A collection of poems on Several Occasions Publish'd in the Craftsman. By Caleb D'Anvers of Gray's Inn, Esq [i.e. Nicholas Amhurst] |
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TO Miss Polly Peachum A TOWN PASTORAL.
Written in Imitation of the Fourth Eclogue of Virgil. |
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 | A collection of poems on Several Occasions |  |
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TO Miss Polly Peachum A TOWN PASTORAL. Written in Imitation of the Fourth Eclogue of Virgil.
By J. W. of Cheapside, Linnen-Draper.
Sicelides Musæ, paulo Majora canamus.
Virgil.
Virgil.
Farewell! ye Nymphs, who range the humble Plains;
Henceforth a nobler Subject swells my Strains;
Aid all ye Muses; all your Strength combine;
For in dear Polly all the Muses shine.
Henceforth a nobler Subject swells my Strains;
Aid all ye Muses; all your Strength combine;
For in dear Polly all the Muses shine.
When on the Stage you act the moving Part,
My Ears and Eyes conspire to rack my Heart;
I gaze, I listen; and in Doubt am lost
Which happy Faculty is ravish'd most;
Thy Charms transport me, while I bless thy Voice,
And in the general, loud Applause rejoice.
My Ears and Eyes conspire to rack my Heart;
I gaze, I listen; and in Doubt am lost
Which happy Faculty is ravish'd most;
Thy Charms transport me, while I bless thy Voice,
And in the general, loud Applause rejoice.
Through every Scene thy rigid Fate I moan,
And in thy soft Distress forget my own;
Domestick Charges, Courtly Bills unpaid,
Increasing Taxes and declining Trade,
Debts, Pensions, Bribes no more disturb my Mind,
And ev'n the Coal-Act leaves no sting behind.
And in thy soft Distress forget my own;
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Increasing Taxes and declining Trade,
Debts, Pensions, Bribes no more disturb my Mind,
And ev'n the Coal-Act leaves no sting behind.
With Thee when Lucy dares dispute the Prize,
On the vain Slut I fix my scornful Eyes;
Contempt and Rage my throbbing Heart invade,
And from my Soul I curse—the Saucy Jade!
On the vain Slut I fix my scornful Eyes;
Contempt and Rage my throbbing Heart invade,
And from my Soul I curse—the Saucy Jade!
When bound in Chains the great Macheath I see,
Betray'd and sentenced to the fatal Tree,
Moved with thy Tears, my Patriot-Fires decay,
And publick Zeal to private Love gives Way,
Compassion rises for the Robbing Race,
And, for thy Sake, I beg an Act of Grace.
Betray'd and sentenced to the fatal Tree,
Moved with thy Tears, my Patriot-Fires decay,
And publick Zeal to private Love gives Way,
Compassion rises for the Robbing Race,
And, for thy Sake, I beg an Act of Grace.
But shall my Lips, against the righteous Laws,
Vouchsafe to plead a publick Robber's Cause?
Ah! no—since Justice dooms him to the Cart,
Let him be hang'd, that I may gain thy Heart—
Yet how can I expect thy Heart to gain,
When Nobles sigh and Ribons glare in vain?
Vouchsafe to plead a publick Robber's Cause?
Ah! no—since Justice dooms him to the Cart,
Let him be hang'd, that I may gain thy Heart—
Yet how can I expect thy Heart to gain,
When Nobles sigh and Ribons glare in vain?
Once more I long, with unexampled Art
To see Thee act this dear, delightful Part;
When not in vain thou shalt thy Fate bemoan,
The Rapture ours, the Benefit thy own.
Close in my Purse a Guinea, golden-bright,
I keep reserved for that expected Night;
More would I give!—but what my Stars deny,
Let Courtiers and contending Peers supply.
To see Thee act this dear, delightful Part;
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The Rapture ours, the Benefit thy own.
Close in my Purse a Guinea, golden-bright,
I keep reserved for that expected Night;
More would I give!—but what my Stars deny,
Let Courtiers and contending Peers supply.
Nor groundless is the Hope—with Joy I see
Courtiers and Peers contend in praising Thee;
Sooth'd with thy British Notes and warbling Flights,
The Patriot and Pensioner unites.
Ev'n thy own Sex thy shining Charms extol,
And, young or old, acknowledge pretty Poll;
While Envy is itself in Wonder lost,
And Factions strive who shall applaud Thee most.
Courtiers and Peers contend in praising Thee;
Sooth'd with thy British Notes and warbling Flights,
The Patriot and Pensioner unites.
Ev'n thy own Sex thy shining Charms extol,
And, young or old, acknowledge pretty Poll;
While Envy is itself in Wonder lost,
And Factions strive who shall applaud Thee most.
| A collection of poems on Several Occasions | |