Labours bless,
And pleasing Thoughts, in pleasing Numbers dress:
So shall my grateful Verse thy Laws impart,
And teach Mankind with Joy the genial Art.
When e'er in times to come it shall betide,
That the kind Bridegroom would instruct his Bride,
My Verse shall by the skillful Youth be read,
To the dear Partner of his Nuptial Bed;
The Muse instructive shall their Off-spring grace,
And form the Future Honours of their Race:
Beauty the long successive Line shall crown,
And no deform'd unsightly Birth be known:
In ev'ry Face the Cyprian Queen shall reign,
And mutually adorn the Nymph and Swain.
You who a Parents pleasing Hopes conceive,
Who lovely Patterns of your selves would leave;
You to whose Care the Rites of Love belong,
Attend and listen to my useful Song.
If soft the Verse, if sweet the Numbers flow,
A Myrtle Wreath my just Reward bestow,
And bind with grateful Hands your Poet's learned Brow.
But first my Muse describe the doubtful Fair,
Beauties Celestial Essence first declare,
The sacred Substance of the Goddess tell,
And in what Forms she most Delights to dwell:
What Honours on the Noblest Fronts are spread,
What Roses paint the Cheeks with brightest red;
What Colours best become the flowing Hair,
What Locks most graceful wanton in the Air;
What Lips the sweetest Breathe the fragrant Bliss,
And swell the Softest to the melting Kiss;
What Hands are fashion'd in the finest Mold,
What circling Arms do best the Lover hold,
And press him with the closest, kindest Fold?
But oh! confus'd and dark the Question lies,
Perplex'd the Cause, and Doubts on Doubts arise.
Each as he loves his diff'ring Praise bestows,
This Youth to snowy Amaryllis Bows,
While that to brown Lycoris pays his Vows.
Daphnis in Flavia's yellow Ringlets bound,
Admires the Nymphs with golden Tresses crown'd.
While Thyrsis doating on the Jetty black,
Starts at the burning Gold, and flys with Horror back.
Some Eyes all Hearts with lively grey subdue,
Some with the Languish of the lovely blue,
Some the Fond Rage with sparkling black inspire,
Quick shoot the Flames and kindle up the Fire.
Some Swains the slender Wasted Virgin prize,
And loath the bulky Fat's unweildy Size:
While some the thin, the shadowy Form detest,
And choose to press the plump luxuriant Breast,
On full Delights their Wishes to Employ,
Grasp the substantial Fair, and sate themselves with Joy.
Such are the various Springs our Passions move,
And such the many Heresies of Love;
Thus is the Mind by blind Desire betray'd,
Thus by fantastick Fancy are we sway'd,
We like, we love, then Deify the Maid.
Nor only Man to various Thoughts inclin'd,
Finds differing Beauties in the softer kind,
But ev'n his own majestick Form surveys,
As partial Nations differ in their Praise.
Mark how the swarthy Æthiop fond of Night
Disdains the Cheeks with blended Roses bright,
And paints the Fiends and Stygian Furies white.
How did the servile flattering East Commend,
The Nose high rising with an Arched Bend;
When first that semblant Form was fam'd to grace
The Mighty Median Monarch's warlike Face,
Cyrus, whose Hand did Asia's Scepter Sway,
And taught the wealthy Cræssus to obey;
Wide o'er the Lydian Realm he stretch'd his Reign,
And bound the Royal Miser in his Chain.
Here might my Verse the fairest Gaul Recount,
Here Paint his flowing Curls and spacious Front.
Or here the Tawny Spaniard might I trace
His Looks obscure describe, his gloomy Grace,
And rusty Blood diffus'd upon his dusky Face.
Full of himself the Pigmy Form appears,
Swells to the Clouds and menaces the Stars;
Ev'n he, tho' by unhappy Lot he lies
Beneath unkindly Suns, and Western Skies,
Disdains the German manly made and strong,
And calls the fashion of his Arms too long;
Prunes his hard Visage up, and with a Smile
Scorns the soft Bloom of Britains happy Isle.
But say, my Muse, whence things that seem so clear,
So doubtful to discording Man appear;
From happier Times of old deduce thy Verse,
And how it first befell, in Order just rehearse.
When first this Infant World its Form put on,
When Time and beauteous Order first begun,
And Rich with native Grace, the new Creation shone,
No wicked Iron Age, as yet control'd,
The Lustre of the pure primæval Gold;
Around Heaven's azure Arch serenely bright,
Unsullied shone the sparkling Gems of Light,
No Fogs did then, no lazy Vapors rise,
Nor with their dull Pollution stain the Skies;
Thro' Heavens wide Plains the glorious God of Day,
Prince of the Stars, unclouded held his Way:
While in her turn the Silver Queen of Night,
Successive roll'd her limpid Orb of Light.
The Mother Earth adorn'd by what she bred,
With Rocks, Hills, Trees, with Fruits and Flowers was spread,
And every living Thing on her green Bosom fed.
The well digested Mass untainted yet,
Did no Rank Steams nor pois'nous Damps emit,
But healthy Spirits breathing from the Ground,
Diffus'd their wholsome Fragrancies around.
'Twas then, in those good Times for ever blest,
That happy Man his Innocence Possess'd:
When yet he had not learn'd in Reason's Spight,
Perverse to turn, and wander from the Right,
Forsaking Heavens reveal'd, and Nature's inborn Light.
Then Holy Arts and Priestcraft were not known,
Religion then was simple, plain and one:
Lust had not kindled then her guilty Flame,
Ambition had not cheated Fools with Fame,
Nor vex'd the World with Honour's angry Name.
Nor was the Form of Man beneath his Soul,
But equal, proper Beauties grac'd the Whole.
Then Temperance just Goddess did prevail,
And rightly held creating Nature's Scale,
Dispos'd the sev'ral Parts with prudent Care,
And form'd with nicest Symmetry the Fair.
Then was the Reign of Beauty in Mankind,
Then Universal Empress, well she join'd
The Faultless Body and the Blameless Mind.
Soon as great Jove from high Olympus Brow,
Beheld the sacred Harmony below,
Add we one Master-piece of Art he said,
Earth, Heaven, and all ye Gods afford your Aid,
Your each Perfection join, and form one lovely Maid.
He spoke, and strait obedient to his Word,
Each willing Species to the Work concurr'd,
The Chrystal Orbs of Æther first prepare
The Limbs and Substance, for the future Fair,
While the Sun curl'd his Beams and hung 'em for her Hair.
Her Front like Marble smooth, like Lilies white,
Fair Cynthia Luster'd o'er with Silver Light;
Upon her Cheeks Aurora Roses spread;
And dy'd 'em in the Morning's brightest Red;
Venus the sweetly charming Smile imprest,
And her soft Lips with balmy Pleasures blest:
While Love the God himself o'er all the Mass,
Dancing delightful show'd his heavenly Face,
Led on the laughing Joys, and every Sister grace.
Thus form'd, thus finish'd out the beauteous whole,
Creating Jove Infus'd the living Soul;
And since from every God the Graces came,
He bad Pandora be the Fair one's Name.
Then bending kindly down his Gracious Look,
Thus to the New-made Nymph th'Almighty Father spoke.
Daughter of Gods descend, thou Work divine,
Vouchsafe on Earth, celestial Fair, to shine,
Diffuse the Blessings of thy Radiant Face,
And Chear the Labours of the Mortal Race:
For thus the Gods, thus Jove's high Will ordains,
While Man his native Innocence Retains;
Be thou his Bliss, his great Reward be thou,
Thy full Perfection, Heaven's fair Pattern show,
And teach him by thy self thy Native Skies to know.
But oh! if Pity touch thy tender Breast,
If for Mankind thy Care wou'd be express'd,
Keep close this fatal Casket I bestow,
Nor seek the Secrets lodg'd within to know.
If thy frail Hand too curious, shou'd incline
To pry, and disobey the Will divine,
Straight forth ten thousand winged Plagues shall fly,
And scatter swift Contagion thro' the Sky.
Thee too, thou Fairest, shall the Ruin seize,
Pain shalt thou feel, and Languish with Disease.
Deformity thy lovely Looks shall blast,
And foul Pollution lay thy Beauties wast.
He said, And downward swift she bent her Flight,
To spread around on Earth, the Beams of Beauties Light.
Nor did she there with Epimetheus Dwell,
Shut up and Cloister'd in a lonely Cell,
As old Greek Tales of Dreaming Hesiod tell.
But bounteous of Delight and unconfin'd,
She made the Blessing common to Mankind,
Design'd a Publick Good still passing on,
On undistinguish'd Crowds alike she shone.
The stupid Herd with pleasing Dread amaz'd,
Dumb with Attention, stood, and gladsome gaz'd,
Some ravish'd with her Mien so graceful were,
Some with the Ringlets of her Amber Hair,
Some with her Iv'ry Front, and Face so heav'nly Fair.
From her each Part Ambrosial Odours flow'd,
And breath'd a balmy Blessing on the Crowd,
While her bright Eyes (which scarce the Muse had told,
Unless by sacred Inspiration Bold)
With Light effulgent, Darted forth a Ray,
That Chear'd Mankind, and made the World look Gay.
So when Aurora in the Rosy East,
Lifts her fair Head, with radiant Honours Drest,
O'er Natures Face a various Smile she spreads,
And paints a-new the Fields and Flow'ry Meads,
Ten-thousand-colour'd dyes her Beams unfold,
The Limpid Stream in Silver Waves is Roll'd,
And all the Green-Wood shade is burnish'd o'er with Gold.
Such Beauty was, in our first Fathers Time,
While yet the Youthful World was in its Prime,
The mingling Graces of the Sexes met,
And full Perfection made the Form compleat;
While Man yet free from Avarice, or Pride,
The Ways of Wickedness had never try'd,
Nor warping from the Right, Perversly turn'd aside.
But when Pernicious Change invading spread,
And Error blind mistaking Reason led,
The swift Contagion reach'd the lovely Maid.
Pandora tainted by an Impious Age,
Pursu'd each fond Desire, and each fantastic Rage:
Curious to know, the Box disturb'd her Rest,
Jove's hard Commands sat heavy on her Breast,
And Woman, Woman the frail Nymph confest:
Resolv'd at length, whatever Jove forbid,
She eas'd her longing Mind, and broke the Lid:
When steaming, strait, a deadly Vapour rose,
Long Trains of waiting Plagues it did disclose,
Diseases, Miseries, and mortal Woes.
First the fell Poison seiz'd the curious Maid,
First on her Youth, her blooming Roses prey'd;
Her Eyes no more their starry Fires could boast,
But dim and dull in cloudy Mists were lost;
No Part was left untainted in the whole,
But all that once was fair, was loathsom now and foul.
Nor stop'd the Ruin with the wretched Maid,
But growing still, around diffusive stray'd;
Error, Disease and Death like Victors dread,
Wide-wasting, o'er the World, their Legions spread,
And vanquish'd Minds and Bodies captive led.
Hid in deep Shades benighted Reason lay,
Shut from the Beams of Truth's Ethereal Day.
From that sad Æra Ignorance begun,
Thence a dull Train of doubting Ages run,
And Beauty's sacred Form remains unknown.
Oh then, to guide the wand'ring Muse aright,
To pierce the Shades of this substantial Night;
Phœbus be kind, to thee for Aid we bow,
Thou Joy of Gods above, and Men below!
Patron of Verse, and Ruler of the Day!
Do thou shoot swift before thy Golden Ray,
At once inspire her Flight, and point her out the Way.
Tho' all around the wide Contagion spread,
Like Streams far stretching from some fatal Head;
Yet was it various in it's baleful Course,
And now renew'd, and now represt its Force.
Where round the Poles the frozen Circles turn,
Or where near neighb'ring Suns too fiercely burn,
There Nature's Shame, mishapen Forms abound,
And Monsters people the devoted Ground.
Far in the North, where Winter's hoary Bed
Is with eternal Snows and Ice dispread;
Or where the fam'd Magellan's Southern Tide
Does barbarous Patagonian Shores divide;
Nations deform'd, fierce Salvage Tribes are seen,
Of Bulk unwieldy and Gigantic Mien;
Each a huge heavy lazy Mass of Might,
Unfit for Use, and loathsom to the Sight;
While in the Regions of the burning Zone,
No Visage but the sooty Black is known;
Short woolly Locks their Horrid Fronts embrace,
Thick Lips grin fearful with a Fiend-like Grace,
And Night, the Beldam, broods, on each Barbarian Face.
Nor here unfitly to my Verse belong,
Arts which were once the Princely Arab's Song.
Long since the Bard in Native Numbers taught,
How the mid Globe, with temp'rate Regions fraught,
Feels not the dire Extremes of Cold and Hot.
Where in the Midst the just Æquator lies,
Sweet is the Air, and undisturb'd the Skies;
There, Heav'ns bright Scale well-blended Seasons weighs,
Nature the Poles at equal Distance lays,
And righteously divides the Nights and Days:
There, nor the Sun's bright Flames malignant burn,
Nor chilly Moons with nipping Frosts return;
Thence, with Luxurious Births each pregnant Year,
Twin Seasons does, and double Plenties bear;
Twice yellow Ceres crowns the Summer Fields,
And twice his rich Increase ripe Autumn yields;
Twice gentle Winter comes with sober Grace,
And twice the blooming Spring renews her blissful Face.
Here, if aright the Poets Song divin'd,
The justest Forms of Beauty might we find:
From Constitutions rightly temper'd, here
Fair Harmony and Order should appear,
And all Mankind be Lovely like the Year.
But the known Clime must o'er the Verse prevail,
And Truth refute the false Arabian Tale:
Since black Deformity usurps alone
The sultry Regions of the Torrid Zone,
The fiery God too near 'em runs his Race,
And leaves his sooty Marks on ev'ry hideous Face.
Then, oh my Muse, forsake the scorching Line,
And to the cooler Pole thy Flight incline;
Seek in the midway space some balmy Air,
A Land Delightful, and a People Fair;
Where Beauty long her Residence has plac'd,
And reign'd in Sov'reign State for Ages past.
Nor cease thy curious Search, nor yet remain
Fix'd in warm Italy, or swarthy Spain:
Still spread thy Wing, and reach that happy Coast,
Where Europe does her fav'rite Country boast,
Where sweetest Airs, and kindest Heav'ns she yields,
Where Gallia spreads her fair Elysian Fields;
But thee Turonia chief I would select,
Thy pleasing Soil with various Prospect deck'd,
Where winding Vales run rich with frequent Rills,
And verdant Plains are crown'd with rising Hills;
Where gentle Liger slowly seeks the Sea,
Scattering full Plenty in his peaceful Way,
Where near proud Angier's Walls his Waves are roll'd,
And thro' their Chrystal clear display the sandy Gold.
Here lovely Maids of Form Divine abound,
With ev'ry Grace and just Perfection crown'd;
Here still the Marks of Heav'ns first Work they wear,
And like the first Pandora still are faultless Fair.
If then the Genial Arts thou seek to know,
Attend to what the skillful Muse can show,
Sweet are her Sacred Rules and tunefully they flow.
‘Not every Man or Woman was design'd,
‘To Propagate and Multiply their Kind;
‘Forbid we Rightly the Deform'd and Foul,
‘To Cloath with ill-shap'd Limbs the Heav'nly Soul.
Has not the Poets Song Divinely told,
Of Births detested in the Days of Old?
How dreadful Phlegeton did Night Invade,
Comprest the Beldam in her own dire Shade.
Hence sprung the Sisters, (horrible to Sight!)
Whose hellish Heads with hissing Snakes affright.
Who Shudders not at Pluto's odious Bed?
What Virgin would a One-ey'd Cyclops Wed?
Were I to judge no Vulcan e'er should prove
A horrid Husband to the Queen of Love,
Some fitter Task his barren Age should find,
In hamm'ring Bolts for Jove to Plague Mankind,
Doom'd to old Ætna's Forge he should remain,
And Drudge out dull Immortal Years in vain.
But he, who judges right of what is Fair,
With healthy Sons will healthy Daughters Pair.
As unperforming, useless Drones, will drive,
The Weak and Sickly from the Marriage Hive.
Whether a Man by frequent Visits feel
The gnawing Torments of the Gouty Ill.
Or, sudden Epilepsies seize his Mind,
Or, bilious Cholic rack his Breast with Wind.
Or, on his wasted Lungs an Ulcer prey,
Or, a Consumption, lingringly Betray
His pining Life, and Murder by Delay.
For, Man's new curious System to compose,
An equal Portion every Limb bestows,
From every Nerve collected Nature flows.
Whence by Traduction from the Father run,
Ill Habitudes intail'd upon the Son.
The latent Poison in the Bowels grows,
And Propagates a Family of Woes.
How oft do Men their ill-star'd Birth bewail,
Condemn'd to a diseasefull Body's Jayl!
How oft with vain Complaints they load the Skies,
And guiltless Gods accuse with fruitless Cries!
When the true Cause of their repeated Blame,
From a distemper'd feeble Marriage came.
Let then a healthy Bridegroom and a Bride,
Be in connubial Leagues of Love ally'd,
If they Desire that future Times should know,
To what a lovely Origin they owe
A Race of Men, for all that's generous Born,
Or to Defend their Country, or Adorn.
The prudent Farmers, who of Heaven implore
A plenteous Harvest, and increasing Store;
The finest of their Wheat for Seed retain,
Nor Sow their Acres with corrupted Grain.
Hence loaded Fields their Annual Wealth unfold,
And smiling Ceres waves in Sheafy Gold.
Thus lab'ring Hinds, for a rich Crop of Corn,
Improve their Ground, while you Neglect with Scorn,
The grateful Soil, from whence Mankind is Born.
Unwilling or unmindful to Produce,
From a hale Body, pure and generous Juice.
Which in clear Channels may unblended run,
From the bright Father to the brighter Son.
Is then the Price of Man no better known,
Or God, who form'd Thy Image from his Own?
Cannot that Soul which does with Art Survey
The Stars, and Travels o'er the Milky Way,
Erect thy Spirits, and refine thy Clay?
Does Sloth supine in such strong Fetters bind
Your abject Sense, and make you less inclin'd,
To found a beauteous Temple for th'Æthereal Mind.
Ye Gods, who to a Human Birth repair,
And watch the Cradle with a Guardian's Care,
From Nuptial Banns exclude a weakly Pair.
Lest Execrations from their Children's Throat,
Their wretched Parents to the Fiends devote.
And Thou, Great Father of all Human Race,
Whose Hand preserves this Globe in strict Embrace,
No longer let the wicked Custom reign,
Nor the just Beauty of thy Labour stain.
Let a new Genius from the Skies descend,
With better Nature, and Mankind befriend:
Who may this Theme with well-wrote Rules adorn.
And give Instruction to an Age unborn.
Nor is't enough, that Marriages agree,
In mutual Vigour, and from Sickness free;
If you Desire an Offspring, you must learn,
Another Lesson of the First Concern.
The Nuptial Knot should be with Equals ty'd;
No Sanguine Bridegroom to a Sapless Bride;
Nor should a bloomy Nymph entomb her Charms,
In an old Husband's Monumental Arms.
Hymen will such an ill-yok'd Couple blame,
And Juno kindle an unhappy Flame.
Alecto, frowning on the Luckless Pair,
Shakes her sulphureous Torch, and snaky Hair.
See, how young Chloe, keen with strong Desires,
From her old wither'd Spouse with Scorn retires,
His frigid Kisses shuns, and languid Fires.
With frequent Tears Bedews her Face, and quits
Her idle Drudge, and the detested Sheets.
Thee, Happy Atys, Rhea from above,
Pursu'd with chaste Desires, and honest Love.
Had th'antiquated Goddess thee carest,
And with cold Kisses in her Bosom prest,
Thy wasting Youth had found its certain Doom,
Unsinew'd of its Strength, and springing Bloom.
For the dull Dryness of Old Age desires
More Aliment to feed its dying Fires,
And lusty Nature's whole vivific Stock requires.
So, ever burning Sands in Libyan Plains,
Suck in with greedy Thirst the falling Rains,
And still unsated with the watry Store,
Their Drought increasing, make Demands for more.
Yet more from Discord of unequal Seed,
When Youth and Age are Coupled for the breed:
Diseases in a sickly Train proceed.
And if at last a weakly Offspring's born,
How oft his wretched Being will he mourn?
How oft a Life in Misery extend,
Unuseful to his Country, or his Friend?
Nor can we here forget the Modish Crime,
Which slights the Rules of our instructing Rhyme.
How ill-advising Thirst of Gold supplies
The Want of Passion, and perverts our Eyes:
Which, to a Face Superior and Divine,
Prefers the Monarch's Image on the Coin.
How, fashionably vain, large Portions prove
Rebellious Subjects to commanding Love:
For if the Chests of a rich Father hold
The sacred Load of Writings, or of Gold;
If he can Jointure a consenting Mate
With the gay Ruin of a vast Estate;
Blind with the shining Hopes, each Nymph will run
With proffer'd Beauty to the charming Son,
While the fond Parents wish her wealthily undone.
Tho' the pale Wretch, with sure Contagion, kills,
Infected with an Hospital of Ills,
And every vile Disease which crouds the Weekly Bills.
Tho' pining in the last Decline of Life,
A fruitless Burden to his longing Wife.
How hard her Fate, who in her Youthful Pride
Finds a dry Monster, snoring by her Side,
A married Virgin She, and widow'd Bride!
Of her lost Bloom how oft will she complain,
And wet the Joyless Sheets with nightly Rain!
How will she Childless mourn! or what is worse,
Loath her detested Race, a heavier Curse.
Besides, if prompted by her strong Desires,
She seeks new Springs to cool her wanton Fires;
If Wand'ring in the search of Bliss she flies,
To seek what her enervate Drudge denies,
(For who wou'd Wish a loathsom Joy to prove,
Or Languish in the Arms of sickly Love?)
What rank Adulteries thy House will stain,
And croud it with a long promiscuous Train,
Which Thou, Good-natur'd Cuckold, must maintain!
'Tis true, the Boy, not Thine, will bear thy Name,
Tho' Twenty Fathers have a better Claim.
Here shall his Features, and his Mien express
A Baronet; and there his Groom confess.
Here a young Colonel's warlike Look, or there
A sneaking Citizen's submissive Air.
Then shall the hoarded Sums, and glittering Heap,
Which Thou hast labour'd anxiously to keep:
Then shall the Acres of thy rented Ground,
The Flocks and Herds with which thy Fields abound,
All which to Thee by long Descent have run,
Be spent in Riot by a spurious Son.
Nor does a private Family alone
Beneath the Mischief of this Poison groan;
In Palaces the growing Evil spreads,
And impudently climbs Imperial Beds.
When Kings, infeebled by Luxurious Ease,
Or latent Seeds of some uncur'd Disease,
By the warm Sides of Youthful Consorts freeze;
No longer now at the soft Anvil sweat,
Too impotent to Govern, or Beget.
Hence Infants sometimes may a Kingdom guide,
Tho' Royal only by the Mother's side.
Hence the deluded Sire's oblig'd to Own
The doubted Offspring of a Blood unknown,
And willingly adopts the Bastard to his Throne.
Nor is our Sex less faulty than the Fair;
Alike we fall within the Golden Snare.
For, if a Matron's Fortune can supply
The want of each indearing Quality;
Tho' fitter for a Tomb than Bridal Bed,
Tho' Time sits Hoary on her shaking Head;
Tho' from her Eyes the Brackish Humour breaks,
And trickles down the Furrows of her Cheeks:
Tho' here and there a stragling Tooth is set,
A thin Plantation, and deform'd with Jet:
Tho' husky Coughs make an ungrateful Din,
And Phtysicks rattle from her Lungs within:
Yet if this complicated Ill, Desire,
With Hymen's Torch to Light her dying Fire;
If for connubial Joys enrag'd she Thirst,
To Sate her greedy and impetuous Lust,
Some Younger Brother will perhaps incline
To pay his Homage at her Golden Shrine:
Who with dissembled Love will fondly run
To Kiss the wither'd, wealthy Skeleton;
Will fold the Beldam in his Arms to Rest.
And with Dissembled Joy pant on her Leathern breast.
But ah! This Husband of a large Estate
Soon Flags, and turns by quick Degrees to Hate;
Quits the dull Carcass of the nauseous Dame,
Slights her dry Embers for a brisker Flame,
And seeks with eager Heat a Nobler Game.
Some tender Yeilding Maid he longs to prove,
Or some coæval Wife's unlawful Love;
While, single, his neglected Consort lies,
And wastes the joyless Night in empty Sighs.
Hence Tears, preluding to destructive Jars,
And sad Complaints to unassisting Stars!
Hence deep Resentments rack her jealous Head,
For her wrong'd Honour, and deserted Bed!
Hence Study of Revenge her Love repells,
And all the Woman rises and rebells!
In Wicked Arts and deadly Drugs she deals,
And with dissembled Duty rage conceals.
While careless He, and Indolent of Thought,
Drinks sure Destruction in some fatal Draught.
Did not the Tenets of Religion bind
To sacred Counsels my obedient Mind,
Love should be Liking; nor the Nuptial League
Be ty'd by Compact, or design'd Intrigue
Of selfish Parents, who in Wedlock joyn
Their Sons, to raise their Wealth, and not their Line.
For, should wise Nature, for the Cyprian Joys
Direct a Couple in their mutual Choice,
They would, by Reason, not by Custom led,
Ne'er Tye a Living Body to a Dead.
Be banish'd then, unfit for Amorous Sport,
The Fribling Dotard from the Paphian Court!
Let Youth their Strength on Youth alone employ,
And burn with equal Love and healthy Joy;
To propagate Mankind, and people Earth,
With a sound Offspring, and a generous Birth.
Nor is the Secret to the Muse unknown,
How Courts, to frequent Wantonesses prone
By loose Desires, and high Examples led
Stain the chaste Honours of the Royal Bed.
How a young Monarch, to His Queen unjust,
Oft licenses the fashionable Lust.
So in Olympus once, Adult'rous Jove
Left his loath'd Juno for a Human Love.
In Earth and Heaven his spurious Offspring sow'd,
Profusely scatter'd his Immortal Blood,
And stock'd the Sky with a promiscuous Brood.
Great Sire, abandon this opprobrious Life,
Contented with a lov'd, and loving Wife.
Let the pure Issue of unspotted Flames
Thy Scepter wield, and shun lascivious Dames.
But if my private Muse, without Offence,
May freely utter her impartial Sense:
There might be found a more adapted Mate
Of higher Virtues, tho' of humbler State.
Who with requiting Fires Thy Fires would meet,
Of Temper equal, and of Form complete.
Whose Looks might soften and unbend Thy Care,
And ease the Burden of the Gold You wear.
Others, who court Alliance to Thy Throne,
Seek but to strengthen, and secure their Own.
So the weak Branches of the tender Vine
In circling Folds the married Elm intwine.
But Kings, who to themselves their Grandeur owe,
Self-ballanc'd, on unmov'd Foundations grow:
Safe in their People's Strength, from Princes near
They seek no Succours, and no Forces fear.
But while we wait, from what cœlestial Worth
From what Great Princess of exalted Birth,
New Cæsars shall arise to rule the Gallic Earth.
Me, Phæbus, guide with thy informing Light,
While useful Laws for Husbands I indite;
Smile on my pleasing Toil, and aid my daring Flight.

Book the Second.

But now the Ceremonial Part is done,
And the Fair Couple are for ever One;
Their eager Wishes meet, and burn to prove
The future Joys of unexperienc'd Love.
All Offices now past, which Forms require,
With cheerful Hearts the feasted Friends retire.
Bacchus himself, well sated with the Store,
Scarce carries his enormous Paunch before;
Scornful he views th'inverted Cups around,
And draws the fuming Vapours from the Ground.
The weary'd Youth's more slowly now advance,
To join the Virgins in the winding Dance,
While the soft Music measures out the Bound,
And works the trembling Feet to ev'ry Sound.
Then the great Master, to the speaking Strings,
The Sweets of Matrimonial Pleasure sings,
Kisses, and Smiles, and the preluding Toys,
And last, the Product of substantial Joys,
The beauteous Female Births, and lovely graceful Boys.
Again he turns the Song, and Pallas blames,
And rash Diana, foolish, Maiden Names,
But He, Thee Venus, sings in kinder Airs,
Propitious Goddess, to our mortal Pray'rs;
Source of all Joy, and Easer of all Grief;
Thou giv'st the Thunderer himself Relief.
Thee, beauteous Paris, he in Raptures prais'd,
And, high above the Stars, thy Merit rais'd;
Who, to fair Venus more prevailing Eyes,
Impartially adjudg'd the Golden Prize,
Tho' Pallas frown'd, and Juno in a Storm,
Roughen'd her Features to a scornful Form.
Nor fear'd he Phœbus, Anger to provoke,
And give his Passion a severer Stroke;
Who on a Boy his barren Love employ'd,
And the dear Object, which he lov'd, destroy'd.
The Majesty of Heav'n himself, great Jove,
He ridicul'd for his unlucky Love,
All Flames he blam'd, that far from Nature rove,
In idle Essays of unfruitful Love;
But prais'd the Kisses, which alternate please,
And both the Giver and Receiver ease.
The Matrons smil'd, and ancient Sires severe,
Skrew'd a divided Laugh, and flouting Leer.
But see! the failing Day to Night resigns,
And Venus Star, to Venus Rites inclines:
Away then Modesty, nor dare appear
With thy false Scruples, and fantastic Fear;
But come, Thou Hymen, with thy sacred Light,
The little Train of smiling Loves excite:
Thee too, Saturnia, now the Pair require,
In Circles wave thy Torch, at their Desire,
Emblem of constant Love, and still succeeding Fire.
Ye Mothers also, who these Joys have known,
Assist me, and unloose the Virgin Zone;
With me, to cheer the fearful Maiden strive,
And tell her, she may see the Morn alive;
For now the Spouse, impatient for Delight,
Warms with the Thought, and struggles for the Fight.
‘Let us engage, he crys, nor longer stay,
‘And waste the Time of Love, in dull Delay;
‘No more, my Friends, th'expected Lists deny,
‘Nor enviously resist a Bliss so nigh:
‘Why should we not the happy Combat prove,
‘Free, as we are, and give a Loose to Love.
Hold, furious Youth—Better thy Heat asswage,
And moderate, a while, thy eager Rage;
For if the Genial Sport you now compleat,
Full of the Fumes of undigested Meat,
A thin, diluted Substance shalt thou place,
Too weak a Basis for a Manly Grace,
To rise in Figure just, and dignify thy Race.
Advis'd, defer the Work, till Time produce
A more mature, and well-concocted Juice:
Hard is the Rule, and Lovers oft complain;
Tho' hard, yet proper for a vig'rous Strain.
For this, the Wise, by Nature's Course, are taught,
That when the Work is in the Morning wrought,
The Rudiments of Man, more aptly take
A just Proportion, and a finish'd Make.
This Reason proves; for, when by Sleep opprest,
At Night the weary'd Limbs relax with Rest;
The Warmth more slowly thro' the Skin perspires,
And to the Seats of inward Life retires;
There with a peircing, and more subtle Heat,
It forcibly ferments the passive Meat;
Which by the Fibres of the Stomach wore,
And for Digestion half prepar'd before,
Lessen'd and chang'd, a milky Colour takes,
And a quick Passage to the Liver makes;
There chang'd again, a ruddy Tincture gains,
And flowing onward, flushes in the Veins.
From hence the Parts impregnated below,
With new redundant Tides of Juices flow,
For as the Streams are in the Vessels roll'd,
Thro' interwoven Network Fold, on Fold,
Mix'd, and remix'd with Spirits as they pass,
Enrich'd they rise into a Vital Mass;
The Forms thus fix'd, the Principles refin'd,
Frame a fit Lodging for the heav'nly Mind.
This Caution then observe, and now forbear,
With ill-tim'd Kisses to provoke the Fair,
Least Nature hurry'd by too fierce a Toil,
Her lovely, secret Operation spoil,
And the best, blissful Work imperfect done,
Be curs'd hereafter by thy future Son.
Who has not heard, how the Great Thund'ring God,
One heav'nly Holiday had got his Load,
And warm with Nectar, reeling to his Rest,
Unseasonably his Consort Juno prest?
From that Embrace the Monster Vulcan sprung,
Whom his own Father from Olympus flung:
So dead his Features, and so foul his Face,
The Gods deny'd him at their Feasts a Place;
So soon rejected where he once apply'd,
That homely Pallas scorn'd to be his Bride;
And Taunting bid him with Dame Venus treat,
Who might his ill-shap'd Mass in Wedlock meet,
Not from her Choice, but more abundant Heat:
She too abhors him, and promiscuous lies,
With Gods and Men of ev'ry Sort, and Size,
And Plants, for all the Sacred Marriage Vows,
Many fair Antlers on his ugly Brows.
Nor is this Rule enough, to Check thy Haste,
And not the Genial Heat untimely waste;
Before the Food is from the Stomach thrown;
A Second hear, and hearing make thy own.
‘Skilfull observe the Skies, what Planet shines,
‘When to the close Embrace thy Soul inclines,
‘When Nature stretching from the barren Kiss,
‘Flies to the sweet Extremity of Bliss.
The Reason this; the Care is not so great,
Nor carries with it half so much of Fate,
Under what Star, or what prevailing Ray,
The crying Infant breaks th'implicit Way,
And springing from the Prison struggles into Day;
As at Conception chief what Stars preside,
The just Concretion of the Seed to guide;
For then the Fluid in the Womb enclos'd,
To a due Cement by the Heat dispos'd,
Feels the sure Influence which the Stars create,
More forcibly Affect its forming State,
Then, at that Instant, as the Planets Sway,
The tender, Ductile Matter must Obey.
But oh! What Mortal Science can unfold,
The fatal Mysteries above enroll'd?
Thou Goddess, Thou of high Celestial Birth,
Scornful of lower Air, and sordid Earth,
To whom the willing Gates of Heav'n disclose,
Each Starry Orb that in her Bosom glows;
Do thou Urania Aid me, and Inspire
Thy Heav'nly Poet with a Heav'nly Fire;
Hard is the Task the beauteous Theme to raise,
But well-sung Beauty will Reward with Praise;
If thou thy Influence shed, and guide my Tongue,
Sweet shall the tuneful Numbers flow along,
And own Thee Patroness of my Harmonious Song.
This arched Concave of the World behold,
Studded with Stars, and skirted round with Gold;
Think not those shining Luminaries Blaze,
That idle Man may on the Prospect Gaze:
For, highest Jove, whose forming Hand they boast,
Sow'd not the Heaven's with that unnumber'd Host,
That we might upward cast our wondring Eyes,
And Praise the curious Picture of the Skies,
From deeper Reasons of the Makers Thought
Was that fine System of Creation wrought.
Observ'st thou not the Fluxes here below,
As diff'rent Stars their diff'rent Faces shew,
How Heats they cause, or Show'rs and Tempests range,
And ev'ry Element alternate Change.
Who doubts the Hyades moist Seasons Form?
Or that Orion enters in a Storm?
See! How the Dog-Star's Fire the Meadows Burns,
Drinks Rivers up, and Drains their Thirsty Urns.
Nor need I direful Unions now relate,
Authors of Ill, and Arbiters of Fate;
Saturn, tremendous with his Scythe from far,
Jove stain'd with Blood, and Mars denouncing War;
Should they alas! In one sad Juncture shine,
Their Rage augmented in fierce Leo's Sign;
How many Nations would to Sorrows turn,
And see their Country waste, their Cities burn!
How would Triumphant Discord on the Plain,
Free as the Wind the Steeds of War unrein,
And with Varieties of Death her Purple Garment stain!
Then Ancient Thrones, and Empires would Decay,
And own a New, Usurping Tyrant's Sway;
Such fatal Stars did once before Inspire,
The Rival Chiefs, to set the World on Fire:
Here Pompey, there Victorious Cæsar stood,
And dire Pharsalia blush'd in Roman Blood.
(And if a Poet's Song may Credit gain)
The same destructive Stars at present Reign,
That shake the Gaul, and Spaniard with Alarms,
And drive contending Monarchies to Arms;
For Saturn, Jove, and Mars, with mingl'd Rays
In Chiron's ruddy Arms, malignant Blaze.
Beside, beneath these Stars that Plague arose,
Which fiercely in the Seats of Pleasure glows;
That the sweet Purpose of our Kind destroys,
And or Forbids, or Poisons all our Joys.
For so the Tales of late Tradition run,
That when the fatal Malady begun
To spread, and shew the lurking Cause within
By putrid Stains, and a discolour'd Skin.
Then Mars shone Adverse, and in Cancer set,
With livid Saturn inauspicious met,
Their Influence join'd more Pestilential grew,
And with their Rays th'envenom'd Vapour flew.
But why the Gods presume I to Display,
And Mortal, tread their Everlasting Way?
Why search I Causes of portentous Weight,
Or doubtfully pursue retiring Fate?
Better absolve my Promise, and unfold
What proper Stars work up the beauteous Mold,
And tell, what Phæbus to his Poet told.
Mankind, (as Fame reports) of Old opprest,
To Heav'n their supplicating Sighs addrest,
Much did the sad degen'rate Race complain,
How wide Deformity had spread her Reign,
How more than half their Kind were loathsom Born,
Scandals of Nature, and their Parent's Scorn.
Unknown the Cause; whether the Air supply'd
With tainted Particles the Vital Tide;
Or the containing Womb the Venom bred,
And it's own Shame the vicious Stamen fed.
'Tis certain Beauty then but thinly grew,
Few were the charming Wives, the comely Husbands few.
First, If the Ram, Europa's Bearer rise
And with his fiery Fleece infest the Skies,
When bound in strict Embrace the Couple meet,
When the warm Fluid glows with fruitful Heat,
The Wife that Reckons from that Luckless date,
Shall view an Offspring she her self will Hate.
That Product shall Disgrace his Parent's Bed,
With lank Crane-Neck, and spiral length of Head:
His Legs un-pair'd, of disproportion'd Size,
A stupid leaden Look, and downcast Eyes;
Thick Scales shall plaite his Skin, and arm his Hand
Or horrent with a furrow'd Roughness stand,
O'er his broad Shoulders, and Athletic make,
Bright silver Locks in wanton curles shall shake,
That ill-match'd Beauty, hideous to the Sight,
Will more Deform the Monster-finish'd Wight.
But chief, if Mars shall then infect the Earth,
Or Saturn envious Glance upon his Birth;
For they are Foes to Beauty, and Disarm
Each graceful Member of each killing Charm,
Nor leave one single Feature of Esteem,
That can from Scorn the wretched Mass redeem.
Nor more the Bull adorns, or fiercer Eye
That dart his Beams obliquely from the Sky,
Ye too, ye Pleiades destructive shine,
And marr the Beauties of a lovely Line;
Your selves tho' Brightest in th'Ætherial Plains,
Tho' ev'ry Face fair Pleione retains,
And in each Daughter-Star the lovely Mother reigns;
Yet ah! No Joy arises from your Sway,
If Cynthia Blend not her ore'ruling Ray;
She Forms the waxen Arms, the Limbs refines,
By her the Skin, a polish'd Surface shines,
And Beauty follows as she draws the Lines.
Ah! How unlike do Cancer's Beams succeed!
How shoot they Adverse, and corrupt the Breed!
The foul Aselli in his Sphere he draws,
And fierce Unclenches his extended Claws;
By him the Limbs mishap'd, the Strain is crost,
The Eyes are almost in their Socket lost;
The Teeth discolour'd with a loathsom Jett,
Or widely Gaping, or uneven Set;
Tumours appear, the Back-Bone bow'd within,
Upheaves the Chest to meet the hanging Chin;
The huddl'd Piece to Pigmy-size is ty'd,
And the lank Arms hang dangling by the Side.
See! Next, the great Alcides Trophy rise,
The fiery Lion raging in the Skies;
His Pow'r in yellow Locks is seen exprest,
In flashing Eyes, and ample Width of Chest,
In large and brawny Limbs, in Feature bold,
And Stature of a tall Gigantic Mould.
From him can ought or kind or lovesom flow,
The Terror of Athenian Swains below?
'Till Hercules advanc'd and sav'd the Land,
A Conquest worthy of the Hero's Hand.
So fierce his Rage, that My serener Reign
Can scarce the Fury of his Beams restrain;
And when abated by these milder Heats,
The Lion still obtains, and sullenly retreats.
Then Virgo, fairest Star, exerts her Light,
And kind Astrea, Patroness of Right,
Her Refuge Heav'n, when scar'd by brutal Rage,
She fled the bloody World, and Iron Age;
Fast by her Side observe the Spike dispence
Her friendly Beams, and shine in Innocence;
Not Jove himself a purer Flame bestows,
Or on the Womb with kinder Lustre glows;
Then shall kind Virgo bless thy promis'd Breed,
And cherish safe the Vegetative Seed,
Harmonious Shapes, and Airs serenely mild,
And Looks of Love shall beautify the Child.
From rising Libra equal Beauty glides,
Since Venus there eternally resides;
There is her Throne, the Graces there appear,
Join with their Queen, and wanton in the Sphere
The Goddess hence the new-born Infant arms,
And Male and Female glitter in her Charms.
Yet Saturn often with a spiteful Gleam
Rebates the Brightness of her purer Beam;
His Rays o'er other Parts the Reign assume,
And deep encloud them with a dusky Gloom;
But Venus still more prevalently bright,
Breaks thro' the sullen Horror of his Light,
Preserves the Face, and Silvers it with White.
But who can Scorpio's foul Impression view,
The sordid Features, and the sickly Hue?
He fatally unfurls his pois'nous Folds,
And half the Firmament encompast holds;
Red Hair and little Eyes attend his Fates,
The Legs he lengthens, and the Feet dilates;
Such odious Forms the Monster's Birth betray,
Sprung from rude Principles of slimy Clay.
The Centaur scatters not so much Disgrace,
Nor will so sure the forming Limbs debase;
Chiron, who once the great Achilles sway'd,
The Tutor nodded, and the Youth obey'd;
But now that Heav'n he graces, which before
He taught unknowing Mortals to adore.
For if above the parting Waves he show
His Head, or Shoulders, or his Cretan Bow,
The happy Star agreeing Traces leaves,
And blesses ev'ry Womb which then conceives.
But if he drag the Horses Tail behind,
The brutal part prevails, and proves unkind.
Too well the shaggy Goat's dull Flame is known,
Whom grisly Saturn's dire Dominions own:
The Child shall prove, beneath their Aspects got,
From Head to Foot one universal Blot.
Fruitful the Drops from Hyla's Pitcher flow,
And cheer the corresponding Womb below;
The smiling Boy in his Effects is shown,
In lovely Charms, and Beauties like his own.
The briny Fishes last compleat the Round,
Thin Humours there, and watry Parts abound;
Small Heads and puny Arms on them depend,
And Shapes which in distorted Postures bend;
Their Size to Dwarfish Littleness confin'd,
Seems an imperfect Model of Mankind.
Why should I show the moving Planets Foes,
Or Star to Star, and Sign to Sign oppose?
In Quadrate how destructive they combine,
Friendly in Sextile, and Harmonious Trine?
Happy, if Venus, or thou, Father Jove,
Temper their Influence, and in Concert move;
Then quick the Principles of Being shoot,
And bloom, and ripen into lovely Fruit.
The Seasons too observ'd of sov'reign Use,
Much to a beauteous Progeny conduce;
Of all, the Spring-Embraces best succeed,
Productive of the strongest, sanguin Breed.
Then Nature kindly animates the Earth,
And quickens with an universal Birth;
The Air impregnated with fruitful Rays,
Reviving Force and genial Warmth conveys.
But Summer-Heats the flowing Bile inflame,
And prey too fiercely on the vital Frame;
The Strength still wasting as the Spirits fly,
Defrauded Nature wants a due Supply.
Nor less will Autumn's sickly Turns impair,
Nor the rough raging of a Wintry Air.
Thus Man misled by Ignorance or Lust,
Is to his Kind, and to himself unjust;
Of Choice regardless, he disdains to know
What Stars above, what Seasons here below,
In Love's soft Battles most successful are,
And surest mark the future Offspring Fair.
Apollo's Speech the heav'nly Congress moves,
And Jove with a superiour Nod approves;
The Muse by his Command the Rules receives,
And deep engraves them in eternal Leaves.
In Pindus long the Treasure lay unknown,
Till She, who makes my sacred Song her own,
These Laws before from mortal Eyes conceal'd,
Urania to her Favourite Bard reveal'd.
Then you, who would a Father's Honour claim,
And hear with Joy the soft endearing Name;
Who would bright Patterns of your kind convey,
In Them reviving, as your Selves decay;
Observe exact the Season and the Hour,
In which each rising Sign exerts its Pow'r;
Attend if Saturn, or the God of War,
Or Jupiter o'er-rule th'inferiour Star;
Whether the Sun on Venus darts his Fires,
Or with the Moon or Mercury conspires.
Start not, ye Fair, nor from my Verse retreat,
Thinking the Study of the Science great;
For all these mighty Volumes of the Sky,
Explain'd in short, and easy Tables lie;
Fear not to read these Precepts, which so well
Each Annual common Kalendar can tell.
This gen'ral Rule apply to ev'ry Case,
In twice twelve Hours, the whole Ætherial Space
Turns round from East to West, and finishes its Race.
Such Choice there is, when you incline to kiss,
That you can never want a Sign for Bliss:
Nor is it only proper to impart
How far the heav'nly System suits our Art,
And how the nicest Time of Joy to chuse,
Still hear, ye Husbands, my instructive Muse.
“Press not your Wives tho' heighth'ned Lust incite
“The Soul to try the pleasurable Fight,
“While the Blood Monthly rushing from the Veins,
“The flowing Womb with foul Pollution stains.
For then the Seed unfructifying lies,
Or downward with the blended Torrent flies,
And in the common Mass of Nature dies;
Vain are thy Hopes, thy Punishment is just,
And Childless thou shalt mourn thy forward Lust.
So the Grain scatter'd by the careless Clown,
While frequent Show'rs the moisten'd Furrows drown,
Will no Increase, no Golden Harvest yield,
To load the Barn, and beautify the Field.
But if by Chance the Seeds concurring fix,
And with th'impurer Dross of Nature mix,
What a detested, miscreated Thing,
From such ill-suited Principles must spring?
Foul Leprous Spots shall with his Birth begin,
Spread o'er his Body, and encrust his Skin;
For the same Poison which that Stream contains,
Transfer'd affects the forming Infant's Veins,
Inbred it fixes deep, and radically reigns.
For Nature's common Bosom nothing breeds,
That this malignant Female Filth exceeds;
Let this infect the tender nursling Vine,
Its Beauty withers, and its Arms recline;
On Corn, or blooming Buds the Venom cast,
They fade, as at the Lightning's fatal Blast;
Lick'd by the Dog it proves his certain Bain,
And heats to giddy Whirls his madding Brain.
Ye Husbands then such foul Embraces fly,
And tho' provok'd the nauseous Bliss deny;
Let Nature for a clean Receiver stay,
The Fruit will well reward thy wise Delay.
“Ye too, fond Wives, who in Excess of Joy
“Snatch at the Bliss, and Heat, and Strength employ,
“Be modest; nor to show the Woman's Force,
“Disgrace the Sex, and spoil the Genial Course.
The rude Concussion of such frequent Strokes
Too much the desultory Womb provokes;
And thus the vital Tide is backward cast
Through the same Channels, which before it pass'd.
But if the Womb the fruitful Seed retains,
Compute the worthless Product of thy Pains;
The shatter'd Fluid toss'd from Side to Side,
Will strain the Fœtus, and the Parts divide;
The Threads spun out to an unsinew'd Length,
Nor active Spring shall boast, nor manly Strength.
Forgive me, Nymphs, if by my Subject led
Thro' ev'ry winding Turn, and mazy Thread,
I follow Nature to her Fountain-Head.
As I describe, let the pursuing Eye
The Form and Fashion of the Womb descry.
Beneath those Parts, where stretching to its Bound,
The low Abdomen girds the Belly round,
The Shop of Nature lies; a vacant Space
Of small Circumference divides the Place,
Pear-like the Shape; within a Membrane spreads
Her various Texture of Mæandrous Threads;
These draw the Vessels to a pursy State,
And or contract their Substance, or dilate.
Here Veins, Nerves, Arteries in Pairs declare
How nobler Parts deserve a double Care;
They from the Mass the Blood and Spirits drain,
That irrigate profuse the thirsty Plain;
The Bottom of the Womb 'tis call'd; the Sides are cleft,
By Cells distinguish'd into Right and Left.
'Tis thought that Females in the Left prevail,
And that the Right contains the sprightly Male.
A Passage here in Form oblong extends,
Where fast compress'd the stiffen'd Nerve ascends,
And the warm Fluid with concurring Fluids blends.
The Sages this the Womb's Neck justly name;
Within the Hollow of its inward Frame,
Join'd to the Parts, a small Protub'rance grows,
Whose rising Lips the deep Recesses close.
For while the Tiller all his Strength collects,
While Hope anticipates the fair Effects,
The lubricated Parts their Station leave,
And closely to the working Engine cleave;
Each Vessel stretches, and distending wide,
The greedy Womb attracts the glowing Tide,
And either Sex commix'd, the Streams united glide.
But now the Womb relax'd, with pleasing Pain
Gently subsides into it self again;
The Seed moves with it, and thus clos'd within
The tender Drops of Entity begin.
What Joy the Fibres of the Stomach feel,
Long pinch'd with Hunger, at a grateful Meal,
Such tickling Pleasure thro' the Womb is sent,
When first the Particles of Life ferment.
This easy Picture of the Parts explains,
How frequent Motion no effect obtains;
The Seed and Pleasure lost in eager Strife,
A useful Lesson to the forward Wife.
Most Parents Wishes in one Channel run,
Most think they are not blest without a Son,
Let such attentive my Prescriptions read,
That teach to propagate the manly Breed.
Nor do I partial to their Vows incline,
Since Males support the Titles of the Line,
And in their Ancestors transmissive Glory shine.
Tho' some to Satire form'd, and born to vex,
Dare impiously prophane the softer Sex,
As Nature careless from her Purpose stray'd,
And puny Girls by Accident were made;
By this Mistake her Operation lame,
Unwillingly she huddled up the Frame,
And thence the lovely, charming monstrous Creature came.
But better Judges scorn this idle Dream,
And still shall Beauty hold its due Esteem,
Man still shall praise, and Woman be the Theme.
But yet we must our destin'd Task pursue,
And tell what Precepts for a Male are due;
That a long Race of future Sons may claim
The mighty, venerable, Regal Name,
And Honours which on Princely Lines attend,
From Son to Son successively descend.
Willing I follow where the Muse invites
Declining Venus more mysterious Rites.
Next sing we how the Fœtus first is wrought,
By rip'ning Time to due Dimensions brought
And Man appears a perfect Master-Draught.

Book the Third.

Now the sure Tokens of Conception heed:
A thrilling Joy attends th'ejected Seed;
Th'impetuous Sally of a pleasing Pain
Invades the Nerves, and stretches ev'ry Vein.
The Months retain'd, the Womb begins to close,
And from the swelling Breasts a milky Fountain flows.
Then, marry'd Nymphs, imploy your nicest Care;
If like your selves you wish an Offspring fair.
Neglect do's oft the hopeful Bud destroy,
And blasts the Promise of a comely Boy.
But since kind Nature has to me display'd
Those sweet Recesses where Mankind is made:
Ye pregnant Matrons, who design to shun
Those Rocks on which some careless Wives have run,
Mark me your Pilot: If you ask a Race
Of a hale Body and a beauteous Face,
(The Product of a pure prolific Juice;)
Observe the Lessons of th'instructive Muse.
But you chast Sisters of th'Aonian Throng,
Who with new Graces have adorn'd my Song;
Forgive your Poet, nor his Numbers blame,
If they too often sound the Cyprian Name.
Venus no more with a Lascivious Smile
Shall Taint my Verse, and Blot my chaster Stile.
At Paphos let the Harlot Goddess stay,
While modest Wives abhor her wanton Way,
Nor soil the Beauties of their first Essay.
For if the Womb then Glow with Lustful Fire,
And, ev'n tho' Pregnant, rage with fresh Desire;
Some shapeless Creature will perhaps proceed
From the ill-tim'd Embrace, and mar the Breed.
Or a too violent Motion may bring forth
A half-begotten, or abortive Birth.
As in the youthful Spring we often see
The flowry Blossoms on some blooming Tree
Which promises delicious Fruit, and keeps
The Sanguine Cherry for the Lady's Lips.
But if some Wind, or ruder Clown shall shake
The hopeful Boughs, or tender Branches break,
The Longings of the Teeming Wife are crost,
And all the early Hopes of Summer lost.
Ye Husbands then, if Prudence guides, forbear
Your dang'rous Kisses to the breeding Fair.
Enough is paid to Love's indearing Charms,
And fatal now becomes the Circle of your Arms.
Lascivious Goats and Wolves, by Nature wise,
When big with Young, the vigorous Leap despise.
Here should I sing what necessary Food
Suits with the pregnant Dame, and forms a gen'rous Brood;
But I omit: Let Sammarthanus tell,
Who on that Subject has prescrib'd so well.
Soon as the Fœtus to the Womb is join'd,
And founds a Temple for th'Immortal Mind.
‘Beware, ye Matrons, how with Vapours prest,
‘You form fantastic Visions in your Breast.
‘Guard well your Eyes from Monsters, and beware
‘No Æsop or Thersites enter there,
‘But all diverting Sights, but Pleasing all and Fair.
For when the Work of Generation grows,
And from the Brain a subtle Spirit flows,
Which mingling in the Womb with genial Heat,
Does there the fructifying Humour meet,
With arbitrary Power it stamps it there,
And binds th'obedient Mass the Form impos'd to wear.
But then this Power is often apt to err,
And oft imprints a harsh rude Character.
So have I seen the Baker's Hand bestow
All sorts of Figures on the kneaded Dough.
In Beasts, in Birds, in Men the Paste is drest,
And in ten thousand Shapes adorns the various Feast.
Thus Fancy does the pliant Fœtus wind,
Thus makes Impressions on the feeble Mind.
Nor are these Notions fanciful and vain,
No wild Chimæra's of some Modern Brain;
But the just Lessons of an ancient Age,
By Plutarch taught of old, and many a learned Sage:
Who knows not, Chiron, how th'afflicted Earth
Curst thy half-monstrous, and half-human Birth.
When Phillyra had fir'd old Saturn's Blood,
And his chill Veins swell'd with a warmer Flood:
A second Youth return'd, The impatient Sire
Goaded with Lust, and raving with Desire,
For the bright Virgin spreads each subtle Snare,
Tries every Art, to win the tender Fair:
Her, with the Blue-ey'd Nereids in her Train,
By chance disporting on her native Plain,
The Heav'nly Letcher seiz'd: and bore away
To lonesome, shady Groves, the beauteous Prey.
What Sighs! what Groans she sent! what Tears she shed
For her Fame lost, and spotless Honour fled!
With piercing Shrieks she mov'd the neighb'ring Shore,
And ecchoing Rocks around were heard to roar:
While with unequal Strength the Nymph withstood
The rank Embraces of the shaggy God.
But the Great Mother with Resentment saw
The faithless Breach of Matrimonial Law;
And from above descended to destroy
Th'adult'rous Kisses, and dishonest Joy.
The Goatish God his jealous Wife to 'scape,
Drop'd his own Form; and in a Horse's Shape,
With fearful Voice thro' the thick Forest neigh'd:
While to sad Plaints, beneath some Poplar Shade,
Resign'd the hapless and deserted Maid.
There injur'd she laments her cruel Doom,
And the lost Honours of her Virgin-Bloom.
Mean time what beauteous Progeny could rise
From so deform'd a Cause, and soul Disguise?
Fancy improves the Objects of the Sight,
And takes more strong Impressions from a Fright.
Now were her thrice three tedious Months expir'd,
And Nature to discharge the full-grown Babe desir'd.
When an unheard of Prodigy befell;
(How my Heart shudders, and recoils to tell!)
Lo! from her Womb a horrid Form appears,
With Human Face erect, and shaggy Hairs,
With horny Hoofs, and Saddle-back the Half-Beast Infant scares.
Who can express what Terrour and Surprize
Seiz'd on the Mother Nymph, and swell'd her Eyes?
When the new Monster, ignominious Brood!
Call'd to her flushing Face the conscious Blood.
Say, ye mild Nereids, who from Ocean came,
How much you suffer'd for your Sister's Shame?
How, when wrong'd Phillyra began to pine,
Your gushing Tears increas'd your native Brine?
How sighing Winds, and wailing Waters moan'd,
And pitying Caves, reverberating, groan'd.
And was I born for this, she cry'd, to see
A Progeny so vile arise from me?
Ill the Great Father of the Gods repays
My Loss of Honour with a Birth so base.
Be witness for me, all ye Powers Divine!
If I have Sin'd, it is no Fault of mine.
O chast Lucina, wou'd thy angry Dart
In my first painful Throws had pierc'd my Heart!
Or wou'd some inauspicious Star had shed
Malignant Beams on my devoted Head!
Better I ne'er had seen th'unwelcome Light
Of hated Day, than this more hated Sight.
Wou'd I—but here a Tyde of Anguish sprung
Loose on her faultring Lips, and choak'd her Tongue.
More had she said: But sunk upon the Place;
While a cold Sweat stuck on her clammy Face;
Her Rosy Colour fled, and every blooming Grace.
Her frighted Sisters to her Aid repair,
Their Love expressing by their timely Care,
And Rich Electral Spirits instantly prepare:
These Father Ocean from his Bosom throws,
To rouze the drooping Soul, when sunk with Woes.
Which, mixt with Cordial Juice, remove the Smart
Of anxious Minds, and chear the drooping Heart.
To Life return'd, the Nymph again complains,
To Grief recover'd and restor'd to Pains.
Oft was she heard to curse the joyless Light,
And wish her Shame hid in eternal Night.
Till stealing through her Limbs, a gentle Sleep
Does in soft Chains her wearied Body keep.
With various Figures of a pleasing Kind,
Her Brain refreshes, and regales her Mind.
But, as in sweet Repose she slumbring lay,
Fatigu'd with the sad Business of the Day;
An airy Nymph appear'd, whose splendid Show
Out-shone the Colours of Heav'n's gaudy Bow.
Phantasia hight, who, with lascivious Pride,
By Twin Camelions drawn, does gaily ride.
Sometimes her Pygmy Littleness Delights,
And sometimes her Gygantic Stature frights.
Now like the Day she shines with silver Rays,
Now a black Night deforms her sooty Face.
Round her all Natures various Species stand,
And follow her unlimited Command.
A Sea rowls on with harmless Fury here,
Strait 'tis a Field, and Trees and Herbs appear.
Here in a Moment are vast Armies made,
And a quick Scene of War and Blood display'd.
At last from different Forms Phantasia took
A chearful Air, and with a jocund Look,
In Words like these the sleeping Fair bespoke.
Enough of Tears: O Phillyra, forbear
To vex thy lovely Cheeks, and golden Hair.
Dry up those Eyes, from which alone proceed
Thy numerous Woes, and this unnatural Breed.
Oft have they figur'd Saturn to your Brain,
With hideous Neighings, and a spreading Main;
And oft have I (who all Complexions shew,
And paint all Species to th'internal View)
His hairy Limbs Thee meditating seen,
And dwelling on his Form with pensive Mien.
When, rustling thro' the Wood, with winged Hoof
He flew amain, to shun his injur'd Wife's Reproof.
And Thee, deflower'd, to thy Woes resign'd,
Revolving his foul Image in thy Mind;
Whence to a Human Head, a Horse's Back was join'd.
But if, when pregnant, thou hadst thought aright,
Nor forc'd me to depaint this odious Sight:
A pure, unblended Offspring had been Thine,
With Heav'nly Beauty grac'd, and Shape Divine.
Yet, hapless Nymph, to mitigate Thy Smart,
And ease with Comfort Thy afflicted Heart:
Not wholly lost to Hope, enjoy Thy Woe;
Oft from black Clouds the Beams of Phœbus flow,
And oft reviving Joys from past Misfortunes grow.
Hear then, what I, prescious of coming Fate,
Nor always feigning idle Dreams, relate.
Thy present Sorrows, this prodigious Boy
Shall largely recompence with future Joy.
When, in the full Maturity of Age,
His prudent Hand shall write Life's manly Page;
Then shall his vast, surprizing Genius shine,
All Eyes amazing, as his Birth does Thine.
He shall the Level of Mankind disdain,
And speak and think above a Human Strain.
His searching Mind shall Nature's Wealth explore
Her inmost Rooms, and undiscover'd Store.
Of Earth and Ocean shall the Secrets know,
Of Plants and Herbs, and for what Use they grow,
Of Metals, Gems, and all the living World below.
Nor thus contented with a narrow Flight,
From the scorn'd Globe shall soar, and lessening to the Sight,
Shall Heav'n's bright Volumes read, and scan each starry Light.
Nor shall his hairy Hyde, and Shape so foul,
Disgrace his lofty and sagacious Soul.
Thetis, the Seed of Nereus, shall prepare
Her own Achilles for thy Offspring's Care.
His Skill the youthful Hero shall inspire
To rule the fiery Steed, and touch the tuneful Lyre.
His martial Pupil shall his Youth imploy
In Arms, and, when betray'd to War, destroy
Dardanian Towers, and Priam's lofty Troy.
Then, when thy Chiron's mortal half shall die,
His Soul shall mount aloft, and sparkle in the Sky.
She said, and strait dissolv'd to empty Air,
Her Phantoms with her fled, and left the waking Fair.
She now reliev'd, from her tormenting Pains,
Feels a new Life rekindle in her Veins.
Her lazy Blood flows with a brisker Stream,
Her Strength recover'd by the pleasing Dream,
Whose healthy Joys her better Mind restore,
Her Heart, which ruffling Storms had vex'd before,
Is all a gentle Calm, tumultuous now no more.
Wak'd from deep Thinking, she begins to find
Light to her Eyes, and Comfort to her Mind.
But since an Object, which disturb'd her Sight,
Produc'd this length of Woes, and sad affright:
Her Eyes no more Survey the monstrous Whale,
With spouting Jaws, and huge extended Tail.
The slimy Phocæ, basking on the Shore,
Or sailing on the Deep, delight no more.
The wanton Dolphins now her Senses shock,
And various Proteus with his scaly Flock;
Or bloated Tritons, who, with ratling sound
Of Coral, shake the wat'ry World around.
Taught by Experience of her past Disgrace,
She shuns the Converse of the Finny Race.
None but Bright Objects, her peculiar Care;
Young Blooming Nereids her Companions are,
Sea-born, like Venus, and like Venus, fair.
If then, ye Matrons, who Conceive, design
A future Offspring, which may grace your Line:
Let not your Fancy at all Objects fly,
But keep strict Reins upon your roving Eye.
Shun every Thing which Shocks your Sense, and View
Ingenuous Looks alone of shining Hew.
If for a Boy with comely Face you long,
See the Bright God, who from Latona sprung,
Apollo, ever Fair, and ever Young.
Or view Alexis, whom the Mantuan Swain
Pursu'd with fruitless Love, and mournful Strain.
But, if a Progeny of Female Race,
With unresisted Charms, and lovely Grace,
Delight you more: the Paphian Goddess view,
Such as the Pencil of fam'd Titian drew:
Or Danae's alluring Looks behold,
While Genial Jove descends in Liquid Gold.
Or if a Beauty of the Modern Age
Shall your Attention and Delight engage;
To my fair Phyllis let your Eyes incline;
For fair She was, or such She seem'd to mine.
When Her unhappy Love my Heart possest,
And scorch'd with furious Flames my burning Breast.
O, with what Bloom, what Flower of Youth, she shone!
How Her Cheeks blush'd a Colour, all Her own,
A genuine Red, like Roses newly blown!
What Nymph with Phyllis could pretend to vie,
A whiter Forehead, or a livelier Eye?
Whose Frame was, like the World: An eloquent Soul
Spoke in each Part, and sparkl'd thro' the Whole.
Each Limb did wanton Loves and Graces bear;
There lodg'd their Arms, their Bows and Arrows there.
But oh! On what imperceptible Strings
Depends th'inconstant Fate of Human Things!
That Face, in which the Gods might take delight,
Is now grown hideous, and forbids the Sight.
With cruel Scythe, inexorable Time,
Mows down her Youthly Bloom, and Beauty's Prime.
Now wrinkly Age begins to draw his Plow
On that once-Smooth, once-Snowy, spacious Brow.
Now, where her Teeth took up their Ivory seat,
Is all an empty Space, or Scene of Jet.
Her Head, which once with golden Tresses shone,
Is silver'd o'er with Hairs but thinly sown:
And now the Flame, which on my Marrow prey'd,
Begins to languish; and the Heat's decay'd.
Phyllis no more can now her Charms employ,
But damps Desire, and frights the Cyprian Boy.
Deform'd, she cures the Wound her Beauty gave,
And She, whose Eyes could kill me, now can save.
Since then the Honours of her Face are lost,
Shun her, ye Pregnant, as a living Ghost.
Lest with her sight your Fancy be defil'd,
And fix her horrid Image on the coming Child.
And now let Chariclæa's Birth be sung,
Who from an Æthiopian Mother sprung.
Her sooty Sire was stounded at the sight,
With all his swarthy Lords, in deep affright,
To see the new-born Babe deform'd with milky white.
For as Persina cherish'd in her Womb
The growing Fœtus, in the Royal room
The Picture of Andromeda was seen,
Painted with snowy Brow, and comly Mien.
Which while the Mother with a greedy view
Intent devour'd, White Images she drew.
From whence a Birth of unknown Whiteness came,
A Colour, devious from the Royal Stem.
But who can any Cure or Comfort bring,
Where Jealousie has stuck her pois'nous sting?
Th'afflicted Monarch, thinks his Bed defil'd,
And wreaks his Malice on the harmless Child.
Th'unknowing tender Babe is now resign'd
To raging Billows, and each boist'rous Wind.
From Dangers to repeated Dangers tost,
To all, but Providence's Favour, lost:
What shapes of Death she saw! what Hazards bore!
Pursu'd where'er she flies, to Sea and Shore,
By angry Tempests, but a Father more.
Till learn'd Sisimethres, in Nature skill'd,
A sage Gymnosophist, the Cause reveal'd.
From whence that strange degenerate Colour rose,
Which soil'd with White th'unhappy Daughter's Brows.
How some fair Object of a sim'lar kind
Work'd on her pregnant Mother's longing Mind.
The King was pleas'd with his convincing Sense,
Which vindicated injur'd Innocence.
But tho', O Meroe's Priest, you reason right,
That such an Object, working on the sight,
Stamp'd this Complexion on the Virgin's Face,
New, and abhorring from her Father's Race:
Yet, since you leave us in the dark to know
How Images, which on our Vision flow,
Are with such Force indu'd, and Power so strange,
Sufficient to produce this wondrous Change;
This my inquiring Muse presumes to tell,
And solve mysterious Nature's Miracle!
Nor am I chain'd to Aristotle's Rules,
So often prated in the wrangling Schools.
To me his vain Opinions dark appear,
And want a stronger Light to make them clear.
Me, Epicurus, in thy Walks admit,
To raise my Fancy, and improve my Wit.
The purest Knowledge in Thy Garden Springs,
In that, the hidden Principles of Things.
Thence will I take my Flight and numerous Strain,
And fear no Errour in a Path so plain.
Our own Gassendus shall direct my View,
For the Terraqueous Globe is his Purlieu.
He chases Nature, wheresoe'er she Flies,
O'er Earth and Seas, in Air or Starry Skies.
In vain Her Swiftness would assist the Dame,
Hot in pursuit of Wisdom, and of Fame,
His penetrating Mind o'ertakes the Noble Game.
FIRST, look around: Whatever meets your Eye,
In the wide Universe of Earth and Sky,
Scatters small Atoms in the ambient Air,
Scal'd from each Body, and Whirl'd here and there
In a continual Fluor: These we call
The Elements of Things which form'd this All
These, with Swift violent Motion, wander o'er
Each Sense, and penetrate the smallest Pore.
But think not here, by these continual Flows,
That a Corporeal Object lesser Grows;
For that Deficiency, and quick Decrease,
Of Subtile Bodies, is supply'd with Ease:
A new Accession does the want repay,
With Atoms Subtile and as fine as They.
These Images are so concise and fine,
That were it possible for you to joyn,
And heap together, all which in the Air
Have fluctuated for a hundred Year,
They scaree would by the naked Eye be read,
Or Spin a little Spider's smallest Thread.
Nor do they less out-strip in rapid Flight,
The darting Sun-Beams, and the nimble Light,
And the swift Planets of th'Æthereal World;
With such a strong Velocity they're hurl'd.
Those which from fair and comely Objects fly,
By their own Smoothness please th'affected Eye:
Thro' the Sight's Pores round little Globules steal,
And the charm'd Senses a strange Pleasure feel.
With secret Joy the Soul it self is seiz'd,
And with th'agreeable Idolum pleas'd.
Which wand'ring from the Eyes by Ways unknown,
O'er the soft Bowels and warm Heart is thrown,
And ming'ling in the Womb the fair Idea's sown.
By which kind Nature models her Design;
With forming Hand she Works each beauteous Line,
And all delightsom Things in the Composure joyn.
But if th'Idola from foul Figures rise,
Their roughness Shocks the Soul, and Wounds the Eyes.
And, as with Spears, which grow from bladed Corn,
Invade the Mind, and make the Senses mourn.
Whence strange Dislike surprizes every Part,
And fills with Horrour the recoiling Heart;
Which, thus Contract, does th'ill-form'd Image throw
Into the Womb, and there th'unpleasing Figure sow.
By which Direction, Nature shapes her Aim,
Distorts the Limbs, or does the Piece Defame
With Features most Deform'd; the weeping Mother's Shame.
And, as we often by Experience find,
If a vile Body cloth as vile a Mind,
The World, which by the Looks does Actions scan,
Will in the Child condemn the future Man.
Nor wonder, that the Fœtus should become,
So pliant to Impressions in the Womb;
And yet the Mother should untouch'd escape,
Retain her Beauty still, and comely Shape.
For, as young Fruits, which on the Tree depend,
Maturing, may the loaded Branches bend,
Yet are no equal Combat to repell
The Shocks of roaring Winds, and ratling Hail:
Nor can the Buffets of a Storm defy,
Like the tough Trunk, which dares the angry Sky.
So soft the Fœtus, can so quickly feel,
Obnoxious to receive the slightest Ill.
'Tis certain then, this Image does remain,
For Nine Months space, deep rooted in the Brain:
And this alone does frequently Controul
The beauteous Labour of the forming Soul.
True: Nature, entring on her just Design
To build an Human Frame; a Work Divine:
After long Study, does at last begin
To Weave the Bowels of the Mass within.
And then to Knit the various Limbs proceeds,
And with first Blood the recent Vessels feeds.
Her next peculiar Care is, to supply
With Flesh, the well-join'd Arm, and sinewy Thigh.
Last, with th'extended Skin's becoming Grace,
She spreads the Forehead, and adorns the Face.
Now well secure your Thoughts, nor look too near,
Or steddily, on what may Cost you dear;
For, you may, dissonant Impressions take,
From Nature's Law, and mar the beauteous Make.
Nor is 't enough to Sooth your longing Sight
With only what Affects you with Delight;
Or from uncouth, unsightly Things to run,
You must immoderate, frequent Dancings shun.
And take peculiar Caution how you move
Too Violent, when you first Conception prove:
Or when the Embryo, lab'ring to break forth,
Shall give sure Promise of th'approaching Birth.
For at both Times, the Fœtus in suspence,
Cleaves to the Womb by slender Ligaments.
And, if a Matron, who would fain excell,
For a light nimble Heel, and Dancing well;
Shall at such Time, delight to throw around
Her spreading Arms, and Skim along the Ground,
She's justly Punish'd, if from thence proceed,
Or an Untimely, or mishapen Breed.
As a young teeming Nymph, who, by a Strain
In Dancing, struggled with a wrecking Pain;
Sent for the Coan Sage, (than whom was found
None more in the Chironian Art renown'd)
Who told her, whence she was so sadly crost,
And the first Promise of an Offspring lost;
How too much Motion, and too violent Speed,
Had kill'd the Product of th'enliv'ning Seed;
When the Formation was but just begun,
And the thin Thread of Life but newly Spun.
So, if a Matron, Eight Months gone with Child,
Dance, like a Bacchanalian, loose, and wild,
She surely brings the Birth before the Time,
And dearly Suffers for her foolish Crime.
What Man can then endure th'undecent Sight,
Who, at a Ball, on some Rejoycing Night,
A pregnant Lady in the Dance beholds,
And mutual Arms lock'd in alternate Folds?
Yet tho' my Muse the breeding Fair would fright
From those Diversions, which her Sex delight,
She should not therefore to Inaction lean,
But follow Reason, and her Golden Mean.
For both Extremities alike displease,
Immoderate Motion, or immoderate Ease.
Sloth, with gross Humours, loads the racy Blood,
And choaks the Passage of the vital Flood;
That sprightly Virtue and ingenit Heat,
Which should the Fœtus in just Form complete,
Opprest by Inactivity, retire,
Unable to exert their generous Fire.
But well-us'd Exercise will chear the Mind,
And free the Spirits, which have slept confin'd
Beneath a sluggish Heap of misty Fumes,
Till the Soul wakes, and all her Native warmth resumes.
Hence the young Pris'ner in the Womb transpires
With greater Freedom, and sound Health acquires
Well-limb'd and Hale, when stranger to the Day
On the World's Stage he makes Life's first Essay.
But what Diversion, by the Rules of Art,
What gentle Labour will the Muse impart,
The Joynts to supple, and inlarge the Heart?
Whether, to slacken and unbend her Care,
The pregnant Matron to the Fields repair,
In Coach, or open Chaise, imbibe the Morning Air.
Where chiefly the tall Elms in shady Rows,
Nor to bleak Winds nor burning Suns expose.
Where silver Sequana's indulgent Tyde
Does Paris with his glassy Streams divide,
Inriching, as he flows, each thirsty Meadow's Side.
O! with what secret Joy the Heartstrings Dance,
To see the blooming Youth, and Flow'r of France,
In sparkling Numbers o'er the Park advance.
To taste new Pleasures, and new Pleasures bring,
When on the Plain the winged Coursers spring,
And flying Chariots kindle in the Ring.
Here a young Lord of wond'rous Hopes behold,
Drawn in a splendid Coach, adorn'd with Gold.
His Garb all killing, and each Gem a Dart
Which finds a Passage to the Lady's Heart.
Down on his Ivory Neck the flowing Hair,
And silver Plumes, which nod and sport in Air,
Command the Passion, and ingage the Fair.
There shines a Nymph, of more than Human Race,
With genuine Beauty, and unborrow'd Grace,
And flashes, as she flies, in each Admirer's Face.
Her Eyes all Flaming, and her rising Breast
Courting the Hand, and suing to be prest.
Her, the pleas'd Lover, prostrately, adores,
And to the Goddess his best Wishes pours.
She with a Smile his Compliment returns,
And cools the fev'rish Flame, with which he burns.
Becoming pleasurable Sights, like these,
Will sooth the Senses, and the Pregnant please;
But when bent homeward ev'ry Coach retires,
And the Diversion with the Day expires,
Then each Automedon, with furious Speed,
Drives on the kindling Wheels, and Whips the foaming Steed,
Loosens his Reins, and fearing to be Late,
Contends to be the foremost at the Gate.
He pushes forward, eager to displace
His Fellow-Driver in the rapid Race.
Hence the soft Nymph a secret Horrour feels,
From an ungrateful Din of crashing Wheels.
Hence an unlucky Fall unveils to Sight,
What her chaste Garments would conceal from Light;
Misfortune's Crime! The frighted Virgin skrieks,
Mourns her bruis'd Forehead, or her bleeding Cheeks,
Or swelling Eyes, which oft, alas! disgrace
The budding Honours of her injur'd Face.
Therefore, O Pregnant, with a cautious Care,
Those dangerous Strifes and Rivalries beware:
With Pride let others in the Front appear,
Take thou the safe Dishonour of the Rear.
For grant, your Coach unhurt, your Self secure,
Yet where's the Harm in being slow and sure?
Perhaps the Fear of falling will bring forth
A worse Misfortune, an Abortive Birth.
For when the Blood shall with a sudden Start,
Run to the Caverns of the Womb and Heart,
A chilling Fear will all your Hopes defeat,
Whose Icy Flood destroys the forming Heat.
And now the Mother, when her Griefs are done,
Sees her fair Self in a delicious Son.
The lawful Issue of the Nuptial Bed,
Must now be cherish'd, and in Cradle laid.
Here let the careful Nurse, with easie Hand,
Bind round his Waste the Purple Swadling Band.
Lest she Deform the soft and lovely Boy,
And dash th'expecting Parents future Joy.
For, at his Entrance in Life's early Scene,
Too tight a Swathing will Distort his Mien.
And the base World with a malicious Sneer
Will the foul Burthen on his Shoulders jeer.
Besides, if for your Offspring you desire
To keep his Native Elegance entire,
You must with speedy Remedies displace
Those Foes, which oft invade the Childish Race.
Chiefly the Measles and Small Pox beware,
Those Goths and Vandals to the tender Fair.
Which Plant thick Ulcers, and young Beauty blight
With pimpled Sores, ungrateful to the Sight.
Strait for Relief to some Machaon fly,
Lest a foul Scar affect the sparkling Eye,
Or Nose, or rosie Cheek, or dimpled Chin,
Or roughen the smooth Surface of the Skin.
How did Aminta, in her flow'ry Spring,
Shine in the Box, and Sparkle in the Ring?
Who could alas! Her numerous Graces tell,
E're to this Plague a Sacrifice she fell?
What Lillies from her Forehead did it tear,
And kill'd the little Loves which sported there?
Not Cytherea could of late compare
With Galatea's Smiles, and winning Air:
What Hecatombs of Lovers would she Slay,
Till she became this Tyrant's mournful Prey!
Who with Devoted, Sacrilegious Arms,
Rob'd her bright Temple of a thousand Charms,
Her dented Cheeks, where Roses grew before,
And dropping Eyes, distribute Death no more.
Daphnis was once the Beauty of the Plain,
Till this Contagion seiz'd the lovely Swain.
How was He Courted! How the Idol grown,
Of the Fair Sex; and darling of his own!
Daphnis the Breast of each Beholder fir'd,
Daphnis alone the longing Nymphs desir'd;
But now they Pity, whom they once Admir'd.
But this is foreign to the Poet's Art,
This pious Care is the Physician's Part;
Who can endure my Rashness, or Excuse
The bold Presumption of my daring Muse?
Unequal to the Province she resigns
The Charge to Sammarthanus learned Lines.
Nor will she tread where he has gone before,
But stand Aloof, and silently Adore.
If then, ye Matrons, you affect to know
From whence these Spots, the worst of Judgments, flow.
If from a beauteous Face you would remove
Those Stains, which damp the Sparks of kindling Love;
Read what the Rules of Sammarthanus tell,
And hourly on his useful Pages dwell.
Not indigent of Fame, with happy flight,
His Wings have reach'd Parnassus double Height;
All Helicon flows in his Strains Divine,
Rowls with luxuriant Streams in every Line,
While whole Apollo's Beams in his bright Numbers shine.
And now 'tis time to Bait, and kindly Chuse
Some small Refreshment for the breathing Muse:
She, who incourag'd by Phæbean Heat
Soar'd with no vulgar Wing to th'Gods upper Seat,
Who, with disdainful Smile, but now Survey'd
The subject Clouds, and Earth's inferiour Shade,
Now courts soft Quiet, and the pleasing Glade.
But if by Chance the Goddess shall return,
And my warm Breast with a new Phæbus burn,
I may hereafter feel my self inclin'd,
To sing the Nuptials of the beauteous Mind,
And an unblemish'd Soul to a fair Body joyn'd.
For who can bear the foul, forbidding Sight
Of well-born Beauty, warping from the Right,
Prowling with greedy and dishonest Eyes,
For Scenes of Lust, Debauchery, and Vice?
Should Souls, descending from a Heavenly Race,
With low Desires their lofty Birth Disgrace?
But the wild Madness of this Iron Age
Is undeserving of th'instructive Page.
The World has banish'd, as an Idle Name,
The love of Virtue, and the fear of Shame.
'Tis hard among a Thousand now to find
One with incocted Honesty of Mind.
Since France with endless Wars familiar grown,
Adopted Forreign Manners for her own.
Ye Guardian Gods, Distributers of Fate,
Ye watchful Angels of th'Hectorean State!
If e're the Gallic Glory was your Care,
Hold your Commission'd Anger, and forbear,
Remove your Sword, and the griev'd Nation spare!
Hush the loud Trumpets, bid the Drum be Mute,
And Kingdoms listen to the softer Lute.
So golden Peace shall spread her downy Wings,
Arts shall return, the Favourites of Kings,
And Laurels flourish to Reward what the bold Poet sings.

Book the Fourth.

Why must the pensive Muse her Labours cease,
Forget her grateful Toil, and rust in Ease?
Shall Phœbus, in perpetual Slumbers dream,
Heedless of Verse, and a more noble Theme?
Thus far the Song of Love and Pleasure treats,
To bless the Issue of the lawful Sheets,
To form the envy'd Pride of either Sex,
And mould proportion'd Limbs, and paint the Blooming Cheeks:
A greater Task remains to crown the Whole,
The innate Virtues of a spotless Soul.
How lovely are the Graces of the Mind,
With Heav'nly Forms, and youthful Beauty joyn'd!
Thou, Goddess, whom no guilty Passions move,
Sprung from the teeming Brain of chaster Jove,
To whose blest Influence, Mankind below,
Ingenuous Arts, and virtuous Manners owe,
Assist the Song; the Theme is all Divine;
May ev'ry Thought, and ev'ry Word be Thine.
The Muse no more the wanton Lay approves,
Or tells of youthful Toys, and softer Loves:
Warm'd with a brighter Spark of Heav'nly Fire,
She sees the frowning Cupids all retire.
(Fond Joys may please a while, but end in Shame;
A smoaky Stench surrounds the guilty Flame:
The noisom Fires, at best, obscurely burn,
And the gross Fuel will to Ashes turn.)
When first Prometheus did stol'n Life convey,
And warm'd with sacred Fires the moulded Clay,
Man walk'd Erect, with a Majestic Grace,
And Heav'nly Bloom adorn'd his smiling Face:
A Ray Divine, pluck'd from th'immortal Skies,
Shone in his Cheeks, and sparkled in his Eyes.
But soon the Wretch fell from a juster Pride,
Tho' to primæval Light, and Heav'nly Spheres ally'd;
Still querulous, and prone to vain Complaint,
He talks of trifling Ills, and fancy'd Want:
That Heav'n regards his Happiness the least,
More just to Brutes, and kind to ev'ry Beast.
With fruitless Discontent the fond Ingrate
Blasphemes the Gods, and blames indulgent Fate;
And thinks it hard, that Man (the Lord of All)
Should from the warmer Womb, a Naked Infant, crawl.
What, tho' my Mind (says he) with Notions fraught,
Boasts an unlimited Extent of Thought;
And tho' ambitious Hopes, and vast Desires
Confess a Soul ting'd with immortal Fires,
If I must be a rude unfinish'd Sketch,
By Nature form'd, and born a helpless Wretch?
Man, the kind Womb, by Force, unwilling leaves,
And with just Tears th'untimely Exit grieves;
Heav'n no Defence to him, no Cov'ring gives,
And thus the hard, cold Earth the shivering Babe receives.
While the blest Brutes, tho' form'd of courser Mold,
Are not expos'd to Famine, or to Cold;
Less Miseries attend th'ignoble Birth,
Tho' their dull Souls bend down their Looks to Earth,
They by unerring Instinct, all are taught,
Ills to be shun'd, and Pleasures to be sought.
No outward Force the fearless Savage harms,
Bold with his Strength, and fenc'd with Native Arms.
On ev'ry Hide, thick, shaggy Ringlets grow
That dare the Club, and mock the coming Blow.
The vigorous Bull the fierce Assailant scorns,
And paws the Ground, and sets his bending Horns.
The scaly Fish sport in their native Sea,
And thus secur'd, they force the liquid Way.
The Birds on Wings well-pois'd, with emulous Pride,
Race thro' aerial Tracks, and cut the yielding Void.
The pregnant Earth each worthless Insect treats
With ready Viands, and unlabour'd Meats.
While she on hated Man no Food bestows,
But got by weary'd Limbs, and sweating Brows.
Beside that heav'nly Spark, and active Fire,
That do's sound Sence, and solid Worth inspire;
That innate Reason, we so greatly boast,
Is oft by Ignorance dull'd, by Passion crost,
In winding Doubts, and mazing Errors lost.
When first the Wretch a slumb'ring Infant lies,
No Gleams of Thought, no Starts of Passion rise:
The Notions all are sullied, and dispers'd,
While the sad Mind, in grosser Clay immers'd,
In Darkness sleeps; and an unthinking State,
More happy thus, than when she feels the pressing Weight.
For when slow Time, and studious Care reveals
Where sacred Truth is hid, and Honour dwells,
When by an odious Train of formal Rules,
And the rough Discipline of tedious Schools
Man comes to Reason, and begins to know,
The glimmering Lights, at best, imperfect show
What is our Good, but cannot Good bestow.
For ah! what Pains and Doubts distract the Soul,
While fond Desires the Judgments Choice controul?
How hard a Task to guide th'unruly Will,
Or fix the certain Bounds of Good and Ill!
To still vain Hopes, and sudden Fears subdue,
And flying Truths with steddy Eyes pursue,
Or Virtue's doubtful Ways to guess aright,
While Error's pleasing Paths our straying Steps invite?
How great a Toil to stem the raging Flood,
When Beauty stirs the Mass of youthful Blood?
When the swoln Veins with circling Torrents rise,
And softer Passions speak thro' wishing Eyes.
The Voice of Reason's drown'd; in vain it speaks,
When hasty Anger dies the glowing Cheeks,
And vengeful Pride hurries the Mortal on,
To Deeds unheard before, and Cruelties unknown.
Such is the Thing call'd Man; and this is Life,
An endless War of Thoughts, and an eternal Strife.
Thus the bold Wretch—Ah! too profanely Wise,
And partial to himself, incessant cries;
A Judge unfit to search Heav'ns secret Ways,
Too oft blasphemes the Powers, he ought to praise.
But groundless Murm'rings are with Ease reprov'd;
Say, is not Man by every God belov'd?
Man, Lord of all, and the Earth's darling Pride,
Tho' form'd of Æther, and to Heav'n ally'd:
By Reason taught, and, touch'd with purer Light,
O'er all beside He claims a Sov'raign Right;
The kinder Pow'rs infus'd a nobler Mind,
To Sway the World, and Rule the Bestial Kind.
What, tho' the Babe begins his Life with cries,
When sudden Light disturbs his weaker Eyes;
Tho' new-born Man, unlike the hairy Beast,
Comes from the Womb (as from his Bed) undrest?
Since the kind Mother, with indulgent Care,
Will Swathing Bands, and soft Array prepare,
To wrap the tender Limbs, and skreen the piercing Air:
She safe Defends him from attending harm,
And Hugs him close, and keeps the Infant warm;
Till settled Limbs support the darling Boy,
Who wanton Smiles, and runs to ev'ry Toy:
Then trivial Knowledge, and first Thoughts commence,
And Reason's twilight Gleams in lisping Sense.
But when it Shines in full Perfection bright,
The conscious Mind pursues her boundless Sight.
Man sees thro' all; one view t'his Knowledge brings,
The Chain of Causes, and Result of Things.
The Creatures all Obey; He gives the Word,
They patient Yeild, and own their destin'd Lord.
While Wisdom's Clue guides thro' Life's wild'ring Maze,
Shows Virtue's Path, and Sin's declining Ways.
The different Tracks of Infamy, and Praise)
And specious Ills unmasks, and hidden Good displays:
It Marks the Road direct to real Bliss,
And Secret tells him, when he Acts amiss.
Hence well-form'd States are prop't with wholsom Laws,
And just Decrees support the rightful Cause,
Arts are improv'd, and Turrets high-adorn'd,
Despise the ruder Caves, by Nature form'd;
Bright Palaces o'erlook the neighb'ring Woods,
And smoaky Towns encrease the flitting Clouds.
Nature in vain conceals her precious Ore,
Men rifle all, and search the hidden Store;
They ev'ry Right, and ev'ry Pow'r invade;
The passive Elements, by Duty sway'd,
Now dread the awful Tyrant, whom they made.
The Soul ('tis true) condemn'd a while by Fate,
To this dull Prison, grieves the pressing weight.
Continu'd Doubts, and endless Tumults rise,
While Reason dictates still, what Sense denies:
Prest down by Clay, she stoops to low Desires,
And dotes on Earth, and fancy'd Good admires:
But when the rising Mind, impartial views
Her wond'rous Self, and her own Thought pursues,
How vain the transient Show of Things around,
What worthless Baits are guilty Pleasures found!
She spurns her Cage, and takes unbounded Flight
To Heav'n, her blissful Home, and to Ætherial Light.
Not that the Soul at once her Freedom sees;
The mighty Work is form'd by slow Degrees.
First wholsom Rules restrain unheedful Youth,
And reconcile the sickly Mind to Truth.
Duty enforc'd, and Virtue's Sacred Lore
Timely imbib'd, will Sov'raign Health restore.
'Tis true, an high Descent, an antient Line,
And th'envy'd Honours of a Race Divine,
Th'ambitious Soul to generous Acts incline:
The purer Blood with nobler Warmth inspires,
And virtuous Sons descend from virtuous Sires.
But ah! Neglected Blooms will soon decay:
A thousand Baits unguarded Youth betray,
'Till kind Instruction has the Mind improv'd,
(For Truths oft Taught are not with ease remov'd)
But if this first great Task be left undone,
We soon shall Mourn a loose degenerate Son;
The Work is ruin'd, tho' so well begun.
Say therefore, are not those absurdly vain,
Who cause their Children's Fate, and then complain;
Who with a hopeful beauteous Offspring blest,
Forget themselves, and hire unwholsom Breasts?
And to some common Wretch commit the Care,
Of Infant-CÆlia, or the future Heir:
Beside Diseases, and unnumber'd Ills,
That latent Spread, and flow in Milky Rills,
That from bad Teats, and putrid Channels pass,
And taint the Blood, and mingle with the Mass;
The noxious Food conveys a greater Curse,
And gives the meaner Passions of the Nurse;
Th'unthinking Babe sucks in the deadly Bane,
And new-form'd Lusts the native Virtue stain;
Who draws the flaggy Breasts of wanton Dames,
Shall base Desires imbibe, and burn with guilty Flames.
Thus the Great Founder of the Roman State
Was fam'd for brutal Rage, and boundless Hate,
Which crush'd a Brother with untimely Fate.
By Rapes he peopled, what he built with Blood,
And Rome to mighty Guilt her Grandeur ow'd.
The savage Dam had sower'd with Wolfish Spleen
The manly Soul, distain'd with Lust unclean.
Hence wild Revenge glow'd in his Royal Breast;
Who was his Nurse, his Actions plain confest,
And whose the Pap which first the Infant prest.
But when the kind, the prudent Dame is found,
Wholesom, and chast, in Mind and Body sound.
The next great Lesson bids with early Pain,
Inform the Infant-mind, and mould the yielding Brain.
For tho' a Wretch to foul Attempts incline,
Meerly by Nature urg'd, and not Design;
Tho' tainted Juices in the Womb prevail,
And stain the Birth, and secret Guilt entail;
(As oft ill Humours will affect the Mind
While shut in Body, and to Earth confin'd)
Yet virtuous Rules will new Desires instill,
And streiten to themselves the warping Will;
Precepts well-urg'd will rising Lusts controul,
Give a new Turn, and Beauty to the Whole,
And from its winding Track restrain the byass'd Soul.
So when the coming Morn looks faintly bright,
And gilds the Mountain-tops with weaker Light;
When first the Sun, unwilling, leaves the Sea,
And ruddy Dawn begins the early Day;
The watry Drops still hang upon his Beams,
And trembling Light breaks in imperfect Gleams;
But when the God has shook his dewy Head,
And cooling Moisture falls on ev'ry Mead,
His brighter Orb its wonted Force regains,
And spreads diffusive Heat, and chears the smiling Plains.
But when the stronger Limbs to Firmness grow,
And Babes begin their Parents Voice to know;
When toying Childhood grateful Mirth affords,
And tells its trifling Sense in fault'ring Words,
Then strengthen too the Mind, as yet but weak,
Teach then the conscious Soul her God to seek,
And let her lisp the Praise, she cannot speak.
Oft talk of Him, and tell the Awful Name,
And how this All from that First Being came,
And whose kind Influence still preserves the beauteous Frame.
When bursting Vapours eccho in the Skies,
And flashing Lightnings strike the trembling Eyes;
Tell him, 'tis Heaven incens'd that thus repeats
Affrighting Sounds, and speaks in angry Threats,
When heedless Men forget the sacred Law;
Thus Teach the Child, and thus the Infant Awe.
These early Traces in the tender Brain
Will fix the Notions, which will long remain.
Meer Reason, by its own Reflection taught,
May find a God, and seek the nobler Thought;
May searching guess the Origin of Man,
And how it self, and how the World began.
But ah!—if not improv'd by friendly Art,
Reason untaught these Truths will slow impart.
Thus in the Western World, so lately found,
Tho' circling Years have past their constant Round;
Tho' tedious Ages have successive rol'd,
No Length of Time could this great Truth unfold.
Here all her Pride has bounteous Nature shown,
And sports her self in Forms to Us unknown.
But tho' each blushing Fruit, or smiling Flow'r
Declares a God, and speaks his Awful Pow'r,
Yet the dark Indians never will reflect,
No Deity adore, no Heav'n expect.
Thoughtless they live, nor heed an After-state,
Intent on Earth, and careless of their Fate.
'Tis hard to Wake, when drowzy Mists arise,
And pleasing Slumbers close the willing Eyes;
Such is the Toil for an un-tutor'd Mind
To rouze it self, or hidden Truths to find.
The Youth thus taught, how Heaven will be Obey'd,
And what Returns of Duty must be Paid;
Then farther Teach, and let him early Know,
What to our selves, and what to Men we Owe.
Now ev'ry tender Sentiment improve,
And let the Heart with softer Passions move.
When Vices first their baneful Influence show,
And when his little Cheeks with Anger glow;
When once the Seeds of partial Hate appear,
Or envious Rage lets fall a silent Tear,
Then Parents, if you love your growing Heir,
Be justly angry, nor Correction spare,
But kill the noxious Weeds with timely Care.
Now Wrong forbid, and teach what Rules are just,
And what the Ties of Love and mutual Trust;
What Honour bids, and Gratitude requires,
And what Respect is paid to hoary Sires.
A Father's Love and Mother's Care commend,
And tell what Pains the anxious Birth attend.
What Wretch when thus inform'd will not obey
The Author of himself, and grateful Honours pay?
Then fix the Bands of Government, and show
Who are the Sov'reign Pow'rs which rule below;
Who by just Laws, and an Impartial Sway,
Protect the Good, and make the Ill obey.
But when the reasoning Soul extends her View,
And dares look round, and the vast Search pursue;
By Learning then the ruder Ore refine,
Polish the whole, and make the Work divine;
Ingenuous Arts will mildly purge away
The drossy Substance, and the base Allay.
Say, is not this the soft, the docil Age,
Whose Actions will the future Man engage?
Now vig'rous Streams spout from the lab'ring Heart,
And ready Wit and lively Sense impart.
Lose not the time: the moist, the tender Brain
Is easy form'd, and will each Hint retain.
The Soul's prepar'd for Wisdom's sacred Lore:
Ransack the Grecian and the Roman Store.
Let the Youth labour with incessant Pains,
And hourly read, and search the Great Remains.
Nor Authors of a modern Date disdain,
Whose worthy Labours antient Truths explain.
The Muse will still admire the Latian Groves,
She the blest Soil, and happy Climate loves.
The French in Language pure, in Sense polite,
The willing Reader to the Task invite.
The lofty Spaniard is instructive found,
Though soaring in his Flights, and fond of pompous Sound.
By a just History the Mind's improv'd,
For Men are ever by Example mov'd.
It shows the World, and to Reflection brings
The Fall of Empires, and the Fate of Kings.
It brings back Time, and the past Age retrieves,
And here th'immortal Chief unenvy'd lives.
Actions thus told Heroic Worth inspire,
And kindle in the Soul an active Fire,
And stir the Breast with emulous Desire.
But those who wild Romantick Stories feign,
The Fustian Hero beyond Nature strain;
They form new Worlds, and tell of Kings unknown,
Battles ne'er fought, and Victories ne'er won,
Of monstrous Giants, and unequal Fights,
And Dragons fell engag'd by doughty Knights;
The fairy Scene by pompous Show delights:
By Fancy rul'd, weak Judgments please themselves
With Chiefs enchanted, and with wand'ring Elves.
But let the Youth the empty Tale despise,
Remove the vain Amusement from his Eyes;
For false Ideas, if indulg'd, at last
Deprave the Morals, and debauch the Taste.
But still the Muses claim a just Esteem:
The Bard sees Visions, but Romancers dream.
The Moral Verse will alway be admir'd,
Poets may teach, for Poets are inspir'd.
Virtue thus drest, is lovely in Disguise,
And Verse will find him, who a Sermon flies.
And now the Voice to manly Accent breaks,
And the first Down o'erspreads the blooming Cheeks.
When thus encreasing Strength, and youthful Fire
Forward to Action, vigorous Thoughts inspire,
And push him on to Love, and gay Desire.
Then restless Passions with a sudden Flood,
Disturb the Man, and stir the rising Blood.
Now the Tides swell, and foamy Billows roul,
And rapid Torrents hurry on the Soul.
Youth fondly mocks the Dictates of the Wise,
And scornful Smiles, when hoary Hairs advise;
The wanton Swain, when flush'd in blooming Years,
The least Restraint (ah too impatient) bears.
Yet a bright Ray may pierce the yielding Shade,
And sudden shine around the darksome Glade.
Wisdom will buoy the sinking Soul, and save
Amidst the Floods, and dare the coming Wave.
But ah! unwearied watch, with Caution steer,
And careful look, when winding Gulphs appear;
Or soon in the swift circling Current tost,
You'll whirl around, and be in Eddies lost.
But would you throughly purge the vicious Stain,
Exert the Man, and let no Passion reign;
Believe the Soul, when freed from pressing Clay,
Will to some unknown Region wing a way,
Think righteous Heav'n will its own Laws regard,
And punish those whom Justice can't reward.
But if no Fiends in gloomy Darkness howl,
Nor Ghosts in airy Forms confess the Soul:
If sulph'rous Lakes, and livid Fires below,
To Priests their Being, or to Statesmen owe;
If vain we hope a bright Expanse above,
Where Spirits riot in Excess of Love;
If after Death be Nothing, nothing Death,
But th'utmost Limits of a Gasp of Breath;
If these are all Dreams, Whimsies, and no more,
First made by Fear, and then enforc'd by Pow'r,
What Motive can reclaim the careless Boy?
He'll give a Loose, and grasp the fleeting Joy;
Greedy indulge what Pleasures now invite,
And snatch the present Moments of Delight.
But future Joys believ'd, or future Pain,
Will curb the wild Desire, and ev'ry Lust restrain.
To trace th'intelligible World, and find
Th'immortal Nature of an active Mind,
Is th'utmost Height, and most exalted View,
That Reason here can reach, or Thought pursue.
To know our God, and know our selves, is all
That we can Happiness or Wisdom call.
Just Notions will into good Actions grow,
And to our Reason we our Virtues owe:
False Judgments are th'unhappy Source of Ill,
And blinded Error draws the passive Will;
Deceiv'd by Show, we seldom think with Care,
While with false Beauty and affected Air,
Too often 'tis the Dress that makes the Fair;
But let not specious Errors soon betray,
Unmask the Cheat, and chace the Clouds away,
Long doubt, and oft reflect, and firm Assent delay.
But ah! the Race of Life is easy run,
While tedious Science is as yet begun;
Thought must the previous Strokes of Sense attend,
And huddled Images but slow ascend.
From earthy Dregs the circling Fogs arise,
And misty Vapours skim before our Eyes;
The Soul is forc'd, while pent in darksom Clay
To grope in Shades, and guess the doubtful way:
Great is the Toil, but glorious is the Prize;
Who would not alway labour to be Wise?
Thus Heav'n decrees, and we must search to find,
Or wink for ever, be for ever blind.
Nor may we hence indulge a wild Conceit,
And vainly hope to climb the utmost Height;
To view the inmost Essences of things,
And Nature's hidden Laws, and secret Springs:
She coyly hides, and shifts her various Shapes,
Slips from th'Embrace, and ev'ry Eye escapes.
Knowledge has Bounds, that stint th'unwilling Soul,
For finite Reason cannot grasp the Whole.
We see enough t'employ the lab'ring Mind,
Nor may we search, what Heaven forbids to find.
Mark how the Orbs their finish'd Course renew,
Still move alike, and constant Rules pursue.
Look up, and then conceive, how vast, how bright,
That inexhausted Source of joyous Light!
Think, if the sluggish Earth be downward prest
By its own Weight, and courts unactive Rest,
Th'unweary'd God to dayly Toil succeeds,
And drives th'ætherial Stage, and guides the flying Steeds;
While we, dull and unmov'd, see all beside
Dance the swift Round, and circle thro' the Void:
But if the Sun, fixt in his Central Throne,
Attracts the Planets, and commands alone,
He tunes the Spheres, and they harmonious sound;
Earth too becomes a Star, and keeps the constant Round.
But whate'er System Fancy may approve,
Whether we like to rest, or chufe to move,
Th'Effect's the same, and one Almighty Cause
The Motion first began, and fix'd th'unerring Laws.
The Atomist may groundless Schemes pursue,
T'explain the old World, or create a new;
Well-pleas'd he may indulge his wandring Thoughts,
And endless Voids conceive, and flying Motes;
But let these roul long in the boundless Space,
Then meet, and form an indigested Mass.
If Motion thus with thoughtless Chance combine,
And huddled Bodies close without Design,
A rude, and shapeless Chaos will arise;
No smiling Meads below, above no vaulted Skies:
Till some blest Pow'r at length reduce the whole,
Divide the Parts, and give an active Soul.
Ah! might Reflection to the Mind disclose
What different Particles this All compose,
Might we but trace the Springs as yet unseen,
And secret Movements of the vast Machine,
The several Figures and the Motions know,
To which the Species their Distinction owe!
Tho various Forms adorn the beauteous Frame,
Matter (unlike it self) is all the same.
From the same blended Elements proceed
The scented Flower, and Pestilential Weed;
They form the yielding Grass, and flinty Stone,
And waving Crops, by sportive Zephyrs blown.
Hence in cool Shade the humble Myrtle grows,
And high the Oak extends his leavy Boughs.
The living World has the same common Birth;
Here slower Insects cling to Parent Earth;
Now bleating Flocks we hear, and lowing Herds,
And the more grateful Harmony of Birds;
While sportive Fish thro' watry Mazes roam,
And with a silent Joy possess their native home.
Causes remote from our Observance fly,
We have a nobler Object always nigh;
Man, lordly Creature! in whom Beauties meet,
Unnumber'd, and the lovely Frame complete.
Mark the nice Structure, and the wond'rous Art;
How just the whole, how curious ev'ry part.
By the Child's Features we the Parent guess,
And Looks divine an heav'nly Sire confess.
Man amiably Majestick Walks erect,
And from th'inferiour World commands Respect;
Reason curbs Force, and gives to Fury Laws,
And fiercest Creatures to Subjection Aws.
They conscious yield, and own the righteous Sway,
And their just Sovereign passively obey.
Man is the Universe, in little shown,
The scatter'd Beauties here are joyn'd in one,
In him the several Motions are explain'd,
And the great World is in the less contain'd.
For as th'Almighty's Throne is fix'd on high,
(Far from these lower Spheres, and arched Sky)
Where Seraphs, and Cherubic Orders stand,
Attend the Nod, and wait the blest Command;
Then with Angelic Motion swift obey,
And instantly themselves to farthest Worlds convey.
Thus seated in the Brain the reasoning Soul
Exalted sits, and there directs the whole.
At the least Hint the conscious Spirits start;
Loaden with Images from ev'ry part
In branched Tubes the subtle Atoms rome,
And from each Sense bring fresh Advices home.
The Immaterial Mind attends above,
While they inform how outward Objects move.
The God of Light sends down his streaming Rays
On the warm'd Earth, and chears with smiling Days.
And thus the central Heart the Source contains
Of vital Heat, and in its Cavern strains
The bubling Streams, that stretch the swelling Veins.
Still it conveys the swift returning Blood,
And restless thus maintains the circling Flood.
The Sun (when Summer-heats the Spring succeed)
Changes the tarnish'd Verdure of the Mead:
The dry'd up Rills no longer murmuring creep
O'er the smooth Pebbles, and invite to sleep,
But buzzing Insects make an uncouth Noise,
And sulph'rous Vapours thunder in the Skies.
So when the Heart tumultuous Passions move,
If melting in the softer Flames of Love
With quicker Strokes the hasty Pulses beat,
And glowing Cheeks confess the inward Heat:
Or if fierce Rage provoke, and vengeful Ire,
The Eyes then sparkle with unusual Fire:
Ah! soon the Flames their rapid Fury spread,
And colour all with a malignant Red.
Curses and Oaths th'unthinking Wretch repeats,
And the Tongue faulters in half-utter'd Threats.
How like the Earth mix'd with the watry Mass,
Where troubled Seas the slimy Land embrace,
Are Man's less noble Parts, th'inferiour Drain,
Where forc'd the cruder Sediments remain?
Here stagnate Filth, and Acid worthless Lees,
And noisom Heaps from various Foods encrease.
Hence windy Fumes, and sudden Vapours spread,
That swell the Breast, and rack the aching Head,
Till forc'd by stronger Nature to retreat,
They melting fall, and all dissolve in Sweat:
Dispers'd in watry Drops they pain no more,
But work insensibly thro' ev'ry Pore.
And as the Sun by his own Heat exhales
Clouds from the Sea, and Fogs from marshy Vales;
Which (tho' base-born) ambitious higher move,
Prevent the Light, and hide the Worlds above.
So from corporeal Dregs the Mists condense,
And intercept the Messengers of Sense.
Hence the clog'd Spirits their Confinement mourn,
And Reason waits in vain the swift Return.
The clouded Images their March delay,
Till the rouz'd Soul, by a superiour Ray
Breaks thro' the Shade, and urges on the Day.
But if external Features may surprize,
And a just Texture charm th'unweary'd Eyes;
What are the Godlike Beauties we admire,
When conscious Souls within themselves retire?
Th'Angelic Natures, tho' a while immur'd,
Yet know, they are from Age, and Death secur'd.
Matter, however moulded or refin'd,
Can ne'er be thought to form a thinking Mind.
When the sick, weak, dissolving Body lies,
And rigid Death has fix'd the languid Eyes;
Freed from those irksom Bands th'immortal Fair
Mounts up unseen, and spurns the grosser Air.
Brutes by meer Sense, or secret Impulse move,
Hate without Thought, and without Reason love.
But she from simple Terms Conclusions draws,
Notions abstract, and universal Laws,
And from the Effect pursues th'undoubted Cause.
Too bright for Sense, such Notions are innate;
Heav'n must at first imprint, or Souls create.
With Pleasure these th'attentive Mind employ,
And conscious of her self she feels a secret Joy.
Thus Nought without the First great Cause affects,
Tho' He moves all, and ev'ry Spring directs;
Did not his Care the steddy Frame preserve,
Things would all clash, and from their Order swerve.
Nought can eternal Happiness remove,
Infinites neither lessen, or improve.
Myriads of Ages, e'er the World was made,
Or th'Arches turn'd, or the Foundations laid,
The Deity, unchang'd, was fully blest,
Nor with Creation was his Joy increast,
Full of Himself, th'Almighty is the same,
Tho' He dissolve the Universal Frame,
And Time, and Motion, have no more a Name.
But when the Soul believes Her self Divine,
Will she to mean, or bestial Acts incline?
Or thus inform'd be mov'd with ev'ry Toy
That gives to tickled Sense a transient Joy.
Or can th'immortal Mind, which knows her Self
Stoop to base Gain, and pine for sordid Pelf?
Will present Fame a real Pleasure give
To Things, which must ev'n time it self out-live?
If sinning Souls are doom'd to snaky Fiends,
And flaming Gulphs, and Pain, which never ends;
And they, who alway act, as Heav'n approves,
Enjoy eternal Rest in peaceful Groves;
Who would not labour with unweary'd Pain
To curb Desires, and vicious Thoughts restrain;
To guide his doubtful Steps by Reason's Clue,
And the right Path thro'mazing Labyrinths pursue?
Who would add Fuel to a guilty Flame,
And forfeit future Joy for present Shame?
Or greedy still indulge the craving Tast;
And thoughtless Time in noisy Riots wast?
Who on this Thing call'd Life, has serious Thought,
How short, how foolish, and how soon forgot;
With Scorn the Hurry of the World attends,
While buisy Men pursue unworthy Ends.
The Rubs of Life without Concern he meets,
Braves ev'ry noisy Blast, and careless sits.
A Soul thus buoy'd, no sudden Storms can drown;
Virtue dares smile, when Fortune seems to frown:
Whate'er befals, the virtuous Man is blest,
Tho' pin'd by Sickness, or by Want opprest.
Tho' the great Vulgar, and the Little, rail,
And blasting Tongues o'er weaker Truth prevail:
Arm'd, and secure within himself he lies,
Will mock their Censure, and their Fame despise.
Hardships encountred make the Hero great,
And real Worth will rise by pressing Weight.
Tho' envious Mounds th'increasing Stream oppose,
It grows more rapid, when it overflows.
Man was not made to please himself alone;
No, the least part of Life we call our own.
The Soil, where first we drew the vital Air,
Commands a grateful Sense, and claims our Care.
Relative Duties our Amusements cross,
And all our Minutes to themselves engross.
The Offices of Love, and mutual Trust
Cement the whole, and make the Order just.
What Wretch (ingrate!) to such respects as these
Prefers his Sloth, and courts inglorious Ease?
All Men are useful, when they wise approve
What Heav'n allows, nor too excentric move,
And sink below themselves, or soar above.
Careful observe, what Byass guides the Mind,
And how the ruling Genius is inclin'd.
Ambitious Chiefs the Trumpet's Call obey,
More pleas'd than with the Shepherds humble Lay.
By Dangers never aw'd, nor chill'd by Fear,
They grasp th'avenging Sword, and couch the Spear.
While those, whose Veins feel no such vigorous Fire,
To silent Glades, and thoughtful Groves retire.
The kinder Fates produce the rural Swain,
To sing, and love, and guard his native Plain,
Or bid the fluent Scribe harangue the Town,
And reap the peaceful Honours of the Gown.
But when shamm'd Treaties, or ambitious Aims
Force injur'd States to prove their rightful Claims;
When muster'd Legions to the Field are led,
And widow'd Dames mourn their deserted Bed;
Then (if inclin'd) while youthful Vigour last,
E'er the first lovely Bloom of Life be past,
Make the Campaign, and 'midst the Heroes shine,
And boldly charge, and force th'opposing Line.
But ah! in Camps a thousand Vices reign,
Which blast their Laurels, and their Glories stain.
False Honour justifies the bravely lewd,
And Men are infamous, who dare be good.
Just Right, and Pow'r in War are all the same;
The longest Sword decides the doubtful Claim.
Hence martial Fires degenerate into Rage,
And oft to Murders, or to Rapes engage.
Ah! let the Muse the moving Camp attend,
The virtuous Muse, that best, and kindest Friend;
She will harsh Sounds correct by gentler Notes,
And charm the troubled Mind, and calm the Thoughts.
She in bright Colours real Worth displays,
And tells what Deeds deserve Heroic Praise:
Informs, when Reason speaks, or Passions rave,
And who the Cruel are, and who the Brave.
Virtue (that shines thro' Mail) has greater Charms,
And we by Justice ought to guide our Arms.
Unlike the Natives of the Thracian Hills,
Who ravage all, and glory in the Spoils;
No kind Remorse they feel, no Pity show,
And Pallas only by her Armour know;
But often she retires to peaceful Groves,
And Gowned Arts, and harmless Study loves.
Letters alone correct the Soldiers Heat,
And Mars and Phœbus make the Man compleat.
Think on your future Hopes, and settled State,
But slow resolve, or you will grieve too late:
What now seems good, may not hereafter please;
View then the World, and travel Lands and Seas.
Manners observ'd, and foreign Customs known,
And Laws, and Governments unlike our own,
Inrich with Notions, and inlarge the Mind;
The Judgment is improv'd, the Tast refin'd.
A just Experience will alike reclaim,
From Noise, and empty Flash, and awkward Shame.
The Soul thus pois'd, keeps a proportion'd mean
Betwixt the Bashful, and the Bold-obscene.
Gay and polite the Youths from Travel come,
And leave the Prejudice, and Rust of Home.
With graceful Mien, and unaffected Air
They please the Friend, and captivate the Fair.
Peculiar Virtues every Climate bless,
And Vices in their proper Soil increase.
Observe the differing Nations, and pursue
The pleasing Toil; then various Scenes review,
Impartial judge, and give to each their Due.
When first you weary'd leave the Alpine Rocks,
And see the distant Plains, and hear the bleating Flocks;
Here Italy the ambient Sea divides,
On either side embrac'd by swelling Tides.
She the known World one mighty Empire made,
And Provinces remote her Laws obey'd;
Rome o'er the farthest Isles her Eagles spread,
And vanquish'd Kings before her Legions fled;
Religion only now exalts her Tow'rs,
And Papal Censure aws the Civil Pow'rs.
The Latian Youth enervate now forget
The hardy Toil, nor prone to Martial Heat,
Unactive lie, and please their wanton Thoughts
By murm'ring Fountains, or in sleepy Grots.
But great Remains show, what the Whole has been,
And the vast Pile is in its Ruin seen;
The Latian Soil, whose pregnant Womb replete
With vig'rous Motion, and enliv'ning Heat,
Blest Souls produc'd, wise, diligent, and brave
Heroes design'd to rule Mankind, and save;
Decay'd by Age, yet in her weaker Veins
Prolific Warmth, and active Seed retains;
Oft from the Palaces of modern Rome
Fam'd Sages, and immortal Worthies come;
Who Kingdoms prop, and make the Nations blest;
On whom th'united World might safely rest.
Such Julius now o'er Gallia's Realm presides,
Directs her Counsels, and her People guides;
His Conduct steddy, and unmov'd his Soul,
Whose fix'd Resolves no adverse Pow'rs controul.
The ancient Roman is in Julius seen,
What once the Scipio's were, and Fabii have been.
With dusky Discontent the Spaniards low'r,
And curse the Hand that checks their growing Pow'r.
But him no Anger moves; nor rancour'd Hate,
Tho' hellish Furies would distract the State.
Curst Fiends, from pensive Night, and Chaos sent,
To stir up mutual Wars, and Strife foment.
Envy her self recalls her snaky Brood,
And has unwilling own'd their Rage subdued:
Their fast'ning Teeth still unsuccessful were;
Themselves they gnaw, and their own Bowels tear.
But tho' His vengeful Arm might crush with Ease
Those foolish Malecontents, whom none can please;
Like Cæsar he forgives their causless Hate,
And by his Mercy would reclaim th'Ingrate.
Julius inherits all of Cæsar's Fame,
And the same Virtues now adorn the sacred Name.
Nor winning Manners, and a Chearful Face
Will recommend alone the Gallic Race;
Whose Conversation's sweet, ingaging Air
Pleases alike the Witty, and the Fair.
The Light and Grave in just Proportion joyn'd,
Divert the Passions, and instruct the Mind.
From disagreeing Concord they produce
A Harmony of valuable Use,
And marry solid Wisdom to the sprightly Muse.
To them the Deities disclose their Springs,
Their brightest Fancies, and abstrusest things:
Minerva teaches, and Apollo sings.
Whate'er in eloquent Platonic Lines,
Whate'er in Homer or in Virgil shines,
Whate'er Venusium's Poet did inspire,
The French have follow'd with an equal Fire,
And imitate the Trumpet, and the Lyre.
Whether they sing of Battels and of Arms,
Or Woods resound fair Galatea's Charms,
In them the Roman and the Greek are found,
And Eccho never heard a sweeter Sound.
If then from Calais you design to land
On England's vile, unhospitable Strand,
There shall you find a Race of monstrous Men,
Where mangled Princes strew the Cyclops Den.
A false, ungrateful, and rebellious Brood,
New from a slaughter'd Monarch's sacred Blood.
They break all Laws, all Fancies they pursue,
And follow all Religions, but the True.
All there are Priests, each differently prays,
And worships Heaven ten thousand various ways.
If by the Mob the canting Fool's admir'd,
The Brother's gifted, and the Saint's inspir'd.
Hence the Fanatics rave, and wildly storm,
Convert by Pistol, and by Pike Reform.
Nor are th'Enthusiasts so abhorrent grown
To holy, ceremonious Rites alone.
An English-man on all Extremes will run,
And by Consent be wilfully undone.
If an Opinion thwart what Ancients wrote,
He catches it, and bosoms up the Thought.
Alcides would his Club as soon resign,
As He a darling Heresy decline.
Yet we must do the Sons of England right,
Some Stars shine thro' the Horror of her Night.
For Navigation, and for Skill renown'd,
In Sailing the Terraqueous Globe around.
To them no Shore's untry'd, no Sea's unknown,
Where Waves have murmur'd, and where Winds have blown.
Tiphys, and Jason, who in Argo came,
Lay no Pretensions to so just a Fame,
As Candish, Willoughby, and Drake's Immortal Name.
The Dutch and Celtæ in some kind agree,
Divided only by a Narrow Sea.
But that, detesting a Monarchic Reign,
The Dutch revolting from the Crown of Spain,
Have tugg'd for Freedom thro' a Crimson Flood;
So much more dear their Liberty than Blood!
Then, if you visit the Germanic Soil,
You'll find it worth your Travel and your Toil.
The Martial People's Arms once kept in Awe
Old Rome, which gave the World Imperial Law.
Of fiery Visage, and uncommon Size
They flash'd in Her undaunted Eagles Eyes.
Their honest Hearts abhor the least degree
Of winding Craft, and tricking Knavery.
They scorn all Masks of Prudence, all Disguise,
And Politicians, serpentinely wise.
Whether, that born beneath a cold, thick Air,
Wit seldom falls to the dull German's Share;
Or frequent Fudling does their Spirits drain,
And Bacchus stupify their foggy Brain.
For there they gage the Largeness of your Soul
By Bumpers, and the bigness of your Bowl.
With them a swelling Paunch, and studded Face
Is always reckon'd a becoming Grace;
And He, who can the twentieth Bottle stand,
Is the best Heroe of the Drinking Land.
Nay, Father Bacchus all their Councils guides,
Dictates at Treaties, and at Leagues presides;
No mutual Friendship for sincere will pass
Without the Pleasure of a plenteous Glass;
It then grows strongest, when most Healths they toast,
And He's the Truest Heart, who drinks the most.
So flush'd, and swoln with his accustom'd Load
Silenus prais'd of old the jolly God.
His mellow Train would in the Chorus join,
And bless the Riches of the Purple Vine.
The live-long Night the merry Satyrs sung,
Evius the Subject of each fault'ring Tongue:
Evius the Hills around and hollow Valleys rung.
Nor tho' the German is so much inclin'd
To quaff full Bowls, and drown th'æthereal Mind,
Is every part so sottish, and so wild,
As if no Genius o'er the Nation smil'd.
Some bold, bright Spirits have been known to blaze
For Learning, Wit, and Arts of wond'rous Praise.
Who has not heard what Kings their Ruin owe
To the forg'd Thunder of Mankind below?
How from Germanic Skill th'Invention came,
Whose dire Explosion sets the World in flame.
When the loud Cannon missive Iron pours,
Or from the slaughtering Bomb Gradivus roars.
Nor must we his Immortal Name forget,
To whom we owe the Monuments of Wit,
Whence what the Muse has sung, or Heroe fought,
In Characters indelible is wrote.
All Times, all Nations shall the German know,
While Arts shall flourish, or the Rhine shall flow.
Here must I tell how a Teutonic Soul
Bred up in stern Bellona's active School,
Is unacquainted with inglorious Ease,
And scorns the happy Luxury of Peace.
For if their quiet Prince has no Demand
With hostile Arms upon a Neighb'ring Land,
So much for Fighting is their ruling Lust,
That, lest in Sloth and Lethargy they rust,
In murdering Wars they serve for Foreign Pay,
And prostitute their Venal Hands to Slay.
Now Northward bend your Travel, nor disdain
To view the Countries nigh the Baltic Main,
The warlike Sweed, the Polander, and Dane.
If nigh the Poles the Muses like to dwell,
Their heavenly Heat will nipping Colds expel:
They fear no Danger from the freezing Air,
Or horrid Influence of the Greater Bear.
But You, perhaps, are not inclin'd to roam
Such distant Lengths, from your dear Native Home.
Nor will your Parents, and your Friends forego,
Nor by fatiguing Journeys seek to know
The Men, or Tempers of unequal Skies,
Nor will you at the vast Expence be Wise.
For things of this important Use and Weight
Require sound Bodies, and a large Estate,
To view the various World: the Weak and Poor
Can nor the Labour nor the Cost endure.
The Rich and Healthy should alone sustain
Hazards by Land, and Dangers on the Main.
But when your Blood is to due Temper wrought,
And Time has mellow'd you to riper Thought,
Then fix your Soul, and your Career restrain,
And prudently draw in the slacken'd Rein.
On Civil Life now seriously attend,
To serve your Country, and oblige your Friend.
For this with nicest Observation try
Whatever moves your Mind, or meets your Eye;
Whatever from a due Reflection springs,
In wealthy Cities, or the Courts of Kings;
O'er in your Mind their Foreign Manners run,
Their Virtues follow, and their Vices shun.
In a just Mixture of their Arts excel,
In acting worthily, and thinking well.
So through Sicilian Hybla's pleasing Groves
The Bee, intent on his sweet Labour, roves.
Sav'ry and Thyme the little Drudge devours,
And gleans his Harvest from the fragrant Flow'rs;
Does the Blew Violets and Roses chuse,
And sucks fresh Virtue from the Morning Dews,
To load his waxen Chambers with Nectarean Juice.
Mean time Inure your self to Thought, and strive
To keep the noble, inborn Heat alive.
Improve whate'er your Reason has acquir'd,
The Soul is active, and can ne'er be tir'd;
In valu'd Books your vacant Hours employ,
And, what your Travels could not give, enjoy.
To read good Authors, of a Taste refin'd,
Heightens the Stature of the lofty Mind.
If you delight to hear the Actions told,
Of Heroes prudent, resolute and bold,
And every glorious Thing perform'd of Old:
To wise Historians for Instruction fly,
And read them over with a curious Eye.
Livy will tell you, how the Roman Pile
Rose to such Grandeur, in as grand a Stile;
And Plutarch mentions with a Master's Stroke,
How Captains battled, and how Sages spoke.
Or if you seek to know, with learned Toil,
The Dispositions of each Sky and Soil,
The Climes and Regions never seen before,
Roul Strabo, Ptolemy, and Cluver o'er;
And ev'ry Author, whose prevailing Light
May chase away the Clouds of Error's Night,
Inrich the Mind, and set the Judgment right.
But, Lastly, let your Conversation turn
On what is Good, and from the Wisest learn.
If Human Nature you desire to know,
And from what secret Springs the Passions flow.
When there are chose and cull'd, for noble Ends,
Some bright Companions, and well-natur'd Friends,
Knowledge and Virtue, on a worthy Mind
Steal silently, and propagate their Kind.
Here must I needs exclaim, nor can forbear,
On Noblemen's Improvidential Care;
Who to their forward Sons give loose the Reins,
And taint the generous Blood, which fills their Veins;
Whose lewd Associates commonly are known
For Sots, and Scandals of the Court and Town.
For soon as Tutors have resign'd their Charge
Of my young Lord, to let him live at large;
He, who writes Man, must what he pleases do,
Indulge his Fancy, his own Course pursue.
Yet think not that this hopeful Babe of Grace
Will follow Counsel, and the best embrace;
No: He'll to Brothels or the Tavern run,
And whore, and guzzle till the Morning Sun.
Or at Groom-Porters He his Elbow shakes,
Accompany'd by Scoundrels, Pimps and Rakes;
Who with false Pleasures the soft Peer intice,
Then plunge the Bubble in the Gulf of Vice.
Nor are this vile and ignominious Race
Content True Honour from his Breast to chase.
They shut his Eyes to beauteous Truth, and blind
With giddy Notions his unpractis'd Mind.
Soon as my easy and too generous Lord
With ample Feasts has crown'd the loaded Board,
Down strait the Parasitic Blockheads sit,
To scatter their insipid, flatt'ring Wit:
This sordid Crew of Rascals, without Sense,
Praise every Bit they eat, at his Expence.
The Viands some extol, and some the Wine,
And every Glass they drink, cry, Wondrous fine!
Here a stanch Sot takes up the foaming Bowl,
And swears his Lordship has a Noble Soul.
There a pert Coxcomb of a different Stile,
A mere Sir Fopling, with affected Smile,
Does Beauty's Queen, and Lady's Love commend,
And vows there's nothing like a Female Friend;
With luscious Words excites his Patron's Fire,
And kindles into Lewdness young Desire.
‘Did not your Lordship a soft Damsel spy,
‘How You she ogled with a roguish Eye;
‘She tip'd a wanton Wink, and smil'd, and sigh'd,
‘As if for You the tender Victim dy'd.
‘I know Your Heart is to Compassion prone,
‘True Flesh and Blood, not made of Steel or Stone.
‘Can you withstand the Torrent of her Charms?
‘Who would not languish in her snowy Arms?
‘Mind not what dull and sullen Catos say,
‘Or canting Solons: You're as wise as they.
‘Now your first Blood and springing Youth employ
‘In Amorous Sports, and give a Loose to Joy.
Such are the Guests which you at board maintain,
Such the raw Mind in Vice and Nonsense Train;
The common Chat of th'unreflecting Crew,
Who drop whatever's Great, or Good, or True.
While I new Matter for a Verse prepare,
What heavenly Voice affects my listning Ear?
What Deity a Human Form assumes,
And with Ambrosial Breath the Air perfumes;
All things around with Beams of Beauty shine,
And Roses spring beneath Her Feet divine:
I see (nor does my Fancy cheat my Sight)
Calliope, in all her Graces bright.
What awful Lustre lightens from her Face!
The Goddess known by her Majestic Pace!
Why deigns the Muse to quit the Learned Throng,
And Pindus Hill, for my advent'rous Song?
Say, art Thou come My Labours to espouse,
And with Parnassian Bays adorn my Brows?
Go on, said She, in Thy Immortal Theme
To merit Mine, and all the World's Esteem.
Improve Thy Song, and in thy Sacred Breast
Admit with Joy a Second, Heavenly Guest.
'Tis not enough that your auspicious Care
Has furnish'd Man, if You neglect the Fair.
Shall Arts and Learning be alone confin'd
To the Male Image of th'Eternal Mind?
Nature, who gave, till she could give no more,
On Woman lavish'd all her precious Store.
Who now courts solid and substantial Praise,
Nor values Beauty, wedded to a Face.
Her Mind peculiar Ornaments desires,
And Virtues proper to her Sex requires.
And since my tuneful Sisters all delight
In comely Forms, obliging to the Sight:
Since we alone can tell what softer Art
Suits with the Genius of a Virgin's Heart:
I leave the learned Mountains to disclose
What well Thy lov'd Calliopea knows.
Be Thou attentive, while I deign to shine
On thy smooth Page, and brighten every Line.
'Tis true that Man is more sublime and bold,
But Woman's figur'd of a finer Mold.
Hence the soft Nature of her plyant Clay
Will all Impressions take, all Forms obey.
Who then excludes the Virgins, as unfit
For the high Arts, and Mysteries of Wit?
Or why should base, invidious Man deny
The Search of Truth to their discerning Eye?
Why, when Ingenit Reason shoots her Ray
To light us all, are they Forbid the Day?
Why should th'implanted Energy of Mind
Grow faint, and slacken in the Female kind?
Impartial Jove forbids so great a Crime,
Nor was Apollo only born to climb
Aonian Hills; we too inhabit there,
The Muses, ever Tuneful, ever Fair.
Tritonian Pallas does Her Ægis wield,
Nor will to Phœbus or Gradivus yield,
But rules in Athens, and commands the Field.
Yet (O the Folly of the Gallic Race!)
No Princely Nymph does here our Rites embrace.
With Thee, Valois, all Female Wit is fled,
With Thee is every Grace and Beauty dead.
No more Fine Arts are of this Country's Growth.
With Modern Ladies, so supine in Sloth.
The Mind lies fallow, and none care to toil
In the good Ground, and sow the noble Soil.
But if we bend far Northward, to behold
A People, horrid with the Arctic Cold,
There does Christina, Queen of Vandals reign,
And kindly welcomes the Pierian Train.
From Southern Climes the slighted Muses flown,
Find safe Protection in the Frigid Zone.
She peaceful Arts with Arms delights to joyn,
And with Her Father's Laurels mingle Mine.
Who can the Counsels of the Gods relate,
And dark Designs of Providence and Fate?
The Goths, a Nation barbarous and rude,
An ignorant, unletter'd Multitude,
Who o'er the World once, like a Deluge, broke,
And chain'd the Roman Empire to their Yoke.
When trampled Arts did every where expire,
Spoils of the greedy Sword, or raging Fire;
Have lost their rugged and uncourtly Mien,
Fil'd into Smoothness by so wise a Queen.
And amply now to Learning have repaid
For the wide Wounds their bloody Fathers made.
Ye Gallic Matrons, if you scorn to know
The Pleasures, which from polish'd Letters flow:
If you delight not to inform your Soul,
At least preserve your Body chaste, and whole,
Whether the Loom you for Employment chuse,
Or else the Distaff, or the Needle use,
Let Virtue be the Business of your Life,
And take Example by a Sabine Wife.
Who is not shock'd to see the beauteous Fair,
With Looks obscene, and Meretricious Air?
Lais and Flora modest Swains despise,
Their wanton Words, lewd Smiles, and swimming Eyes;
And all the Tricks, by which loose Nymphs disgrace
The chaster Honours of the Female Race.
By no such Charms did Psyche from above
Allure and captivate the God of Love.
By graceful Innocence alone she won
The melting Heart of Cytherea's Son:
A Beam from her Etherial Virtue came,
And lighted up the pure, the Virgin-Flame.
She said, and strait she vanish'd into Air,
And me surrender'd up to gloomy Care.
Confounded at her sudden Flight I spoke,
And into these despairing Raptures broke:
O Goddess, could my Voice or Reason sway
So far upon Thee, to demand thy Stay!
In Words and Numbers never heard before,
I would Thy Presence once again implore:
Thou shouldst instruct me, and inspire my Song,
To tell what Arts to Government belong:
What Qualities a Hero most adorn,
What Virtues suit a Mind to Scepters born;
These wou'd the Heavenly Youth descend to hear,
Whose Kingly Hands now move the Gallic Sphere.
At whose Paternal Throne his People bow,
And whom before they lov'd, they worship now.
Should I pursue my Labour, and rehearse
Thy sacred Dictates in well-polish'd Verse;
Should I to Him thy pleasing Offerings bring,
A Present worthy so Divine a King;
Should I declare the Methods to maintain
His Subject's Love, the Manna of his Reign:
He would, perhaps, with willing Ears attend,
Approve my Duty, and the Muse commend.
The Time will come (nor may the Fates incline
To draw a wicked Length the Silver Twine!
When, vainly practis'd in the Sports of War,
Spain, weary'd out with Hatred, shall give o'er,
And Wrath, and Blood, and Strife be seen no more.
Then proud Hesperia, from her Dangers wise,
Turns all her Counsels, and with asking Eyes
For Peace to Gallia's pious Hero flies.
Who takes the suppliant Nation to his Arms,
Grants their Request, and with his Goodness charms.
Hence muttering Drums, and murd'ring Cannons cease,
And the calm World is lull'd in soothing Peace.
War, Envy, and Ambition's haughty Train
Bound, with a sullen Pride, and stern Disdain,
Growl on their hundred Knots, and bite the brazen Chain.
While Lewis with Angelic Smile looks down
On the tame Horrour of each idle Frown.
See where he comes! in God-like Beauty new,
And Olive crowns the Brows, where Laurel grew.
With smiling Air, and condescending Grace
He meets advancing the Castalian Race.
And to the Louvre and Versailes admits
The Sacred Poets, and Cœlestial Wits.
Whose lofty Songs shall strike the listning Sky,
Round the charm'd Court the Melody shall fly,
And Eccho in Harmonious Raptures die.
The Muse transported in Mæonian Verse
Shall War's foul Causes and Beginnings curse
Which twice ten Years has delug'd out a Flood
Of Crimson Dye, and mingled Blood with Blood.
While stiff in Steel, for many dire Campaigns,
The French and Spaniard battled on the Plains.
What numerous Navies with encountring Trees
Have planted the wide Wilderness of Seas!
What Fleets were lost! what Towns in Ashes laid!
How on each side inconstant Fortune play'd,
With all the various Chance of Wars severer Trade.
Then, as to Pity, Grief or Rage succeeds,
And in the Song the warlike Hero bleeds.
The frighted Nymph dies at the horrid Sounds.
Of fancied Groans, and sight of absent Wounds.
Then shall Euterpe strike the peaceful Shell;
And Triumphs in alluring Numbers tell:
Triumphs, which more than Victories will please,
Of Learned Leisure, and improving Ease.
In various Verse shall various Pleasures show,
And make dull Life worth living for below.
Plump Bacchus, and the Patroness of Corn
Shall with full Canisters the Feast adorn.
The generous Grape and golden Grain shall pour,
And rain promiscuous Fruits, a plenteous Shower.
Chiefly the turgid and luxuriant Vine
On laughing Hills shall wantonly recline.
Then shall in Matrimonial League be ty'd
The loving Bridegroom and the longing Bride,
In lawful Kisses their sweet Hours employ,
And court the Combat of the Cyprian Joy.
And, for their beauteous Child, with grateful Tongue
Shall bless the Muse, who so divinely sung.
SO when Great Jove did with the Gyants Fight,
To Heaven asserting his undoubted Right,
Cæus and Vast Enceladus he slew,
With Lightning sindg'd the Bold conspiring Crew,
And lodg'd them in the Mountains, which they threw.
In Ætna's Caves, a Sacrifice to Pride,
They breed new Earthquakes, as they shift their side.
Then the fair Sisters of th'Aonian Throng
Met the Victorious God with lofty Song.
Curst the Rebellion of Earth's impious Race,
Who durst with Jove dispute superiour Place.
Peals of Applause thro' the bright Palace rung,
And the charm'd Stars danc'd, as the Muses sung.
Gods were with Gods in strict Embraces bound,
Full Bowls of Nectar walk'd the pleasing Round,
And Mirth, and Joy, and Peace sincere, the Heavenly Banquet crown'd.

AN EPISTLE TO EUDOXUS.

Suppos'd to be written about the Year 1646.

A Panegyrical Elegy On the Death of GASSENDUS, The Celebrated Astronomer and Philosopher.