The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe In one Volume ... The Third Edition Augmented [by Alexander Radcliffe] |
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LEANDER to HERO |
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 | The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe |  |
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LEANDER to HERO
The ARGUMENT.
Leander an Usher of a School, and chief Poet of Richmond, having contracted a more then ordinary Acquaintance with Mistress Hero of Twitnam, a Governess or Tutress to young Ladies; such a reverential esteem had they procur'd to themselves at each place, that they could not conveniently meet without great scandal; therefore the Usher frequently swam over to his Mistress by night, but at this time the Thames was so rough, that he was constrained to convey his mind to Hero by a Waterman in these Poetical Lines, wherein Love and Learning strive to outvie each other.
Stuff'd full of Love, but not a word of news.
Believe not, I think much of any Labour,
Cou'd I have come my self, I'd ne're sent Paper;
The Thames is rough, the Winds so hard do blow,
I scarcely got a Waterman to go.
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This was the only Fellow to be found.
I stood upon the Shoar, while he went off,
The Boat once gone, I thought 'twas well enough.
I must be careful whom I send by Water,
Our Family begins to smoak the matter:
Just as the Letter went, I had a fancy
Came in my head, I cou'd have made a Stanza:
Go Paper, go, and kiss a whiter hand,
That oft hath put Leander to a stand.
Methinks, the Nymph perfumes it with her Breath,
And bites the wax of with her Ivory Teeth:
Her Sheperd would be glad to be so bit,
Untill th' aforesaid Teeth together met.
But then think I, these whymses shee'll condemn
The hand that writes, should rather make me swim;
Bold strokes in Poetry she hardly blames,
But such bold stroaks shou'd be upon the Thames:
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I long untill each Arm, does prove an Oar.
Fully resolv'd I came to'th water side,
And thought the space between us but a stride.
I saw your house, and wish'd that I cou'd clamber
To your watch—light in the supremest Chamber:
I pull'd off Coat and doublet twice or thrice,
But then I thought,—be merry and be wise.
Thus I in Verse spake to the mighty Boreas,
Thou blustring youth—pray tell me why so furious;
Tho' amongst Winds thou art a great Commander,
Blow gently for the sake of poor Leander.
I cross no Sea (Here Thames is call'd the Sea,
Because it doth with lofty Verse agree.)
I cross no Sea to Asia or to Afrique,
Upon the Account of Sublunary Traffique:
Ingots of Gold! alas! I do not seek 'em,
Give me my Heroes Love, then omnia mecum.
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And goes a—woing, I'll not say a—whoring.
For several uses you, your breath may spare,
Do not so fiercely move our Richmond Air.
But all was vain, Boreas was still unkind,
I did repeat my Verses to the wind.
Had I but wings, I'd soar above the People
And place my self just now on Twitnam Steeple.
I well remember that first night I swam,
That happy night I first to Twitnam came:
I put of all my cloaths, with them my fears,
And dous'd into the Thames o're head and ears.
The Moon took—care Leander should not sink,
And stole before me like a lighted Link:
I thank'd her for her Love, and thus did greet her,
As far as my poor Talent went—in meeter.
Ah gentle Moon, because thou'rt kind to me,
I wish Endymion may be so to thee:
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With thy broad Eye, so wink at my Intrigue.
Under correction to your Heavenly sence,
Your case and mine have little difference.
A Goddess you love one of human Birth,
My Mistress is a Goddess upon Earth:
Such sort of Beauty as she wears, is given
Only to such as do belong to Heaven.
And if you are not of the self same mind,
Begging your Pardon, Cynthia, you're blind.
With such like words I got near Twitnam sands,
And nothing all the way saw I but Swans.
At last I spy'd your Candle on the top,
Aye! now all's well, thought I, there is some hope.
But when you put your head out from the Cazement,
Then was Leander struck into amazement;
For two Lights more did from the Window seem,
Which made the artificial one look dim.
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I, like some Prince was lighted to the shoar.
But you're to blame, when you perceiv'd me come,
Nurse sayes, she cou'd not keep you in the room,
But in your shift you wou'd be running down;
You'l get some violent cold, and then you're gone.
But to say truth, thou art a loving Tit,
Thou hug'st me in thy arms all dripping wet:
I can but think how straingly I did look,
When you put o're my head a Holland Smock;
And hand in hand thus walking from the Thames,
We seem'd the Ghosts of two distressed Dames.
But when we came to Bed, we understood,
We were no Ghosts, but real Flesh and Blood:
We did repeat more pleasures in one hour,
Than some dull Lovers do in forty score;
Because we knew our time was very short,
We cou'd not tell the number of our sport.
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Tithon perhaps will take the other nap,
See her Postillian Lucifer before,
And now the Bus'ness of the Night is o're;
The day appears, Leander must be jogging,
And home agen among the Boyes a-flogging.
My well beloved Amo I forsake,
And to dull Doceo now I must go back.
And Substantive I'll always be to thee,
My pritty Verb Deponent thou shalt be.
If we were in conjuction day and night,
Leander would not prove a heteroclite:
In Grammer we make Noun to joyn with Noun,
Why shou'd not Twitnam joyn with Richmond, Town?
'Twou'd make one mad to think a foolish River,
Or any surly Winds should Lovers sever:
But hold Leander, let no Seas nor Wind
Disturb the quiet Freehold of thy Mind.
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The Salmon seem'd to peep upon my Face;
I could hear Boatmen call from Western Barge,
What Fish is that, my thinks 'tis very large,
They'd call me Porpus, and they'd jeer and flout me;
But now by th' name of Brother they salute me:
How d'ee says one; Good morrow t'other cryes;
I civilly return them, Bona dies.
The Fishermen that bobs all night for Eel,
Now sayes, Your Servant, Sir, I wish you well:
God send you safe on t'other side the Water,
I say unto him, Salvus sis piscator.
I hope those Halcyon Nights will soon return;
For want of 'em, does poor Leander mourn.
But if such storms in Summer time does hinder,
How shall I e're get to the in the Winter?
If I do venture in, and should be drown'd,
I hope by thee my Body will be found.
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Then may I truly say—mors mihi Lucrum.
But let not this possess you I am dead,
A foolish whimsey came into my head,
We shall have many pleasant Nights between us,
I'll come and hugg my Hero ore-tenus.
Pray put these Lines up safe, for fear you loose 'em,
In that warm place where I would be, your Bosom:
And in a little time, dispute it not,
I'll come and justifie what I have wrot:
For when the wheather changes I'll not fail ye,
And untill then thou—dulce decus Vale.
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