 | Verses at the last Publick Commencement at Cambridge |  |
1
VERSES SPOKEN AT THE LAST Publick Commencement at Cambridge.
Hail, British Fair Ones, who in Silence sit,
And fancy, all you know not, must be Wit;
Who own your Ignorance in Roman Books,
Yet judge of Roman Eloquence by Looks;
Unknown, in Latin, we your Fame might wrong,
But who dares taint you in your native Tongue?
A secret Truth at first must be confest,
We Students are too grave, or dull to jest.
An English Jest such Jealousies can raise,
We Puppet-Shows receive, and banish Plays.
Ev'n here, the Tragick Muse is thought unchaste:
Well may learn'd Oxford boast a happier Taste,
Andromache, there, sheds a guiltless Tear,
And Mourning Brides without a Blush appear.
Brave Antony may own Love's Pow'r Divine,
Indulge his Passion, and the Globe resign.
Great Cæsar, there, has fall'n with decent Pride,
And greater Cato, more than once, has dy'd.
And fancy, all you know not, must be Wit;
Who own your Ignorance in Roman Books,
Yet judge of Roman Eloquence by Looks;
Unknown, in Latin, we your Fame might wrong,
But who dares taint you in your native Tongue?
A secret Truth at first must be confest,
We Students are too grave, or dull to jest.
An English Jest such Jealousies can raise,
We Puppet-Shows receive, and banish Plays.
Ev'n here, the Tragick Muse is thought unchaste:
Well may learn'd Oxford boast a happier Taste,
Andromache, there, sheds a guiltless Tear,
And Mourning Brides without a Blush appear.
Brave Antony may own Love's Pow'r Divine,
Indulge his Passion, and the Globe resign.
2
And greater Cato, more than once, has dy'd.
But here, the Scene is chang'd to trifling Shows,
A German juggles Tricks, and slits his Nose.
No more the Salamander's Coldness name,
That only lives in, but this breaths out Flame.
Another glorious Sight, a second Call;
A Man too little, or a Man too tall.
Observe what Crowds the hideous Artist draws,
Who Postures scrues, that start from Nature's Laws.
The lovely Image, Heav'n had stamp'd, is fled,
And fair Humanity deform'd for Bread.
To Africk's wild Inhabitants you run,
And meet those Monsters, which the Wise should shun.
Mix'd with the sprucest Bands, bright Celia's shine,
And shoot more Darts, than Quills the Porcupine.
Here, Indian Otters, and white Owls you see,
With tawney Lions in dumb Majesty:
There, the dead Tortoise forms a spacious Boat,
In which Miss Venus us'd of old to float.
From Sciences we solemnly repair
To Ropes, and Fiddles, and a bounding Fair.
With such a graceful Mien, so strong a Spring,
The Nymph still rises from the quiv'ring String,
That the swift Motion our kind Thoughts improve,
And Paint her flying on the Wings of Love.
Feats of Activity, till these, unknown,
And yet not all her wond'rous Feats are shown.
Close by degrees Philosophers advance,
Glote on the Dancer, but still praise the Dance.
Our Alma Mater promises Relief,
She can allay the Pain, or sooth the Grief:
Enamour'd Strephons! chuse you as you please,
Cool Grotto's, purling Streams, or willow Trees.
Or if your Vapours rage not too severe,
E'en Dancing Dogs, and Three-leg'd Cats are here,
And Punch is merry twice at least a Year.
A German juggles Tricks, and slits his Nose.
No more the Salamander's Coldness name,
That only lives in, but this breaths out Flame.
Another glorious Sight, a second Call;
A Man too little, or a Man too tall.
Observe what Crowds the hideous Artist draws,
Who Postures scrues, that start from Nature's Laws.
The lovely Image, Heav'n had stamp'd, is fled,
And fair Humanity deform'd for Bread.
To Africk's wild Inhabitants you run,
And meet those Monsters, which the Wise should shun.
Mix'd with the sprucest Bands, bright Celia's shine,
And shoot more Darts, than Quills the Porcupine.
Here, Indian Otters, and white Owls you see,
With tawney Lions in dumb Majesty:
There, the dead Tortoise forms a spacious Boat,
In which Miss Venus us'd of old to float.
From Sciences we solemnly repair
To Ropes, and Fiddles, and a bounding Fair.
3
The Nymph still rises from the quiv'ring String,
That the swift Motion our kind Thoughts improve,
And Paint her flying on the Wings of Love.
Feats of Activity, till these, unknown,
And yet not all her wond'rous Feats are shown.
Close by degrees Philosophers advance,
Glote on the Dancer, but still praise the Dance.
Our Alma Mater promises Relief,
She can allay the Pain, or sooth the Grief:
Enamour'd Strephons! chuse you as you please,
Cool Grotto's, purling Streams, or willow Trees.
Or if your Vapours rage not too severe,
E'en Dancing Dogs, and Three-leg'd Cats are here,
And Punch is merry twice at least a Year.
Now let th'unpointed Satyr gently note
Th'Enormity of each vast Petticote.
Sometimes the Muses, languishing, might droop,
But bashful Clio never wore a Hoop.
O! had Diana, on the wood land Green,
Entrench'd her Females in this odd Machine,
With Pleasure she had hear'd th'affrighted Boar
Rustle in Silks, and pierc'd with Whalebone roar.
Her Nymphs, unknown, had drove an am'rous Trade,
Brisk Atalanta had no Gambols play'd,
But, like St. Whinyfred, been still a Maid.
Th'Enormity of each vast Petticote.
Sometimes the Muses, languishing, might droop,
But bashful Clio never wore a Hoop.
O! had Diana, on the wood land Green,
Entrench'd her Females in this odd Machine,
With Pleasure she had hear'd th'affrighted Boar
Rustle in Silks, and pierc'd with Whalebone roar.
4
Brisk Atalanta had no Gambols play'd,
But, like St. Whinyfred, been still a Maid.
The Weak, th' Afflicted, kindly Hoops befriend,
And injur'd Virtue gen'rously defend,
While, widely spread, with tutelary Care,
They cheat the World, and skreen the Pregnant Fair:
Or else some Literati might have shown,
All are not Saints, nor Eunuchs in a Gown,
And had long since lost Fellowships deplor'd,
Who still glare Rev'rend on the Butt'ry-board.
And injur'd Virtue gen'rously defend,
While, widely spread, with tutelary Care,
They cheat the World, and skreen the Pregnant Fair:
Or else some Literati might have shown,
All are not Saints, nor Eunuchs in a Gown,
And had long since lost Fellowships deplor'd,
Who still glare Rev'rend on the Butt'ry-board.
Hoops were at first a Pagan Innovation,
Tho' now most us'd in the most Christian Nation.
Fame says, a Critick, for vast Depths renown'd,
Secret Memoirs of Ithaca has found:
Those musty Rolls no wond'rous Truths declare,
Penelope was not so Chaste, as Fair.
She, for State-reasons, was the first Beginner
Of Hoops; a sly, discretionary Sinner!
What! tho' She heath'nish swell'd about the Waste,
The Silken Umbrage still proclaim'd her chaste.
The Prude in Sun-shine sicken'd at a Spark,
But was a very Woman in the Dark.
Virtue's strict Rules she readily could teach,
But to walk by 'em, was beyond her Reach;
You know, 'tis hard to Practise, what you Preach.
This the true Meaning of the Web is thought,
The Night unravell'd, what the Day had wrought.
Hence Adages of endless Toil begun,
A Woman's Work, Grave Sirs, is never done.
With proper Furniture she grac'd the Room,
Here the soft Couch was spread, there stood the Loom.
Fine Linnen she admir'd;—well! where's the hurt?
She wove for each new Lover a new Shirt;
Nay, and more Presents made, (her Zeal was such)
Than here are Wou'd-be-Wits;—You'll say, that's much.
Supply'd with Piquet-Friends, it plain appears
The Lady might live out full twenty Years.
Perhaps she wept too at her Lord's Return,
And then, then only had just Cause to Mourn.
Good Man! he went dissatisfy'd away,
But feign'd a Madness first, in hopes to stay:
He had been mad indeed, unforc'd, to roam,
And leave so beautiful a Wife at home.
Tell me, ye Learn'd, is it not too presuming
To trust a Creature with her self, when blooming?
Some softer Minutes may the Best surprize,
Women are Flesh and Blood, and Men have Eyes.
Tho' now most us'd in the most Christian Nation.
Fame says, a Critick, for vast Depths renown'd,
Secret Memoirs of Ithaca has found:
Those musty Rolls no wond'rous Truths declare,
Penelope was not so Chaste, as Fair.
She, for State-reasons, was the first Beginner
Of Hoops; a sly, discretionary Sinner!
What! tho' She heath'nish swell'd about the Waste,
The Silken Umbrage still proclaim'd her chaste.
The Prude in Sun-shine sicken'd at a Spark,
But was a very Woman in the Dark.
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But to walk by 'em, was beyond her Reach;
You know, 'tis hard to Practise, what you Preach.
This the true Meaning of the Web is thought,
The Night unravell'd, what the Day had wrought.
Hence Adages of endless Toil begun,
A Woman's Work, Grave Sirs, is never done.
With proper Furniture she grac'd the Room,
Here the soft Couch was spread, there stood the Loom.
Fine Linnen she admir'd;—well! where's the hurt?
She wove for each new Lover a new Shirt;
Nay, and more Presents made, (her Zeal was such)
Than here are Wou'd-be-Wits;—You'll say, that's much.
Supply'd with Piquet-Friends, it plain appears
The Lady might live out full twenty Years.
Perhaps she wept too at her Lord's Return,
And then, then only had just Cause to Mourn.
Good Man! he went dissatisfy'd away,
But feign'd a Madness first, in hopes to stay:
He had been mad indeed, unforc'd, to roam,
And leave so beautiful a Wife at home.
Tell me, ye Learn'd, is it not too presuming
To trust a Creature with her self, when blooming?
6
Women are Flesh and Blood, and Men have Eyes.
Unnumber'd Scenes of various Dangers past,
The virtuous Husband safe return'd at last:
Heedless I call'd him Virtuous,—O! for shame!
Adulterers deserve another Name.
His boasted Purity receiv'd a Spot,
Telegonus he rakeishly begot.
With stronger Charms, he the fam'd Charmer won,
And boldly clasp'd the Daughter of the Sun.
If this were all, I dare be positive,
Some of you, Ladies, could one Slip forgive:
But much I fear, he stay'd not (may be thought)
With Queen Calypso, Six whole Years, for nought.
By other Slanderers he seems bely'd,
They fancy, he took Freedoms with his Guide;
His Guide was Pallas:—judge you, if he cou'd!
She was too Chaste,—in English plain—too Proud.
Besides, tho' all Divine in every Feature,
The Goddess was no very tempting Creature.
She read him serious Lectures, but alas!
She never told the Cuckold, what he was.
I guess, you, Fair Ones, by your Smiles enclin'd
To think, his Madam paid him in his kind.
Howe'er 'twas happy for their Nuptial Vows,
He grew not jealous of his faithless Spouse.
But who her Peccadillo's could discover?
Each Gallant prov'd an honourable Lover.
O Ladies! now how alter'd quite the Case is?
How few deserve to be in your good Graces?
The Scandal-mongers in Confusion ceas'd,
Lessen'd their Noise, as Petticoats encreas'd.
No busie Tongues could tell her curious Elf,
And she had Prudence not to tell her Self.
Poor Lyssey found the Fate of modern Men,
And was still bubbl'd by his own dear Penn.
The virtuous Husband safe return'd at last:
Heedless I call'd him Virtuous,—O! for shame!
Adulterers deserve another Name.
His boasted Purity receiv'd a Spot,
Telegonus he rakeishly begot.
With stronger Charms, he the fam'd Charmer won,
And boldly clasp'd the Daughter of the Sun.
If this were all, I dare be positive,
Some of you, Ladies, could one Slip forgive:
But much I fear, he stay'd not (may be thought)
With Queen Calypso, Six whole Years, for nought.
By other Slanderers he seems bely'd,
They fancy, he took Freedoms with his Guide;
His Guide was Pallas:—judge you, if he cou'd!
She was too Chaste,—in English plain—too Proud.
Besides, tho' all Divine in every Feature,
The Goddess was no very tempting Creature.
She read him serious Lectures, but alas!
She never told the Cuckold, what he was.
7
To think, his Madam paid him in his kind.
Howe'er 'twas happy for their Nuptial Vows,
He grew not jealous of his faithless Spouse.
But who her Peccadillo's could discover?
Each Gallant prov'd an honourable Lover.
O Ladies! now how alter'd quite the Case is?
How few deserve to be in your good Graces?
The Scandal-mongers in Confusion ceas'd,
Lessen'd their Noise, as Petticoats encreas'd.
No busie Tongues could tell her curious Elf,
And she had Prudence not to tell her Self.
Poor Lyssey found the Fate of modern Men,
And was still bubbl'd by his own dear Penn.
From Greecian Tales 'tis easie to digress
To British Cynthia's, in Laconick Dress.
Their happy Elegance of Taste is seen
In Stockins purple, and in Garters green.
The well-turn'd Shoulder is disclos'd, to move
And feed the Sight with Avenues to Love.
When Phœbus ran young Daphne to embrace,
His Passion glow'd, and heighten'd in the Race.
Immodest Winds her tender Limbs reveal'd,
And Beauties show'd, which Innocence conceal'd.
Still as she turn'd, her Snowy Neck he view'd;
No wonder, if his Godship had been rude.
A naked Prospect wantonly inspires
Our beardless Novices with strange Desires.
Where will you stop?—Already we can see
Below the Bosom, and above the Knee.
If from your Heads and Feet such Dangers rise,
Ah! whither, whither shall I point my Eyes?
When you kill Sages, those you kill by Chance;
O'er heaving Breasts with Caution still they glance:
But sanguin Fresh-men, indiscreetly warm,
Dwell with their Eyes, and suck in ev'ry Charm.
Thus Egypt's Queen, a speedier Death to bring,
Prest close the Serpent, and enjoy'd the Sting.
Who first saw Basilisks with speckl'd Pride,
Gaz'd on their Spots, but as he gaz'd, he dy'd.
To British Cynthia's, in Laconick Dress.
Their happy Elegance of Taste is seen
In Stockins purple, and in Garters green.
The well-turn'd Shoulder is disclos'd, to move
And feed the Sight with Avenues to Love.
When Phœbus ran young Daphne to embrace,
His Passion glow'd, and heighten'd in the Race.
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And Beauties show'd, which Innocence conceal'd.
Still as she turn'd, her Snowy Neck he view'd;
No wonder, if his Godship had been rude.
A naked Prospect wantonly inspires
Our beardless Novices with strange Desires.
Where will you stop?—Already we can see
Below the Bosom, and above the Knee.
If from your Heads and Feet such Dangers rise,
Ah! whither, whither shall I point my Eyes?
When you kill Sages, those you kill by Chance;
O'er heaving Breasts with Caution still they glance:
But sanguin Fresh-men, indiscreetly warm,
Dwell with their Eyes, and suck in ev'ry Charm.
Thus Egypt's Queen, a speedier Death to bring,
Prest close the Serpent, and enjoy'd the Sting.
Who first saw Basilisks with speckl'd Pride,
Gaz'd on their Spots, but as he gaz'd, he dy'd.
Chang'd is the Mode from that of former Days,
Ladies receiv'd no Visits without Stays.
Eliza's Dames of Honour took no Snuff,
And Husbands only peep'd beneath the Ruff.
In Fashions still the Diff'rence was as great,
Ere Nuns were banish'd from this sacred Seat.
When charitable Monks could grant, with Ease,
A License for all Pagan Liberties.
When squeamish Consciences gave no Restraint;
For Gold a Sinner might commence a Saint:
A Happiness much wanted in our Times:
The Crimes of Love were constru'd Venial Crimes.
Then Barnwel-Virgins might securely rove,
Unharm'd, tho' rifl'd in the neighb'ring Grove.
No Proctor's Staff yet walk'd its awful Round,
Nor Mid-night Purple startl'd at the Sound.
Ere Sunday-Nymphs on Clare-Hall-Piece were seen,
Or Coffee-Booths aspir'd on Jesus-Green.
Ere Covent-Garden Mistresses came down,
And taught the Youths to tympanize the Town.
Ere Sophs had learnt with Humms the Pit to fill,
Or Beaux to flutter round the Market-Hill.
Ladies receiv'd no Visits without Stays.
Eliza's Dames of Honour took no Snuff,
And Husbands only peep'd beneath the Ruff.
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Ere Nuns were banish'd from this sacred Seat.
When charitable Monks could grant, with Ease,
A License for all Pagan Liberties.
When squeamish Consciences gave no Restraint;
For Gold a Sinner might commence a Saint:
A Happiness much wanted in our Times:
The Crimes of Love were constru'd Venial Crimes.
Then Barnwel-Virgins might securely rove,
Unharm'd, tho' rifl'd in the neighb'ring Grove.
No Proctor's Staff yet walk'd its awful Round,
Nor Mid-night Purple startl'd at the Sound.
Ere Sunday-Nymphs on Clare-Hall-Piece were seen,
Or Coffee-Booths aspir'd on Jesus-Green.
Ere Covent-Garden Mistresses came down,
And taught the Youths to tympanize the Town.
Ere Sophs had learnt with Humms the Pit to fill,
Or Beaux to flutter round the Market-Hill.
Alas! our Beaux but flutter here awhile,
They part, and longing Laundresses beguile.
Rich Heirs our humble Colleges forget,
And launch into the Vices of the Great.
From Tutors freed, to Inns of Court they run,
And fashionably learn to be undone.
A skittish Chloe costs (nor think her dear)
A splendid Brace of Hundred Pounds a Year.
Besides, expect a frequent, sad Complaint
For Watches, Rings, and Silks,—but never, Paint.
Th'Athenian Orator, who lean'd to Vice,
Found Lais' Beauties bore too high a Price.
For a full Loose to Joys, the niggard Soul
Bad but a solitary, Greek Pistole.
Not Virgin-Danaë alone was sold
With dext'rous Cunning for a Show'r of Gold;
Nor did a Husband's Shape Alcmena move,
She yielded to a second, golden Jove:
While the sly God for one Night did agree,
And then for Cheapness stretch'd that one to three.
They part, and longing Laundresses beguile.
Rich Heirs our humble Colleges forget,
And launch into the Vices of the Great.
10
And fashionably learn to be undone.
A skittish Chloe costs (nor think her dear)
A splendid Brace of Hundred Pounds a Year.
Besides, expect a frequent, sad Complaint
For Watches, Rings, and Silks,—but never, Paint.
Th'Athenian Orator, who lean'd to Vice,
Found Lais' Beauties bore too high a Price.
For a full Loose to Joys, the niggard Soul
Bad but a solitary, Greek Pistole.
Not Virgin-Danaë alone was sold
With dext'rous Cunning for a Show'r of Gold;
Nor did a Husband's Shape Alcmena move,
She yielded to a second, golden Jove:
While the sly God for one Night did agree,
And then for Cheapness stretch'd that one to three.
Now change the Hand, and diff'rent strike the Lyre;
How reigns Apollo in this tuneful Choir?
Our Wits, who most harmoniously Compose,
Drink not at Helicon, but at the Rose.
If circling Years new Dividends account,
I quit all Claim to the Pierian Mount.
What would rich Misers give for the Command
Of barren Provinces in Classick Land?
Why! just as much (a Soph would answer soon)
As for ten thousand Acres in the Moon.
My Lawrel'd Hopes I willingly resign,
Give me but Flavia—take the tuneful Nine.
Where am I by uxorious Fancies led?
We Fellows want the Privilege to wed.
Have no kind Creatures Charity in store
For those, who by Necessity are poor?
The Cambridge-Wives maliciously agree
To keep our Doctors Maids, till Sixty Three.
They still might sate their lawful Dears with Bliss,
Yet spare an elemosynary Kiss.
Indulge my Youth, and cure me of Love's Blindness,
For Pity take me, kill me—but with Kindness.
You would be mov'd, if you my Virtues knew,
I can be Happy, and be Secret too.
How reigns Apollo in this tuneful Choir?
Our Wits, who most harmoniously Compose,
Drink not at Helicon, but at the Rose.
If circling Years new Dividends account,
I quit all Claim to the Pierian Mount.
11
Of barren Provinces in Classick Land?
Why! just as much (a Soph would answer soon)
As for ten thousand Acres in the Moon.
My Lawrel'd Hopes I willingly resign,
Give me but Flavia—take the tuneful Nine.
Where am I by uxorious Fancies led?
We Fellows want the Privilege to wed.
Have no kind Creatures Charity in store
For those, who by Necessity are poor?
The Cambridge-Wives maliciously agree
To keep our Doctors Maids, till Sixty Three.
They still might sate their lawful Dears with Bliss,
Yet spare an elemosynary Kiss.
Indulge my Youth, and cure me of Love's Blindness,
For Pity take me, kill me—but with Kindness.
You would be mov'd, if you my Virtues knew,
I can be Happy, and be Secret too.
Some may their Favours from Parnassus boast,
My Muse shall ever be a British Toast.
A Smile from Flavia can secure Renown,
Tho' Polyhymnia and her Sisters frown.
If e'er I gain'd, I gain'd from Beauty, Fame,
It rais'd my Numbers, and inspir'd my Flame.
This Truth allow'd, I logically thence
Draw but one sweet, material Consequence;
With me No Fair her Reputation loses:
A Poet sure may toy with all the Muses.
Oft her Catullus Lesbia entertain'd,
And tender Ovid his Corinna gain'd.
Still Saccharissa's Pride all Tongues upbraid,
Who own'd no Musick, tho' a Waller Play'd.
But in his Strength of Genius few excell;
We praise you faintly, till you use us well.
By you disdain'd, we stretch a feeble Wing,
Approv'd, we boldly soar, and sweetly sing.
So in long Droughts, with no kind Moisture fed,
The sick'ning Lilly languishes its Head:
But if the friendly Skies indulgent pour
On Earth's parch'd Bosom a soft, genial Show'r,
The faded Leaves their youthful Bloom regain,
And a new Brightness smiles around the Plain.
My Muse shall ever be a British Toast.
A Smile from Flavia can secure Renown,
Tho' Polyhymnia and her Sisters frown.
12
It rais'd my Numbers, and inspir'd my Flame.
This Truth allow'd, I logically thence
Draw but one sweet, material Consequence;
With me No Fair her Reputation loses:
A Poet sure may toy with all the Muses.
Oft her Catullus Lesbia entertain'd,
And tender Ovid his Corinna gain'd.
Still Saccharissa's Pride all Tongues upbraid,
Who own'd no Musick, tho' a Waller Play'd.
But in his Strength of Genius few excell;
We praise you faintly, till you use us well.
By you disdain'd, we stretch a feeble Wing,
Approv'd, we boldly soar, and sweetly sing.
So in long Droughts, with no kind Moisture fed,
The sick'ning Lilly languishes its Head:
But if the friendly Skies indulgent pour
On Earth's parch'd Bosom a soft, genial Show'r,
The faded Leaves their youthful Bloom regain,
And a new Brightness smiles around the Plain.
FINIS.
| Verses at the last Publick Commencement at Cambridge | |