The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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THE SPLEEN. |
 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
222
THE SPLEEN.
I am not of their mind who say
The World degenerates every day;
Nor like to hear a churl exclaim,
In rapture at Queen Bess's name,
And cry, “What happy times were those
“When Ladies with the Sun uprose,
“And for their breakfast did not fear
“To eat roast-beef and drink small-beer!
“Then buxom Health and sprightly Grace
“Enliven'd every blooming face;
“Blooming with roses all its own;
“And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown.”
The World degenerates every day;
Nor like to hear a churl exclaim,
In rapture at Queen Bess's name,
And cry, “What happy times were those
“When Ladies with the Sun uprose,
“And for their breakfast did not fear
“To eat roast-beef and drink small-beer!
“Then buxom Health and sprightly Grace
“Enliven'd every blooming face;
“Blooming with roses all its own;
“And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown.”
Nature, still changing, still the same,
Hath so contriv'd this worldly frame,
That every age shall duly share
The good or ill that flows from her.
Thus we, a Spleenful race, are free
From magic and from sorcery;
While those who liv'd with good Queen Bess
(As they that know the truth confess)
Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none,
Had Imps and Witches many a one;
And he who, 'cause he has not seen,
Will not believe, hath ne'er, I ween,
With due attention mus'd upon
Thy page, O British Solomon!
Hath so contriv'd this worldly frame,
That every age shall duly share
The good or ill that flows from her.
Thus we, a Spleenful race, are free
From magic and from sorcery;
While those who liv'd with good Queen Bess
(As they that know the truth confess)
Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none,
Had Imps and Witches many a one;
And he who, 'cause he has not seen,
Will not believe, hath ne'er, I ween,
With due attention mus'd upon
Thy page, O British Solomon!
223
Thus far in preface—Now I'll tell
How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell.
By vengeful Laws the Wizard brood
Long harass'd and at last subdued,
Their black Familiars all repair
Before the throne of Lucifer,
With sad petitions, setting forth
Their many grievances on earth,
What torments they were doom'd to bear
While tending on their Witches there:
Some drown'd, to prove their innocence,
Or, scaping, hang'd on that pretence;
Some burnt within their steeple hats,
Some nine times murder'd in their Cats.
Brief, they petition'd to enjoy
Some less adventurous employ,
Since witchcraft now was thought so common
They were not safe in an Old Woman.
How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell.
By vengeful Laws the Wizard brood
Long harass'd and at last subdued,
Their black Familiars all repair
Before the throne of Lucifer,
With sad petitions, setting forth
Their many grievances on earth,
What torments they were doom'd to bear
While tending on their Witches there:
Some drown'd, to prove their innocence,
Or, scaping, hang'd on that pretence;
Some burnt within their steeple hats,
Some nine times murder'd in their Cats.
Brief, they petition'd to enjoy
Some less adventurous employ,
Since witchcraft now was thought so common
They were not safe in an Old Woman.
Their suit was granted—up they came
New-liveried in Sulphur flame,
With licence thro' the realm to range;
But, with their pow'r, their name they change:
Magic no longer now is seen,
And what was Withcraft once, is Spleen:
Yet still they most delight to vex,
As first they did, the Female Sex;
And still, like an old Witch's charm,
They teaze, but have no pow'r to harm.
New-liveried in Sulphur flame,
With licence thro' the realm to range;
But, with their pow'r, their name they change:
Magic no longer now is seen,
And what was Withcraft once, is Spleen:
Yet still they most delight to vex,
As first they did, the Female Sex;
And still, like an old Witch's charm,
They teaze, but have no pow'r to harm.
224
Tho' Doctors otherwise have told,
The tale is true that I unfold;
And with my System suits the Name,
For Spleen and Vapours are the same;
And all the country people know
That these, ascending from below,
Are Devils of peculiar hue,
And from their colour call them Blue.
The tale is true that I unfold;
And with my System suits the Name,
For Spleen and Vapours are the same;
And all the country people know
That these, ascending from below,
Are Devils of peculiar hue,
And from their colour call them Blue.
| The Wiccamical Chaplet | |