Poems on Affairs of State

Near to the Rose where Punks in numbers flock,
To pick up Cullies, to increase the Stock;
A Lofty Fabrick does the Sight invade,
And stretches round the place a pompous Shade;
Where sudden Shouts the Neighbourhood surprize,
And Thund'ring Claps, and dreadful Hissings rise.

Here Thrifty R--- hires Monarchs by the Day,
And keeps his Mercenary Kings in Pay;
With deep-mouth Actors fills the Vacant Scenes,
And drains the Town for Goddesses and Queens:
Here the lewd Punk, with Crowns and Scepters grac'd,
Teaches her Eyes a more Majestick Cast;

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And hungry Monarchs with a numerous Train
Of Supplicant Slaves, like Sancho, Starve and Reign.

But enter in, my Muse, the Stage survey,
And all its Pomp and Pageantry display;
Trap-Doors and Pit-falls, from th'unfaithful Ground,
And Magic Walls, encompass it around:
On either side maim'd Temples fill our Eyes,
And intermixt with Brothel-Houses rise;
Disjointed Palaces in order stand,
And Groves obedient to the mover's Hand,
O'ershade the Stage, and flourish at Command.
A Stamp makes broken Towns and Trees entire:
So when Amphion struck the Vocal Lire,
He saw the Spacious Circuit all around,
With crowding Woods, and Neighb'ring Cities crown'd.

But next the Tyring-Room survey and see,
False Titles, and promiscuous Quality,
Confus'dly swarm from Heroes, and from Queens,
To those that swing in Clouds and fill Machines.
Their various Characters they chose with Art,
The Frowning Bully fits the Tyrant's part:
Swoln Cheecks, and swaggering Belly makes a Host,
Pale meager Looks, and hollow Voice a Ghost;
From careful Brows, and heavy down-cast Eyes,
Dull Cits, and thick-scull'd Aldermen arise:
The Comick Tone, inspir'd by F---r, draws
At every Word loud Laughter and Applause:
The Mincing Dame continues as before,
Her Character's unchang'd, and acts a Whore.

Above the rest, the Prince with mighty Stalks,
Magnificent in Purple Buskins walks:
The Royal Robe his Haughty Shoulders grace,
Profuse of Spangles and of Copper-Lace:
Officious Rascals to his mighty Thigh,
Guiltless of Blood, th'unpointed Weapon tye;
Then the Gay Glittering Diadem put on,
Pondrous with Brass, and star'd with Bristol stone.

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His Royal Consort next consults her Glass,
And out of twenty Boxes culls a Face.
The Whit'ning first her Ghastly Looks besmears,
All Pale and Wan th'unfinish'd Form appears;
Till on her Cheeks the Blushing Purple glows,
And a false Virgin Modesty bestows;
Her ruddy Lips the Deep Vermillion dyes;
Length to her Brows the Pencil's touch supplies,
And with black bending Arches shades her Eyes.
Well pleas'd at length the Picture she beholds,
And spots it o'er with Artificial Molds;
Her Countenance compleat, the Beaux she warms
With looks, not hers, and spight of Nature, charms.

Thus artfully their Persons they disguise,
Till the last Flourish bids the Curtain rise.
The Prince then enters on the Stage in State;
Behind, a Guard of Candle-Snuffers wait:
There swoln with Empire, terrible and fierce,
He shakes the Dome, and tears his Lungs with Verse:
His Subjects tremble, the Submissive Pit,
Wrapt up in Silence and Attention, sit;
Till freed at length, he lays aside the Weight
Of Publick Business and Affairs of State;
Forgets his Pomp, dead to Ambitious Fires,
And to some peaceful Brandy-Shop retires;
Where in full Gills his anxious thoughts he drowns,
And quaffs away the Care that waits on Crowns.

The Princess next her pointed Charms displays,
Where every Look the Pencil's Art betrays.
The Callow Squire at distance feeds his Eyes,
And silently for Paint and Patches dies:
But if the Youth behind the Scenes retreat,
He sees the blended Colours melt with heat,
And all the trickling Beauty run in Sweat.
The borrow'd Visage he admires no more,
And nauseates every Charm he lov'd before:
So the same Spear, for double force renown'd,
Apply'd the Remedy that gave the Wound.

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In tedious Lists 'twere endless to engage,
And draw at length the Rabble of the Stage,
Where one for twenty Years has given Alarms,
And call'd contending Monarchs to their Arms;
Another fills a more important Post,
And rises every other Night a Ghost.
Thro the cleft Stage his meager Face he rears,
Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears;
Others with Swords and Shields, the Soldiers Pride,
More than a thousand times have chang'd their Side,
And in a thousand fatal Battels dy'd.

Thus several Persons, several Parts perform;
Pale Lovers whine, and blustring Heroes storm.
The stern exasperated Tyrants rage,
Till the kind Bowl of Poison clears the Stage.
Then Honours vanish, and Distinctions cease;
Then with Reluctance haughty Queens undress.
Heroes no more their fading Laurels boast,
And mighty Kings in private Men are lost.
He whom such Titles swell'd, such Power made proud,
To whom whole Realms, and vanquish'd Nations bow'd,
Throws off the gaudy Plume, the Purple Train,
And is in Statu quo himself again.

University of Virginia Library

The Play-House:

A Satyr.