The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale In two volumes |
I. |
II. |
I. |
I. |
II. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
V. |
I. |
TO LADIES KILLING WASPS WITH OIL. |
The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | ||
292
TO LADIES KILLING WASPS WITH OIL.
Men, rough, and bold, for evil, or for good,
Oft stain their laurels with a brother's blood.
By slaughter, Philip's son was Persia's lord;
A million victims fell to Cæsar's sword.
Your gentle souls are in your myrtle seen;
It's blossoms candid, and benign it's green;
You urge your conquests with a tender mind;
In frowns, enchanting, and in ruin, kind;
Even noxious blood your nature cannot spill:
You cure with balsam, or with balsam kill.
Oft stain their laurels with a brother's blood.
By slaughter, Philip's son was Persia's lord;
A million victims fell to Cæsar's sword.
Your gentle souls are in your myrtle seen;
It's blossoms candid, and benign it's green;
You urge your conquests with a tender mind;
In frowns, enchanting, and in ruin, kind;
Even noxious blood your nature cannot spill:
You cure with balsam, or with balsam kill.
If, then, the real wasps, or wasps, in tongue,
Still sure to sting: for still with envy stung;
If not one human wasp, in word, or deed,
By your avenging hand will ever bleed;
If justice thus refined, to them steps forth,
Compassion ne'er will be denied to worth.
Oh! let the sex, first blessing from the sky,
By whom, at once, we wish to live, and die,
In empire merciful, from torture save
The lives devoted, of the good, and brave!
Let poets, too, resign their tuneful breath
To soft resentment, to an oily death!
Still sure to sting: for still with envy stung;
If not one human wasp, in word, or deed,
By your avenging hand will ever bleed;
If justice thus refined, to them steps forth,
Compassion ne'er will be denied to worth.
392
By whom, at once, we wish to live, and die,
In empire merciful, from torture save
The lives devoted, of the good, and brave!
Let poets, too, resign their tuneful breath
To soft resentment, to an oily death!
Ross, Wednesday, August 14th, 1793.
The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | ||