 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
388
A DIALOGUE between the Dutchess of Clevel--- and the Dutchess of Portsmouth, at their Meeting in Paris. With the Ghost of Jane Shore.
Cl.Art thou return'd my Sister Concubine,
For all those subtle cunning Arts of thine,
With which thou didst subdue our Monarch's Heart,
And wouldst not let me with thee share a part;
Tho my great Beauty did that Heart subdue,
Long e're it could so meanly stoop to you?
Ports.
I am return'd to see my Native France,
The Place where first I saw the World by chance.
Tho mean by Birth, yet Fortune this can do,
Help by the Charms of Wit and Beauty too.
Methinks my Port and my illustrious Train,
Should rather move your Envy than Disdain.
C.
My Envy! no, thy Meanness I despise,
Thou art a Beggar still, tho in disguise.
The noble Ladies of the Gallick Court
Will mock at your fine gaudy Train and Port;
Thy Converse and thy Company they'll scorn,
Since thou of genteel Blood wert never born.
P.
The King's Example, Dutchess, you will find,
Shall make the Ladies of this Court more kind:
For many Services for him I'ave done,
Which he I'm sure with Kindness now will own.
I'ave serv'd him with my Person and my Wit,
But how, to tell you, Madam, 'tis not fit.
C.
If you have ought for this great Monarch done,
He'l make you then some Abbess or a Nun.
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Their Whores to noble Titles to advance
But usually the Royal Miss is sent,
To some Religious Cloyster to repent.
P.
It is not yet that time of Day with me,
Nor am I fallen to so low degree;
More joyful Days I yet do hope to see.
Tho I have here of English Guinies store,
I thither will return and get me more.
England will me a plenteous Harvest yield,
Here to buy Lands and Palaces to build.
C.
Methinks you talk at an immodest rate,
Thou French She-Horse-leech of the English State:
Rome us'd to draw its richest Treasures thence,
The English Gold was chang'd to Peter's pence:
But now that Rome can draw from thence no more,
It is enhanced by a Gallick W---.
P.
If I'm immodest methinks you are vain,
Thus idly of my Riches to complain:
England did once to you a Harvest yield,
Alas! I'ave but the Gleanings of the Field.
Gold fell into your Lap with a spring Tide,
But you have spent it on your Lust and Pride:
Your time is past, and Lust has made you old,
And to be serv'd you now must give your Gold;
Or fumble with some weak old Clergy-man,
To get a Spill your Royet to maintian.
C.
O Madam, you must needs be very chast,
If, as they say, the Prior you embrac'd.
I laugh to hear of Chastity from you,
As if a Whore was e'er to one Man true.
I own my Nature, it is brave and high,
With Messalina I my self could vie.
Let a dull Husband lie with her that's chast,
I by a Prince am fit to be embrac'd.
P.
Brag not, your decay'd Beauty is grown stale,
And all your Arts no longer can prevail:
390
Whilst you are banish'd from a Monarch's Arms.
Alas, your Beauty now is in the Wain,
No Art can e'er renew that Face again:
Madam, the shining Glories are all set,
Which makes you thus at your Successor fret.
C.
Dull Tool, my Eyes yet sparkle and are good,
I feel a vigorous May yet in my Blood;
I'm sound and free from any foul Disease,
Can warm a Lover and know how to please:
Whilst thou corrupted, scentst the very Room
In spite of Essences and strong Perfume.
I can't but wonder by what Magick Art,
Thou e'er couldst conquer a great Monarch's Heart.
That Baby's Face of thine, and those black Eyes,
Methinks should ne'er a Hero's Love surprise;
None that had Eyes e'er saw, in that French Face,
O'ermuch of Beauty, Form or comely Grace.
P.
You are my Rival and may me despise,
But Lovers see not with your envious Eyes.
If you in Beauty have the greatest share,
And if that mine cannot with yours compare,
My Wit exceeds, and yours have prov'd but ill,
Since you're cast off and I am courted still.
C.
When I did reign, I like a Queen did show,
I sat above and saw crown'd Heads below;
Of Jewels and of Gold I had such store,
I knew not how to seek or wish for more.
To me the Idols of the Court all bow'd,
I was adored by the numerous Croud;
Till thou wert seen, who with some Magick Spell,
Some Charm or Philtre that was made in Hell,
Didst my great Hero's Heart then steal away,
And took by Hell-bred Arts my Beauty's Prey.
391
They were my Leavings that were shar'd to you.
P.
It shows my Wit and Beauty had most Power,
When I subdu'd your mighty Conqueror:
And that I broke into your Beauty's Charms,
And ravished your Hero from your Arms.
I'ave rul'd as well as you, and my French Pate
Has div'd into the great Intrigues of State:
In Balls and Masques you revel'd out your Nights,
But, Madam, I did relish State Delights:
My Politicks and Arts were deeper bred,
Than ever came into your shallow Head.
Vain Pride and Pleasure were the things you sought,
Whilst that four Kingdoms did imploy my Thought.
States-men did know that you were but a Fool,
But they from me took Measures how to rule.
C.
And yet I see you are turn'd off at last,
And all your cunning Policies misplac'd.
P.
You are deceiv'd, and I shall make you mourn,
When you shall see me, Madam, back return:
Mind you your Pleasures, game your time away,
My business will not let me longer stay,
To our great Monarch I have much to say.
C.
If back to England thou shouldst e'er return,
May thou become the common People's Scorn.
May against thee the London Prentice rise,
And may they pull out thy bewitching Eyes.
Against that time I will go learn to curse,
That Pox or Plague I'll wish thee something worse.
What Specter's this!
P.
O Heav'ns, what have we here!
My Joints do tremble and my Soul doth fear.
The Ghost of Jane Shoar to them.
Ghost.
Perhaps you know me not, yet take a View,
See what I am, I was once such as you,
I was a Whore, a Royal Mistress too.
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And like you too I gloried in my Shame,
Edward my Lord was, and Jane Shoar my Name.
I liv'd in Splendor and enjoy'd Delights,
Feasted all Day, and in Love's luscious Rites,
Between a Monarch's Arms wore out the Nights.
But when at last my happy Monarch dy'd,
I lost my Riches, Pleasures, and my Pride,
And all that e'er was sweet or good beside.
Alas, remember what of me became,
My Honor stain'd, and black was all my Fame,
Scorn of the People, to my self a Shame.
A Wretch I grew, wish'd I were never born,
Poor and contemn'd, and every Rascal's Scorn,
Unpity'd died, most wretched and forlorn.
But happy had I been had this been all,
Or if that I had had no farther Fall,
But Hell on my Misdeeds aloud did call.
Tormented in the Flames of Hell below,
No Ease from Torment, Pain, and endless Woe,
For Pleasures past, my scorched Soul doth know.
Short were my Pleasures while I lived here,
And those were also mixt with Grief and Fear,
But Pain Eternal's in the lower Sphere.
You two great Women, great in Lust and Sin,
Repent, repent, and to reform begin,
For your Reward you Hell at last will win,
Rivals look on me, and contend no more,
What you are now I once was long before,
Yet I am damn'd altho a Royal Whore.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |