ODE TO AFFECTATION.[_]
The following Ode of Mr. Pindar's is what rhetoricians
would call ironical. The leading feature
seems to be impudence.
Nymph of the mincing mouth, and languid eye,
And lisping tongue so soft, and head awry,
And flutt'ring heart, of leaves of aspen made;
Who were thy parents, blushful virgin? say—
Perchance Dame Folly gave thee to the day,
With Gaffer Ignorance's aid.
Say, virgin, where dost thou delight to dwell?
With maids of honour, startful virgin? tell—
For I have heard a deal of each fair Miss;
How wicked lords have whisper'd wicked things
Beneath the noses of good queens and kings,
And sigh'd for pleasures far beyond a kiss!
Great is thy delicacy, dainty maid;
At slightest things, thy cheek with crimson glows.
Say art thou not asham'd, abash'd, afraid,
Whene'er thou stealest forth to pluck a rose?
Or hast thou lost, O nymph, thy pretty gall;
So never pluckest any rose at all?
I'm told, thou keepest not a single male;
Nothing but females, at thy board to cram;
That no he-lapdog near thee wags his tail,
Nor cat by vulgar people call'd a ram.
I've heard too, that if e'er, by dire mishap,
Some ravishers should make thy fav'rites wh---s,
Staring as stricken by a thunder-clap,
Thy modesty hath kick'd them out of doors.
'Tis said, when wagtails thou behold'st, and doves,
And sparrow, busy with their feather'd loves;
Lord! thou hast trembled at their wicked tricks;
And snatching up thy blush-concealing fan,
As if it were a lady and a man,
Hast only peep'd upon them through the sticks.
And yet so variously thou'rt said to act,
That I have heard it utter'd for a fact,
That often on old Thames's sunny banks,
Where striplings swim, with wanton pranks,
On bladders some outstretch'd, and some on corks,
Thou squinting, most indiff'rent girl art seen,
In contemplation of each youthful skin,
Admiring God Almighty's handy-works.
Prim nymph, thou art no fav'rite with the world:
I hear the direst curses on thee hurl'd!
Sorry am I, so ill thy manners suit:
'Tis said, that if a mouse appear to view,
We hear a formidable screech ensue,
As if some huge devouring brute;
And if beneath thy petticoat he run,
Thou bellowest as if thou wert undone,
And kickest at a cow-like rate, poor soul;
When, if thou wert to be a little quiet,
And not disturb the nibbler by a riot,
The mouse would go into his proper hole.
I've heard it sworn to, nymph, that in the streets,
When running, dancing, capering at thy side,
Thy Chloe other dogs so brazen meets,
That, wriggling, ask thy bitch to be their bride;
Quick hast thou caught up Chloe in thy arms,
From violation to preserve her charms;
And, bouncing wildly from the view
Of those same saucy canine crew,
Hast op'd so loud and tunefully thy throat
(Seeming as thou hadst learnt to scream by note),
Loud as the Sabine girls that tried to 'scape
The speechless horrors of a Roman rape.
No novels readest thou, O nymph, in sight;
And yet again I'm told that ev'ry night,
In secret, thou art much inclin'd to doat
On rhimes that Rochester so warmly wrote.
Oft dost thou wonder how thy sex, so sweet,
Can fellows, those great two-legg'd monsters, meet,
And swoon not at each Caliban;
And wonder how thy sex can fancy blisses
Contain'd within the black rough-bearded kisses
Of such a bear-like thing as man.
'Tis also said, that if a flea at night,
Pert rogue, hath dar'd thy luscious lip to bite,
Or point his snout into thy snowy breast,
At once the house hath been alarm'd—the maids
Call'd idle, nasty, good-for-nothing jades;
Who, Eve-like, rushing to thy room undrest,
Have thought some wicked ravisher so dread,
On Love's delicious viands to be fed,
Had seiz'd thee, to obtain forbidden joys;
Which had he done, a most audacious thief,
Of ev'ry maid it was the firm belief
Thou wouldst not, nymph, have made a greater noise.
And yet 'tis said, again, O nymph so bright,
Thou sleep'st with John the coachman ev'ry night—
Vile tales! invented to destroy thy fame;
For wert thou, fearful lass, this instant married,
At night thy modest cheek would burn with shame,
Nor wouldst thou go, but to the bed be carried:
There, when thy Strephon rush'd, in white array'd,
To clasp with kisses sweet his white-stol'd maid,
And riot in the luxury of charms;
Flat as a flounder, seeing, hearing gone—
Mute as a fish, and fairly turn'd to stone—
O damsel! thou wouldst die within his arms.
