 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
170
TO A FRIEND,
Dissuading him from loving a certain Lady.
If aught a kindly Caution can impart,
Be This, not Love, imprinted on thy Heart;
Let every Line a well-known Truth commend,
And, where you doubt the Poet, trust the Friend;
Let vanquish'd Reason re-assume the Field,
And to the True, the fictious Goddess yield.
Be This, not Love, imprinted on thy Heart;
Let every Line a well-known Truth commend,
And, where you doubt the Poet, trust the Friend;
Let vanquish'd Reason re-assume the Field,
And to the True, the fictious Goddess yield.
What Homer feigns, when fierce Tydides strove,
Inspir'd by Pallas, with the Queen of Love;
But shows the Weakness of vain Beauty's Art,
Whilst Wisdom's sacred Influence arms the Heart:
Yet, green in Age, unvers'd in Female Wiles,
Each specious show our easy Sight beguiles;
Gay-courting Scenes, the early Path adorn,
And blooming Beauty paints our youthful Morn;
Our heedless Pleasures, with false Objects, rise,
Blind to the black'ning Cloud, and gathering Skies.
But, ah! methinks, I hear thee, sighing, say,
Such Charms invite! so flowery Smiles the Way!
Resolv'd, fair Beauty's lovely Maze I'll run—
Who might not thus? who would not be undone!—
O stay, rash Youth! beware, be timely wise,
Lurk'd in that Labyrinth, another Monster lies!
Inspir'd by Pallas, with the Queen of Love;
But shows the Weakness of vain Beauty's Art,
Whilst Wisdom's sacred Influence arms the Heart:
Yet, green in Age, unvers'd in Female Wiles,
Each specious show our easy Sight beguiles;
171
And blooming Beauty paints our youthful Morn;
Our heedless Pleasures, with false Objects, rise,
Blind to the black'ning Cloud, and gathering Skies.
But, ah! methinks, I hear thee, sighing, say,
Such Charms invite! so flowery Smiles the Way!
Resolv'd, fair Beauty's lovely Maze I'll run—
Who might not thus? who would not be undone!—
O stay, rash Youth! beware, be timely wise,
Lurk'd in that Labyrinth, another Monster lies!
How weak were Female Snares, how vain each Wile,
Did not our Eyes our hood-wink'd Minds beguile?
Like gross Idolaters, we form the Power,
Then, the dull Image, as a God, adore;
Breath'd in soft Sighs, our pleading Souls impart,
And, for the Victim, Sacrifice our Heart:
Hence, Cælia rules, the Tyrant of thy Breast,
In all the seeming Deity confest;
Hence, when she Speaks, there's Musick in the Sound,
Hence, when she Looks, her Eyes like Lightenings wound:
But, to thy Reason's Eye, the Scene display,
And the proud Phantom-Goddess fades away;
No more her Immortality remains,
Unless preserv'd in thy immortal Strains.
Did not our Eyes our hood-wink'd Minds beguile?
Like gross Idolaters, we form the Power,
Then, the dull Image, as a God, adore;
Breath'd in soft Sighs, our pleading Souls impart,
And, for the Victim, Sacrifice our Heart:
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In all the seeming Deity confest;
Hence, when she Speaks, there's Musick in the Sound,
Hence, when she Looks, her Eyes like Lightenings wound:
But, to thy Reason's Eye, the Scene display,
And the proud Phantom-Goddess fades away;
No more her Immortality remains,
Unless preserv'd in thy immortal Strains.
Grant we, thy Cælia's Charms superior shine,
Or, in the Lover's Language, look Divine;
Yet, is each Charm to her alone confin'd?
Or canst Thou judge, by partial Passion blind?
Still, will each faithful, Love-alluring Grace,
Beam in her Eye, and brighten up her Face?
So, the blue Summit of some Mountain's Height,
Wrapt in gay Clouds, deludes the distant Sight;
But, as with gazing Eyes, we draw more near,
Fades the false Scene, and the rough Rocks appear.
Or, in the Lover's Language, look Divine;
Yet, is each Charm to her alone confin'd?
Or canst Thou judge, by partial Passion blind?
Still, will each faithful, Love-alluring Grace,
Beam in her Eye, and brighten up her Face?
So, the blue Summit of some Mountain's Height,
Wrapt in gay Clouds, deludes the distant Sight;
173
Fades the false Scene, and the rough Rocks appear.
Nor outward Form thy easy Thought controul,
But be the Look an Index to the Soul;
For when old Nature fram'd the faithless Fair,
From every Work, the Goddess cull'd a share;
In heav'nly Beauty bad her Face excel,
But made her Heart the Treasury of Hell:
Hence, Pride, and Lust, and jealous Fury grow,
The Springs of Sorrow, and the Seeds of Woe!
Thus Brothels with a painted Angel shine,
Whilst latent Devils en-ambush'd, lurk within.
But be the Look an Index to the Soul;
For when old Nature fram'd the faithless Fair,
From every Work, the Goddess cull'd a share;
In heav'nly Beauty bad her Face excel,
But made her Heart the Treasury of Hell:
Hence, Pride, and Lust, and jealous Fury grow,
The Springs of Sorrow, and the Seeds of Woe!
Thus Brothels with a painted Angel shine,
Whilst latent Devils en-ambush'd, lurk within.
Nor think, my Damon, that I rashly blame,
Thy too good Nature, thy too generous Flame;
Like thine, my victim'd Heart, the Pangs has bore,
But, (ah delightful Change!) endures no more;
Yet O! for oft the Thought disturbs my Rest,
'Tis hard to heal a love-envenom'd Breast;
So soft each Arrow steals upon our Heart,
It glides a Feather, but it grows a Dart!
Yet, wouldst thou from increasing Ills be free,
Pursue my Precepts, and resolve like me,
When the false Syren singles out her Man,
Tips the lewd Leer, or flaps the flirting Fan;
O shun th' Infection swift, victorious, fly,
She smiles a Ruin, and she looks a Lie!
But, must some lovely, some divinely Fair,
Sweeten this Draught of Life, and sooth thy Care;
Let the gay Muse relieve thy sickening Pain,
And form a brighter Venus of the Brain;
Then shalt thou scorn those Charms that made thee grieve,
And, by the fair Illusion, learn to live.
Thy too good Nature, thy too generous Flame;
Like thine, my victim'd Heart, the Pangs has bore,
But, (ah delightful Change!) endures no more;
Yet O! for oft the Thought disturbs my Rest,
'Tis hard to heal a love-envenom'd Breast;
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It glides a Feather, but it grows a Dart!
Yet, wouldst thou from increasing Ills be free,
Pursue my Precepts, and resolve like me,
When the false Syren singles out her Man,
Tips the lewd Leer, or flaps the flirting Fan;
O shun th' Infection swift, victorious, fly,
She smiles a Ruin, and she looks a Lie!
But, must some lovely, some divinely Fair,
Sweeten this Draught of Life, and sooth thy Care;
Let the gay Muse relieve thy sickening Pain,
And form a brighter Venus of the Brain;
Then shalt thou scorn those Charms that made thee grieve,
And, by the fair Illusion, learn to live.
So Israel's Sons, by poisonous Serpents stung,
Aloft in Air, a mimick Serpent hung;
Fix'd on the Sight, the sad afflicted Train
Gaz'd into Health, and look'd away their Pain.
Aloft in Air, a mimick Serpent hung;
Fix'd on the Sight, the sad afflicted Train
Gaz'd into Health, and look'd away their Pain.
Sedney-Coll. Feb. 19. 1725–6.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |