Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Scene, Praxinoe's House, in the Suburbs of Alexandria.
GORGO, PRAXINOE, EUNOE.
GORGO.
My dear little girl, is Praxinoe at home?

EUNOE.
She is—but how late, Mrs. Gorgo, you come!

PRAXINOE.
Indeed! I thought, madam her head would ne'er push in—
But, Eunoe, see for a chair and a cushion.

EUNOE.
I have—

PRAXINOE.
Pray sit down—

GORGO.
What a terrible din!
What a pother! 'tis well I escap'd in whole skin!
What a brave heart have I! to pass so many folks
That clatter'd in sandals, and jostled in cloaks!
And coaches—you cannot imagine the throng!
I'm quite out of breath—and the way is so long!

PRAXINOE.
Too true: 'tis the fault of my plaguy old soul!
And here must we live, and put up with a hole.
What a desart! To vex me he tries all he can;
He was ever a strange unaccountable man!
He knew I could almost have died for the loss
Of your chat—but my schemes 'tis his pleasure to cross.

GORGO.
[Pointing to the child.]
Hush, madam—observe him—how earnest his eye—
Don't talk of your husband, when Zopy is by.

PRAXINOE.
I don't mean your papa, my sweet little jewel!

GORGO.
But he understands—no—papa's not so cruel.

PRAXINOE.
This fellow then (we may disguise it, you know,
And talk of the thing as if some time ago)
This block of a fellow once happen'd to stop,
To buy me some nitre and paint at a shop;
When, for nitre, he purchas'd bay-salt; and, for rouge,
The long-lubber gawky bought yellow gambouge.

GORGO.
Lord! mine is as bad! you could hardly have thought,
For five fleeces like dogs-hair, and dear in a groat,
That he squander'd away seven drachms! the sweet honey!
Well might it be said, he was fleec'd of his money!

But come, take your cloak—to Adonis we haste—
And fasten your robe with its clasps to your waist;
Our queen is preparing a sight so divine—

PRAXINOE.
Aye—all things, besure, with fine people are fine!
But describe to me these preparations, so novel
To me, who am coop'd in this lone little hovel.

GORGO.
'Tis high time to go; and we'll talk at our leisure.

PRAXINOE.
Bring water: come quickly, you slut! What a pleasure
These cats must enjoy on the down of a bed!
Go, drive them away: but, you statue of lead,
First bring me the water: See—see how you fill!
Enough!—And how dare you so carelessly spill
Such a flood on my gown? Well, I'm wash'd—God be blest!
Here, hussey—and give me the key of my chest.

GORGO.
Your robe—let me see—I protest, 'tis not clumsy:
Pray what did it cost? Nay, it vastly becomes ye.

PRAXINOE.
Don't ask me—it cost two good pounds and a crown;
And my life I'd near into the bargain laid down.

GORGO.
No waste of your time or your money, however.

PRAXINOE.
True, Gorgo: Come bring me my scarf, and be clever
In putting it on—and see there my umbrella.
But as for my Zopy, the dear little fellow—
You cannot go with us; the horses will bite;
You may cry—but the goblin will come in the night:
Cry on, if you please, sir; you shall not get hurt—
Yet, girl, pray endeavour the child to divert!
Bolt the door; but first call in the house-dog to watch;
And see you don't lift, while I'm absent, the latch.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene, the Street at Alexandria.
PRAXINOE, GORGO, OLD WOMAN, MAN, &c.
PRAXINOE.
Good Heav'ns! what a tide! how or when shall we stem it?
The street is as full as the bank of an emmet!
O Ptolemy, great are the deeds thou hast done,
Since thy father hath left, for Olympus, the throne!
A thief or a robber how seldom we meet;
Tho' pickpockets formerly crouded the street!
—Heavens! what shall we do? The war-horses advance.
Friend! do not ride over me! See how they prance!
That terrible bay how he rears! let's be gone—
Come, Eunoe—the rider, I'm sure, will be thrown.
Thank Heaven that my boy is at home—let us haste—

GORGO.
Cheer up, dear Praxinoe—the danger is past.

PRAXINOE.
Well—now I begin to recover my fright—
From a child I've been ready to faint at the sight
Of an horse or an adder—But let's keep our ground—
The mob from all quarters is thronging around.

Enter old woman.
GORGO.
From the hall, mother?

OLD WOMAN.
Yes.

GORGO.
Can we press, thro' the swarm, in?

OLD WOMAN.
That's a point which the trial can only determine.
He only, my daughter, who tries, can enjoy—
By trying, the Greeks became masters of Troy.

[Exit.

GORGO.
The crone! what a learned, oracular exit!
Sure women have knowlege—but love to perplex it!
So high is their soaring sagacity carried—
They can tell you, how Jove to his Juno was married.
Praxinoe! see what a croud at the gate!

PRAXINOE.
Immense! but 'tis troublesome, Gorgo, to wait!
Come, give me your hand! and thou, Eunoe, stick
(Take care not to lose her) to Madam Eutyck!
Let us enter together! Good God! what a gap!
My spring-silk has met with a horrid mishap!
And my scarf in a moment—Oh! oh! Sir—forbear—
And may Jupiter bless you—

MAN.
Dear madam, my care
Be assur'd—

PRAXINOE.
How they thrust! I am sure I am hurt!

MAN.
Good madam! cheer up, we are riding in port!

PRAXINOE.
And there may you ride, sir, this year and the next—
Still Eunoe's terribly jostled and vext!
Struggle stoutly, my girl!—Very well! as he cried—
“We're all in!”—when he lock'd himself up with his bride.

[Scene closes.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene, the Hall of the Palace.
GORGO, PRAXINOE, STRANGER, GREEK SINGING-GIRL.
GORGO.
Praxinoe! see the rich-tapestried room!
How exquisite! sure it was wrought in the loom
Of the gods!

PRAXINOE.
And how striking! how bold the designs!
No pencil could draw such elaborate lines!
Minerva! they rise above critical strictures!
For what animation enlightens the pictures!
Man's indeed a wise animal! See how they move—
Nay, start from the hangings: they cannot be wove!
But look on yon' figure: how charming he lies!
All silver the couch, and so vivid the dyes
Of his young downy beard—'tis not hard to discover
The features of Venus's beautiful lover.

100

STRANGER.
Cease—cease—idle dames, your impertinent tattle!
As hoarse and as broad as the pigeons ye prattle.

GORGO.
Indeed! who are you? Tho' we talk, shall you curb us?
Seek those who will listen, nor dare to disturb us!

101

Dost think Syracusians will tamely knock under,
That can trace to the city of Corinth their founder?
No, Master Officious! 'Tis seldom you hear of one
A slave, that's descended from mighty Bellerophon.
And as to our tongue, you've no reason to teaze us:
'Tis our own mother language of Peloponnesus.

PRAXINOE.
We have husbands, beside, that will bluster and cuff!
One tyrant, besure, is in conscience enough.

GORGO.
Hush—hush—my dear life! She's preparing the song:
The sweet little Grecian! How still is the throng!
She'll excel pensive Sperchis! See—see her prepare
With a languish so soft—so delicious an air!
So meltingly plaintive her musical tone is—
But hark!—She's beginning the death of Adonis. [OMITTED]
How sweetly she sings! Lord! how much she must know!
Happy minstrel! But bless me, 'tis high time to go.

102

Should my husband return before dinner is ready,
With his blustering vagaries my head would be giddy.
Adieu, then, at present, my sweetest Adonis!
And again may you meet such a crowd of your cronies!

103

THE VISION OF SIR AARON.

His coming was with lying wonders.
St. Paul.

His vision, a diabolical delusion.
Lavington.

Festa infesta Deo, Divumque sacerrima sacra.

The full moon rising, shed a sanguine ray;
Whilst Aaron hurried to the cobler's cell:
And sudden, by the spirit borne away,
Both, with alacrity no tongue can tell,
Setting their honest faces towards Hell,
Began to give their families the slip:
Nathless, as if recovering from a spell,
“What! no provision, sir, for such a trip,”
Said Drywit, “not a drop, to wet the parched lip?”

104

He, deaf and mute, to where at distance seen,
A glimmering rock reliev'd the sullen waste,
Swallow'd the ground, till roll'd a mist between,
And every feature of the crag effac'd.
“Homeward, (cried Drywit) master, let us haste,
“Nor wander here, while glooms around us close!”
When Aaron, full of joy, his clerk embrac'd—
“No! they are devils, my friend, that interpose,
“And victors shall we rise o'er all our ghostly foes.”

Certes, no sooner had Sir Aaron said,
Than, far off, a dim radiance met the view,
That now appear'd an orb of vivid red,
Now trembled, dying to a paly blue.
And, “See,” said Aaron, “to the saints so true,
“Already hath the spirit vouchsaf'd its light.
“What tho' still rage the dire obstructing crew;
“That splendour on the trees shall guide aright
“Our steps, and strait for Heaven provoke the glorious fight.”

105

The whistling of rude boughs assails his ear;
And, kindling from above the ruddy copse,
The heavenly lustre seems to shine more clear:
Away, with a triumphant air he hops,
Nor by the spirit urg'd, a moment stops,
Till to a quagmire giving way, so civil,
He bows, and makes obeisance with his chops!
“Zounds! (says the cobler) evil follows evil:
“We have, indeed, commenc'd a journey to the devil!”

Arising from the embraces of the fen,
“Come, Drywit, never fear!” the hero cries:
“Drywit rejoice! I see the hollow glen—
“'Tis there the treasure of the spirit lies!”
When, as at once his fancy seiz'd the prize,
Down went the antagonist of death and sin;
Tho' swore the varlet, with uplifted eyes,
His service never more should Aaron win,
If he could once get home, escaping in whole skin.

106

Deep in the glenwood, nigh a sombrous cave,
He saw, and told his transports in a bound,
Its snowy leaves the Leucophyllon wave,
And wrench'd it, by the roots, from out the ground;
When, as it quiver'd, with a mighty sound
The cavern to his sense expanded wide;
And many a dog-star flam'd the vault around:
And at his feet there foam'd a sulph'rous tide;
And far within, in troops, dun shadows seem'd to glide.

Strait where he stalk'd, arose the unceasing cries
Of infants, who, by too severe a doom,
Ere yet they could enjoy these upper skies,
Were hurried, all untimely, to the tomb.
Lorn innocents! no sooner from the womb
Ye struggled into life, than, unappriz'd
Of sin, ye sunk into the oblivious gloom!
Ah, why, when sinners grey are canoniz'd,
Why weep so sore?—ye died, poor wretches, unbaptiz'd!

107

There, too, innumerous shapes, in sable clad,
Curates and parish priests, would flit along;
There silken deans would rustle thro' the shade,
And lawn-sleeves gleam, the cassock'd tribe among!
Ah! what avail'd the vicar's sober tongue
That to a blameless life the meed assign'd?
What, the pure precepts that o'eraw'd the throng,
Where prelates, destin'd to adorn mankind,
To courtly splendour join'd an apostolic mind?

At Aaron's nod the yellow waves flew back,
Whilst on the fronting bank, two shapes appear'd
Dire-menacing: the one as midnight black,
A form, half-billow, and half-flame, up-rear'd,
And shook a dreadful dart with blood besmear'd!
The other roll'd, tho' woman to the waist,
As horrid yelpings from her womb were heard,
A scaly tail voluminous! Aghast,
Yet both in silence stood, as, calm, Heaven's champion pass'd.

108

First, to his sight, a choir of boys and girls
Were whirl'd about in one perpetual dance,
Swift as her restless wheel the spinster whirls;
While from their hollow eyes they look'd askance
With loose desires, and pin'd at every glance:
Nor could the votaries of religious whim
One step beyond the circling line advance;
As still St. Vitus, round a caldron's brim,
Urg'd his fantastic imps convuls'd in every limb.

Next, in a chair of pearl, beneath a roof
Of gold, a female methodist embrac'd
A puny petit-maitre, whilst aloof
The fashions of the world each other chac'd.
Charm'd with the visions of caprice or taste,
The fair one from her eye new rapture glanc'd;
And, tho' in life a devotee strait-lac'd,
Yet “in her heart a rake,” now gaily danc'd
To pleasure, now more calm, appear'd as one entranc'd.

109

He, in himself absorb'd, his brilliant rings
Runs over, or his pink-rosettes that glow
On each sharp shoe; while, tied with silken strings,
His muslin trowsers, and the plumes that flow
From his light cap, proclaim the child of show.
And, as his fan of feathers trembles oft,
A nosegay of the faintest flowers that blow,
Rests on a ribbon; since a heart so soft,
Might rue the load, if chance the petit-maitre cough'd.

Soon rattling in rude dissonance, their chains,
Vertigo and pale Spleen the gaudy glare
Would interrupt; and to a windmill's vanes
Fasten, unheeding their shrill screams, the pair,
And drive them dizzily around in air,
Till, in a livid swoon each died away;
When now, recovering, from the rich pearl chair

110

They witness'd as before, in bright array,
The fleeting fashions rise, and o'er the cieling play.

On a rush bed, amidst a cavern damp,
A damsel lay, to dreadful penance doom'd,
The victim of fell Incubus and Cramp,
Who had, in life, to pleasure idly bloom'd,
As in the prurient love-feast she consum'd,
Mid sister saints, the hypocritic night;
Till pale from watchings, and at length entomb'd,
She sunk into the shades, a beauteous sprite,
Tho' form'd for sensual bliss, debarr'd each keen delight.

Beside her, Cramp, as, shrivell'd up he clung
To clustring swallows, caught the damsel's sighs,
When on a sudden, up the pigmy sprung,
To a dire monster of enormous size,
Then shrunk into himself in agonies.
Now, as all muscle, he appear'd to strain
His limbs, and look'd as if his bursting eyes
Within their sockets he could scarce contain,
Now hiccup'd thrice, and laugh'd, and hiccup'd thrice again.

111

Scarce could the weary maid a moment doze,
(Ah, never her's was balmy slumber sweet)
Ere a cold touch benumb'd her legs, and froze
The extremer parts, like winter's arrowy sleet.
“One little pause of rest no more to greet
“Is mine!” (she cried) “no earthly cataplasm
“Alas! could ease the torment of my feet!”
While grinn'd invisible the fiend of spasm,
Then sought his swallow-nook, within the noisome chasm.

Meantime had Night-mare, midst a meteor's glare,
Stretch'd her huge limbs, when out flew many a bat,
That slept within her leathern breasts, and there
Oft drew her paps, like any human brat;
Or fann'd her, on her hairy buttock squat,
Spreading their skinny pinions of tann'd hue:
Then ruminating as the monster sat,
She gather'd from the cypress and dark yew,
Mixt with the froth of toads, a deleterious dew.

112

Eftsoons in office, that infernal imp,
Whose power can youth's gay visions intercept,
Not emulous, it seems, of Vulcan's limp,
But apeing Mercury, on the rush-couch leap'd,
As one short moment, tho' with sighs, she slept,
And shook the cavern with a gamesome jerk;
With stealthy cunning on her belly crept,
Ey'd the lorn fair one with a hideous smirk,
And, half-relenting, cried—“Alas! 'tis rueful work!”

Deep-fever'd blushes ting'd her lovely face,
Her mouth half-open'd to the murky night:
Her bosom panting with disorder'd grace,
Heav'd its blue veins, and glow'd with rosy light.
Loose were her shadowy tresses: snowy-white
Her right hand, backward thrown, sustain'd her head
That seem'd to throb with anguish; when the sprite
Shook o'er her breast the mane of dingy red,
And rais'd the poison'd hoof, and all its venom shed.

113

While quiver'd in paralysis her limbs,
With suffocative sighs opprest she lay:
And lo, as in the dews of death she swims,
She strives to scream with many a vain essay;
And starts from ghostly forms in chill dismay!
At length she moans, and utters a low shriek;
When, as she seems to feel a lump of clay
From her breast tumbling, tremulously weak,
Scarce can she lift her hand to touch her hectic cheek.

Insulting sore a methodistic crone,
With pallid hand as Hypochondria stroak'd
Her aching stomach to a bladder blown;
The sufferer, with throat-globules well nigh choakt,
Now crawl'd a bloated toad, and crawling croak'd;
Now, seiz'd with dizziness, o'er many a rood
Lay floating a huge whale, and oft provok'd
By fell harpooners, dash'd the fervent flood;
And in delirium seem'd to fill all space with blood.

114

Here Catalepsy, lost in thought intense,
Her heavy temples with the poppy crown'd,
Her victim would benumb in every sense,
And fix his leaden eye-balls to the ground,
And his stone tongue chain up, “without a sound.”
There too, her sister bade a wan wretch smite
His breast, and high to catch the vapours bound,
Dash in the dust his writhing limbs, and bite
His livid lips in foam, and dart pernicious light.

There, whilst the Dog-star pour'd upon his head
Siriasis! thy pestilential blaze,
Struck by the beams, thy victim, as he fled,
Stopp'd in mid-course, and star'd with ghastly gaze;

115

And, as the mist of darkness seem'd to glaze
His eye-balls, strove to seize, with ardour vain,
A cooling rill that curl'd thro' many a maze;
Then, smitten by the fiery beams again,
Pursued the elusive lymph, and beat his burning brain.

There Terror, mounting an infuriate horse,
Towards a precipice of bare rock flew,
And its mane grasping, in a bloody corse
Oft bath'd its hoofs, and oft a saint o'erthrew,
While from the steed's broad nostrils vapours blue
Stream'd forth, and from its eyes the Siroc's glare;
When laughing midst his methodistic crew,
Madness danc'd round, and started grim Despair;
And Terror's self shrunk back, and rais'd his bristling hair.

So dire the fiends, amidst hell's concave rag'd,
Who, the earth vexing, by a kindred train,
War, ever and anon, with mortals wag'd,
But, chiefly with the votaries of the fane;

116

Who, as descending to the dark domain
A saintly ghost demure attention drew,
Would, each, the mental and corporeal pain
That from the body rent the soul, renew,
And with appropriate pangs the suffering wretch pursue.

The doughty chief, while thus, to daze the sight,
The vision floating round and round him, rose,
Spied the devil seated on a mountain's height,
That flaming labour'd with volcanic throes;
And beckoning to the throne his fearstruck foes,
Bade them ‘no more their tyrant's nod obey,
‘On Methodists inflicting bitter woes,
‘But pour their vengeance on their proper prey—
‘On infants unbaptiz'd, and priests more damn'd than they.’

He spoke. And Satan, a fierce lightning fork
That hiss'd within the hollow crater, seiz'd,
And seem'd in act to speed its deathful work,
When Aaron high his Leucophyllon rais'd;

117

And, as in air the sulphur idly blaz'd,
Fix'd Satan trembling to the mountain's crest!
The vassal monsters, as in triumph, gaz'd;
St. Vitus paus'd, his rapid rounds represt,
Vertigo firmly stood, and e'en Despair had rest.

“Subdued” (says Aaron, as he swell'd in size
Gigantic) “see, subdued the dire domain!
And, (waving strait his rod) “Behold,” he cries,
“Hell vanishes! we tread on earth again!”
“Indeed” (quoth Drywit, in a doleful strain,)
“Whether on earth or not, I scarce can tell!
“Something, methinks, disturbs your Honour's brain!
“But, d---me! by to-morrow, if you dwell
“In this accursed hole, you'll find yourself in hell!”