The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Miss! Cousin! Molly! Terms like those
Become the simple style of prose.—
When One to claim our verse we find
Dear, because good, above her kind,
To mark her from the vulgar throng,
Melissa is her name in song.

Melissa! then, (for you may claim
Dear, because good, the favorite name,)
Accept, acknowledge, and approve
Esteem, that means much more than Love;

Esteem, that greets each native trace
Of Spirit, Sentiment, and Grace;
And tho' in You she owns them met,
Presumes you not quite perfect yet;
But hopes to see you (doubt who will)
Still dearer, because better still.

How nicely form'd the Female Heart
For genuine Merit's noblest part!
How might your livelier Fancy's pow'rs
Extend, adorn, and soften ours!
How brilliant, how almost divine,
Would every sterner Virtue shine,
Transferr'd into a Woman's breast,
And in the Sex's sweetness drest!

Why then so barren lies a soil,
So worthy of the cultor's toil?

Ah! Ladies! by one fate you fall;
One little error ruins all!

I'll tell it,—tho' I stand reprov'd:
—You'd rather be admir'd than lov'd!
Hence is the Coxcomb's task so easy;
He makes you like himself, to please ye.

“Tis great to astonish and subdue,
“And lead a train of Captives.”—True—
Yet little Glory gilds your Reign,
If Knaves and Fops compose the train.
And take it, Fair-ones, for a rule,
A Flatterer must be Knave or Fool;
Whose treacherous tale, howe'er exprest,—
(Knaves do their worst, and Fools their best,)
Too soon, too surely lures your youth
From youth's first friend, Impartial Truth.
Truth, which would teach you to obtain
That Excellence it scorns to feign.

From Truth's award Melissa's ear
Had ever more to hope than fear:

Melissa therefore will agree,
Applauding Moore, to pardon me,
If proud in such a plan to join,
I preface Verse like his, with mine.

The Glass bright Laura's Toilette grac'd,
Patch, powder, and perfume were plac'd:—
—Before the gentle Dame drew nigh,
Her Monkey, and her Parrot by,
A courtly tête-à-tête began:—
And thus the conversation ran.

“Sweet Poll, permit me, or I burst,
“To tell my thought—Indeed! I must!
“That mimic archness—(Ah! mon cœur!)
“What mortal Monkey can endure!
“Such endless humour you have got!
“So fluent! so!—I can't say what!
“You rise in harmony and style,
“Above the feather'd race, a mile!

“In every tone of every word,
“A very, very human bird!
“And Toasts, would Toasts my hint pursue,
“To know themselves should study You.”
—He said, the Parrot thus reply'd;
“Your praises are just ground for pride:
“For sure, what Men themselves appear
“None knows so well, none comes so near;
“Trust me, your Grin displays to sight,
“Meaning as deep, and Teeth as white.—
“What Man could puff with happier face,
“For Wisdom, Spleen; for Wit, Grimace?
“This tongue, whose harmony of tone,
“Your rare discernment deigns to own,
“Would fail, insensible and cold,
“Ere half your parts and worth was told.
“Never in Manners, Air, or Feature,
“Was such a Gentleman-like Creature!”

Flattering and flatter'd, each believes:
Conceit takes all, that Folly gives.
Genius, it seems, with men they share:
Why not as graceful? and as fair?
Flush'd with the thought before the Glass
The self-made dupes resolve to pass:
Assur'd (what else could they suppose?)
Each peep would some new Grace disclose.

The Monkey turning first, survey'd
His own odd likeness;—shrug'd,—and said,—
“False Mirror, no!—it cannot be!
“I'm not that frightful Thing, I see!
“Spite, thy mere spite, protracts, I vow,
“My visage; and deforms my brow.”

The Parrot next, with fluttering breast,
Her disappointment thus confest;
“What have we here?—Is that my figure?
“Have Pow'rs so various, bulk no bigger?

“What symptom of a Wit so keen,
“Can in that drowsy Phiz be seen?
“Can from that pot-hook of a Bill,
“The honey of my Voice distill?
“Second, dear Pug, my vengeful blow;
“And shiver this insulting foe.”

She spoke,—and both with eager aim,
Rush'd furious, tow'rd the little frame.

“Hold! Blockheads! hold!” a Lap-dog cry'd,
(Who listen'd by the Toilette's side,)
“From wrath so base, so rash, forbear:—
“The Glass reflects you—as you are!
“Ugly, contemptible, absurd!
“A silly Brute, and paltry Bird!
“That Glass, when Laura's form it shows,
“With Beauty's liveliest lustre glows;
“Yet then, as now, no Blemish spares;
“Nor favour, nor affection bears:

“But gives to all—e'en all their Due;
“Her Charms to her—your Shame to you.”

Truth, like a Glass, when it conveys,
In moral Portraits, Blame or Praise,
Paints from the Life;—and will offend
Those only, whom it cannot mend.