The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition |
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 | The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq |  |
93
LEVITIES;
OR PIECES of HUMOUR.
195
FLIRT and PHIL;
A Decision for the Ladies.
A wit, by learning well refin'd,
A beau, but of the rural kind,
To Silvia made pretences;
They both profess'd an equal love:
Yet hop'd, by different means to move
Her judgment, or her senses.
A beau, but of the rural kind,
To Silvia made pretences;
They both profess'd an equal love:
Yet hop'd, by different means to move
Her judgment, or her senses.
Young sprightly Flirt, of blooming mien,
Watch'd the best minutes to be seen;
Went—when his glass advis'd him:
While meagre Phil of books enquir'd;
A wight, for wit and parts admir'd;
And witty ladies priz'd him.
Watch'd the best minutes to be seen;
Went—when his glass advis'd him:
While meagre Phil of books enquir'd;
A wight, for wit and parts admir'd;
And witty ladies priz'd him.
196
Silvia had wit, had spirits too;
To hear the one, the other view,
Suspended held the scales:
Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its share,
Let none the preference declare,
But turn up—heads or tails.
To hear the one, the other view,
Suspended held the scales:
Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its share,
Let none the preference declare,
But turn up—heads or tails.
Stanzas to the Memory of an agreeable Lady, buried in Marriage to a Person undeserving her.
'Twas always held, and ever will,
By sage mankind, discreeter,
T'anticipate a lesser ill,
Than undergo a greater.
By sage mankind, discreeter,
T'anticipate a lesser ill,
Than undergo a greater.
When mortals dread diseases, pain,
And languishing conditions;
Who don't the lesser ills sustain
Of physic—and physicians?
And languishing conditions;
Who don't the lesser ills sustain
Of physic—and physicians?
Rather than lose his whole estate,
He that but little wise is,
Full gladly pays four parts in eight
To taxes and excises.
He that but little wise is,
Full gladly pays four parts in eight
To taxes and excises.
Our merchants Spain has near undone
For lost ships not requiting:
This bears our noble k---, to shun
The loss of blood—in fighting!
For lost ships not requiting:
This bears our noble k---, to shun
The loss of blood—in fighting!
197
With num'rous ills, in single life,
The bachelor's attended:
Such to avoid, he takes a wife—
And much the case is mended!
The bachelor's attended:
Such to avoid, he takes a wife—
And much the case is mended!
Poor Gratia, in her twentieth year,
Fore-seeing future woe,
Chose to attend a monkey here,
Before an ape below.
Fore-seeing future woe,
Chose to attend a monkey here,
Before an ape below.
COLEMIRA.
A Culinary Eclogue.
Nec tantum Veneris, quantum studiosa culinæ.
Night's sable clouds had half the globe o'erspread,
And silence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed:
When love, which gentle sleep can ne'er inspire,
Had seated Damon by the kitchen fire.
And silence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed:
When love, which gentle sleep can ne'er inspire,
Had seated Damon by the kitchen fire.
Pensive he lay, extended on the ground;
The little lares kept their vigils round;
The fawning cats compassionate his case,
And purr around, and gently lick his face:
The little lares kept their vigils round;
The fawning cats compassionate his case,
And purr around, and gently lick his face:
To all his 'plaints the sleeping curs reply,
And with hoarse snorings imitate a sigh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And solitude to them is best society.
And with hoarse snorings imitate a sigh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And solitude to them is best society.
198
Could I (he cry'd) express, how bright a grace
Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face;
Thou would'st, Colemira, grant what I implore,
And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.
Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face;
Thou would'st, Colemira, grant what I implore,
And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.
Ah! who can see, and seeing not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands out-shine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pots she brings.
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands out-shine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pots she brings.
But sure no chamber-damsel can compare,
When in meridian lustre shines my fair,
When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly rills,
Adown her goodly cheek the sweat distills.
When in meridian lustre shines my fair,
When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly rills,
Adown her goodly cheek the sweat distills.
Oh! how I long, how ardently desire,
To view those rosy fingers strike the lyre!
For late, when bees to change their climes began,
How did I see 'em thrum the frying pan!
To view those rosy fingers strike the lyre!
For late, when bees to change their climes began,
How did I see 'em thrum the frying pan!
With her! I should not envy G--- his queen,
Tho' she in royal grandeur deck'd be seen:
Whilst rags, just sever'd from my fair-one's gown,
In russet pomp, and greasy pride hang down.
Tho' she in royal grandeur deck'd be seen:
Whilst rags, just sever'd from my fair-one's gown,
In russet pomp, and greasy pride hang down.
Ah! how it does my drooping heart rejoice,
When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice!
How would that voice exceed the village bell;
Wou'dst thou but sing, “I like thee passing well!”
When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice!
How would that voice exceed the village bell;
Wou'dst thou but sing, “I like thee passing well!”
199
When from the hearth she bade the pointers go,
How soft! how easy did her accents flow!
“Get out, she cry'd, when strangers come to sup,
“One ne'er can raise those snoring devils up.”
How soft! how easy did her accents flow!
“Get out, she cry'd, when strangers come to sup,
“One ne'er can raise those snoring devils up.”
Then, full of wrath, she kick'd each lazy brute,
Alas! I envy'd even that salute:
'Twas sure misplac'd,—Shock said, or seem'd to say,
He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.
Alas! I envy'd even that salute:
'Twas sure misplac'd,—Shock said, or seem'd to say,
He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.
If she the mystic bellows take in hand,
Who like the fair can that machine command?
O may'st thou ne'er by Eolus be seen,
For he wou'd sure demand thee for his queen.
Who like the fair can that machine command?
O may'st thou ne'er by Eolus be seen,
For he wou'd sure demand thee for his queen.
But shou'd the flame this rougher aid refuse,
And only gentler med'cines be of use;
With full-blown cheeks she ends the doubtful strife,
Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.
And only gentler med'cines be of use;
With full-blown cheeks she ends the doubtful strife,
Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.
Such arts, as these, exalt the drooping fire,
But in my breast a fiercer flame inspire:
I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er,
And swell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips no more!
But in my breast a fiercer flame inspire:
I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er,
And swell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips no more!
With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen;
When this proud damsel has more humble been,
When with nice airs she hoist the pan-cake round,
And dropt it, hapless fair! upon the ground.
When this proud damsel has more humble been,
When with nice airs she hoist the pan-cake round,
And dropt it, hapless fair! upon the ground.
200
Look, with what charming grace! what winning tricks!
The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks!
So bright she makes the candlesticks she handles,
Oft have I said,—there were no need of candles.
The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks!
So bright she makes the candlesticks she handles,
Oft have I said,—there were no need of candles.
But thou, my fair! who never would'st approve,
Or hear the tender story of my love;
Or mind, how burns my raging breast,—a button—
Perhaps art dreaming of—a breast of mutton.
Or hear the tender story of my love;
Or mind, how burns my raging breast,—a button—
Perhaps art dreaming of—a breast of mutton.
Thus said, and wept the sad desponding swain,
Revealing to the sable walls his pain:
But nymphs are free with those they shou'd deny;
To those, they love, more exquisitely coy!
Revealing to the sable walls his pain:
But nymphs are free with those they shou'd deny;
To those, they love, more exquisitely coy!
Now chirping crickets raise their tinkling voice,
The lambent flames in languid streams arise,
And smoke in azure folds evaporates and dies.
The lambent flames in languid streams arise,
And smoke in azure folds evaporates and dies.
The Rape of the Trap.
A Ballad, 1737.
'Twas in a land of learning,
The muses fav'rite city,
Such pranks of late
Were play'd by a rat,
As—tempt one to be witty,
The muses fav'rite city,
Such pranks of late
Were play'd by a rat,
As—tempt one to be witty,
201
All in a college study,
Where books were in great plenty;
This rat wou'd devour
More sense in an hour,
Then I cou'd write—in twenty.
Where books were in great plenty;
This rat wou'd devour
More sense in an hour,
Then I cou'd write—in twenty.
Corporeal food, 'tis granted,
Serves vermin less refin'd, Sir;
But this, a rat of taste,
All other rats surpass'd;
And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir:
Serves vermin less refin'd, Sir;
But this, a rat of taste,
All other rats surpass'd;
And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir:
His breakfast, half the morning,
He constantly attended;
And when the bell rung
For ev'ning song,
His dinner scarce was ended!
He constantly attended;
And when the bell rung
For ev'ning song,
His dinner scarce was ended!
He spar'd not ev'n heroics,
On which we poets pride us;
And wou'd make no more
Of king Arthur's , by the score
Than—all the world beside does
On which we poets pride us;
And wou'd make no more
Of king Arthur's , by the score
Than—all the world beside does
In books of geo-graphy,
He made the maps to flutter:
A river or a sea
Was to him a dish of tea;
And a kingdom, bread and butter.
He made the maps to flutter:
A river or a sea
Was to him a dish of tea;
And a kingdom, bread and butter.
202
But if some mawkish potion
Might chance to over-dose him,
To check its rage,
He took a page
Of logick—to compose him—
Might chance to over-dose him,
To check its rage,
He took a page
Of logick—to compose him—
A trap, in haste and anger,
Was bought you need not doubt on't;
And, such was the gin,
Were a lion once got in,
He cou'd not, I think, get out on't.
Was bought you need not doubt on't;
And, such was the gin,
Were a lion once got in,
He cou'd not, I think, get out on't.
With cheese, not books, 'twas baited,
The fact—I'll not belye it—
Since none—I tell you that—
Whether scholar or rat
Minds books, when he has other diet.
The fact—I'll not belye it—
Since none—I tell you that—
Whether scholar or rat
Minds books, when he has other diet.
But more of trap and bait, Sir,
Why shou'd I sing, or either?
Since the rat, who knew the sleight,
Came in the dead of night,
And dragg'd 'em away together:
Why shou'd I sing, or either?
Since the rat, who knew the sleight,
Came in the dead of night,
And dragg'd 'em away together:
Both trap and bait were vanish'd,
Thro' a fracture in the flooring;
Which, tho' so trim.
It now may seem,
Had then—a dozen or more in.
Thro' a fracture in the flooring;
Which, tho' so trim.
It now may seem,
Had then—a dozen or more in.
203
Then answer this, ye sages!
Nor deem I mean to wrong ye,
Had the rat which thus did seize on
The trap, less claim to reason,
Than many a scull among ye?
Nor deem I mean to wrong ye,
Had the rat which thus did seize on
The trap, less claim to reason,
Than many a scull among ye?
Dan Prior's mice, I own it,
Were vermin of condition;
But this rat who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician.
Were vermin of condition;
But this rat who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician.
That England's topsy-turvy,
Is clear from these mishaps, Sir;
Since traps, we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermin,
But vermin take our traps, Sir.
Is clear from these mishaps, Sir;
Since traps, we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermin,
But vermin take our traps, Sir.
Let sophs, by rats infested,
Then trust in cats to catch 'em;
Lest they grow as learn'd as we,
In our studies; where, d'ye see,
No mortal sits to watch 'em.
Then trust in cats to catch 'em;
Lest they grow as learn'd as we,
In our studies; where, d'ye see,
No mortal sits to watch 'em.
Good luck betide our captains;
Good luck betide our cats, Sir:
And grant that the one
May quell the Spanish Don,
And the other destroy our rats, Sir.
Good luck betide our cats, Sir:
And grant that the one
May quell the Spanish Don,
And the other destroy our rats, Sir.
204
On certain PASTORALS.
So rude and tuneless are thy lays,The weary audience vow,
'Tis not th'Arcadian swain that sings,
But 'tis his herds that low.
On Mr. C--- of Kidderminster's Poetry.
Thy verses, friend, are Kidderminster stuff,And I must own you've measur'd out enough.
To the VIRTUOSOS.
Hail curious wights! to whom so fair
The form of mortal flies is!
Who deem those grubs beyond compare,
Which common sense despises.
The form of mortal flies is!
Who deem those grubs beyond compare,
Which common sense despises.
Whether o'er hill, morass or mound,
You make your sportsman sallies;
Or that your prey in gardens found
Is urg'd thro' walks and allies,
You make your sportsman sallies;
Or that your prey in gardens found
Is urg'd thro' walks and allies,
205
Yet, in the fury of the chace,
No slope cou'd e'er retard you;
Blest if one fly repay the race,
Or painted wing reward you.
No slope cou'd e'er retard you;
Blest if one fly repay the race,
Or painted wing reward you.
Fierce as Camilla
o'er the plain
Pursu'd the glitt'ring stranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleasing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.
Pursu'd the glitt'ring stranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleasing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.
'Tis you dispense the fav'rite meat
To nature's filmy people;
Know what conserves they chuse to eat,
And what liqueurs, to tipple.
To nature's filmy people;
Know what conserves they chuse to eat,
And what liqueurs, to tipple.
And, if her brood of insects dies,
You sage assistance lend her;
Can stoop to pimp for am'rous flies,
And help 'em to engender.
You sage assistance lend her;
Can stoop to pimp for am'rous flies,
And help 'em to engender.
'Tis you protect their pregnant hour;
And when the birth's at hand,
Exerting your obstetric pow'r
Prevent a mothless land.
And when the birth's at hand,
Exerting your obstetric pow'r
Prevent a mothless land.
Yet oh! howe'er your tow'ring view
Above gross objects rises,
Whate'er refinements you pursue,
Hear, what a friend advises:
Above gross objects rises,
Whate'er refinements you pursue,
Hear, what a friend advises:
206
A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize
Domitian's idle passion;
That wrought the death of teazing flies,
But ne'er their propagation.
Domitian's idle passion;
That wrought the death of teazing flies,
But ne'er their propagation.
Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm,
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To slight dame nature's fairest form
And sigh for nature's vermin.
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To slight dame nature's fairest form
And sigh for nature's vermin.
And speak with some respect of beaux,
Nor more as triflers treat 'em:
'Tis better learn to save one's cloaths,
Than cherish moths, that eat 'em.
Nor more as triflers treat 'em:
'Tis better learn to save one's cloaths,
Than cherish moths, that eat 'em.
The Extent of COOKERY.
Aliusque et idem.
When Tom to Cambridge first was sent,
A plain brown bob he wore;
Read much, and look'd as tho' he meant
To be a fop no more.
A plain brown bob he wore;
Read much, and look'd as tho' he meant
To be a fop no more.
See him to Lincoln's-Inn repair,
His resolution flag;
He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.
His resolution flag;
He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.
207
Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
But gets into the house,
And soon a judge's rank rewards
His pliant votes and bows.
But gets into the house,
And soon a judge's rank rewards
His pliant votes and bows.
Adieu ye bobs! ye bags give place!
Full bottoms come instead!
Good L---d! to see the various ways
Of dressing—a calve's-head!
Full bottoms come instead!
Good L---d! to see the various ways
Of dressing—a calve's-head!
The Progress of ADVICE.
A Common Case.
Suade, nam certum est
Says Richard to Thomas (and seem'd half afraid)
“I am thinking to marry thy mistress's maid:
Now, because Mrs. Lucy to thee is well known,
I will do't if thou bid'st me, or let it alone.
“I am thinking to marry thy mistress's maid:
Now, because Mrs. Lucy to thee is well known,
I will do't if thou bid'st me, or let it alone.
Nay don't make a jest on't; 'tis no jest to me;
For 'faith I'm in earnest, so prithee be free.
I have no fault to find with the girl since I knew her,
But I'd have thy advice, ere I tye myself to her.”
For 'faith I'm in earnest, so prithee be free.
I have no fault to find with the girl since I knew her,
But I'd have thy advice, ere I tye myself to her.”
Said Thomas to Richard, “To speak my opinion,
There is not such a bitch in King George's dominion,
And I firmly believe, if thou knew'st her as I do,
Thou wou'dst chuse out a whipping-post, first to be ty'd to.
There is not such a bitch in King George's dominion,
And I firmly believe, if thou knew'st her as I do,
Thou wou'dst chuse out a whipping-post, first to be ty'd to.
208
She's peevish, she's thievish, she's ugly, she's old,
And a lyar, and a fool, and a slut, and a scold.”
Next day Richard hasten'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had said.
And a lyar, and a fool, and a slut, and a scold.”
Next day Richard hasten'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had said.
A BALLAD.
Trahit sua quemque voluptas.
From Lincoln to London rode forth our young squire,
To bring down a wife, whom the swains might admire:
But in spite of whatever the mortal cou'd say,
The goddess objected the length of the way!
To bring down a wife, whom the swains might admire:
But in spite of whatever the mortal cou'd say,
The goddess objected the length of the way!
To give up the op'ra, the park, and the ball,
For to view the stag's horns in an old country-hall;
To have neither China nor India to see!
Nor a laceman to plague in a morning—not she!
For to view the stag's horns in an old country-hall;
To have neither China nor India to see!
Nor a laceman to plague in a morning—not she!
To forsake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his lonesome abode,
O heavn's! she shou'd faint, she shou'd die on the road!
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his lonesome abode,
O heavn's! she shou'd faint, she shou'd die on the road!
To forget the gay fashions and gestures of France,
And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance,
And Harlequin too!—'twas in vain to require it;
And she wonder'd how folks had the face to desire it.
And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance,
And Harlequin too!—'twas in vain to require it;
And she wonder'd how folks had the face to desire it.
209
She might yield to resign the sweet-singers of Ruckholt,
Where the citizen-matron seduces her cuckold;
But Ranelagh soon would her footsteps recall,
And the music, the lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall.
Where the citizen-matron seduces her cuckold;
But Ranelagh soon would her footsteps recall,
And the music, the lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall.
To be sure she cou'd breathe nowhere else than in town,
Thus she talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown;
But the while honest Harry despair'd to succeed,
A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.
Thus she talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown;
But the while honest Harry despair'd to succeed,
A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.
Slender's Ghost. vid. Shakespear.
Beneath a church-yard yew,
Decay'd and worn with age,
At dusk of eve methought I spy'd
Poor Slender's ghost, that whimp'ring cry'd,
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Decay'd and worn with age,
At dusk of eve methought I spy'd
Poor Slender's ghost, that whimp'ring cry'd,
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Ye gentle bards! give ear!
Who talk of am'rous rage,
Who spoil the lily, rob the rose,
Come learn of me to weep your woes:
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Who talk of am'rous rage,
Who spoil the lily, rob the rose,
Come learn of me to weep your woes:
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Why shou'd such labour'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?
I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breast, or pierc'd my heart,
But sigh'd, O sweet Anne Page!
Your formal Muse engage?
I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breast, or pierc'd my heart,
But sigh'd, O sweet Anne Page!
210
And you! whose love sick minds
No med'cine can assuage!
Accuse the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
No med'cine can assuage!
Accuse the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
And ye! whose souls are held,
Like linnets in a cage!
Who talk of fetters, links and chains,
Attend, and imitate my strains!
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Like linnets in a cage!
Who talk of fetters, links and chains,
Attend, and imitate my strains!
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
And you who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage!
Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye;
Yet mean as I do, when I sigh
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
What horrid wars ye wage!
Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye;
Yet mean as I do, when I sigh
O sweet O sweet Anne Page!
Hence ev'ry fond conceit
Of shepherd or of sage;
'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way
Expresses all you have to say,
O sweet, O sweet Anne Page!
Of shepherd or of sage;
'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way
Expresses all you have to say,
O sweet, O sweet Anne Page!
The INVIDIOUS.
Mart.
O fortune! if my pray'r of oldWas ne'er solicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now.
211
For the same end your clowns desire it.
In a well-made effectual string,
Fain would I see Lividio swing!
Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing,
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tye the knot himself.
The Price of an EQUIPAGE.
Servum si potes, Ole, non habere
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.
Mart.
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.
Mart.
I ask'd a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along:
“The gilded coach there—don't ye mind?
That, with the footmen stuck behind.”
Whose coach it was that trail'd along:
“The gilded coach there—don't ye mind?
That, with the footmen stuck behind.”
O Sir! says he, what! han't you seen it?
'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it.
'Tis odd methinks you have forgot
Your friend, your neighbour, and—what not!
Your old acquaintance Damon!—“True;
But faith his equipage is new.”
'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it.
'Tis odd methinks you have forgot
Your friend, your neighbour, and—what not!
Your old acquaintance Damon!—“True;
But faith his equipage is new.”
“Bless me, said I, where can it end?
What madness has possess'd my friend?
Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest,
Their stomachs doubtless not the smallest!
Can Damon's revenue maintain
In lace and food, so large a train?
I know his land—each inch o' ground—
'Tis not a mile to walk it round—
If Damon's whole estate can bear
To keep his lad, and one-horse chair,
I own 'tis past my comprehension.”
Yes, Sir, but Damon has a pension—
What madness has possess'd my friend?
Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest,
Their stomachs doubtless not the smallest!
Can Damon's revenue maintain
In lace and food, so large a train?
212
'Tis not a mile to walk it round—
If Damon's whole estate can bear
To keep his lad, and one-horse chair,
I own 'tis past my comprehension.”
Yes, Sir, but Damon has a pension—
Thus does a false ambition rule us,
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flick'ring knaves,
He grows himself the worst of slaves.
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flick'ring knaves,
He grows himself the worst of slaves.
Hint from VOITURE.
Let Sol his annual journeys run,
And when the radiant task is done,
Confess, thro' all the Globe, 'twould pose him,
To match the charms that Celia shews him.
And when the radiant task is done,
Confess, thro' all the Globe, 'twould pose him,
To match the charms that Celia shews him.
And shou'd he boast he once had seen
As just a form, as bright a mein,
Yet must it still for ever pose him,
To match—what Celia never shews him.
As just a form, as bright a mein,
Yet must it still for ever pose him,
To match—what Celia never shews him.
INSCRIPTION.
To the memoryOf A. L. Esquire,
Justice of the peace for this county:
213
Thro' a trifling ridiculous world,
Maintaining his proper dignity,
Notwithstanding the scoffs of ill-dispos'd persons,
And wits of the age,
That ridicul'd his behaviour,
Or censur'd his breeding;
Following the dictates of nature,
Desiring to ease the afflicted,
Eager to set the prisoners at liberty,
Without having for his end
The noise, or report such things generally cause
In the world,
(As he was seen to perform them of none)
But the sole relief and happiness,
Of the party in distress;
Himself resting easy,
When he cou'd render that so;
Not griping, or pinching himself,
To hoard up superfluities;
Not coveting to keep in his possession
What gives more disquietude, than pleasure;
But charitably diffusing it
To all round about him:
Making the most sorrowful countenance
To smile,
In his presence;
Always bestowing more than he was ask'd,
Always imparting before he was desir'd;
Not proceeding in this manner,
214
But the most mature, and solemn deliberation;
With an incredible presence, and undauntedness
Of mind;
With an inimitable gravity and œconomy
Of face;
Bidding loud defiance
To politeness and the fashion,
Dar'd let a f---t.
To a FRIEND.
Have you ne'er seen, my gentle squire,The humours of your kitchen fire?
Says Ned to Sal, “I lead a spade,
Why don't ye play?—the girl's afraid—
Play something—any thing—but play—
'Tis but to pass the time away—
Phoo—how she stands—biting her nails—
As tho' she play'd for half her vails—
Sorting her cards, hagling and picking—
We play for nothing, do us, chicken?—
That card will do—'blood never doubt it,
It's not worth while to think about it.”
Why don't ye play?—the girl's afraid—
Play something—any thing—but play—
'Tis but to pass the time away—
Phoo—how she stands—biting her nails—
As tho' she play'd for half her vails—
Sorting her cards, hagling and picking—
We play for nothing, do us, chicken?—
That card will do—'blood never doubt it,
It's not worth while to think about it.”
Sal thought, and thought, and miss'd her aim,
And Ned, ne'er studying, won the game.
And Ned, ne'er studying, won the game.
Methinks, old friend, 'tis wond'rous true,
That verse is but a game at loo.
While many a bard, that shews so clearly
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to study, fret, and toil;
And play for nothing, all the while:
Or praise at most; for wreaths of yore
Ne'er signify'd a farthing more:
'Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He sees your flying pen obtain it.
That verse is but a game at loo.
215
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to study, fret, and toil;
And play for nothing, all the while:
Or praise at most; for wreaths of yore
Ne'er signify'd a farthing more:
'Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He sees your flying pen obtain it.
Thro' fragrant scenes the trifler roves,
And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves:
Where with strange heats his bosom glows,
And mystic flames the God bestows.
You now none other flame require,
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verses—to defy the scorners,
In shit-houses and chimney-corners.
And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves:
Where with strange heats his bosom glows,
And mystic flames the God bestows.
You now none other flame require,
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verses—to defy the scorners,
In shit-houses and chimney-corners.
Sal found her deep-laid schemes were vain—
The cards are cut—come deal again—
No good comes on it when one lingers—
I'll play the cards come next my fingers—
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.
The cards are cut—come deal again—
No good comes on it when one lingers—
I'll play the cards come next my fingers—
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.
Well, now who wins?—why, still the same—
For Sal has lost another game.
For Sal has lost another game.
“I've done; (she mutter'd) I was saying,
It did not argufy my playing.
Some folks will win, they cannot chuse,
But think or not think—some must lose.
I may have won a game or so—
But then it was an age ago—
It ne'er will be my lot again—
I won it of a baby then—
Give me an ace of trumps and see,
Our Ned will beat me with a three.
'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd—
He'll suffer for it, when he's marry'd.”
Thus Sal, with tears in either eye;
It did not argufy my playing.
Some folks will win, they cannot chuse,
But think or not think—some must lose.
I may have won a game or so—
But then it was an age ago—
216
I won it of a baby then—
Give me an ace of trumps and see,
Our Ned will beat me with a three.
'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd—
He'll suffer for it, when he's marry'd.”
While victor Ned sate titt'ring by.
Thus I, long envying your success,
And bent to write, and study less,
Sate down, and scribbled in a trice,
Just what you see—and you despise.
You, who can frame a tuneful song,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a sprig of bay;
Accept this verse, howe'er it flows,
From one that is your friend in prose.
What is this wreath, so green! so fair!
Which many wish, and few must wear?
Which some men's indolence can gain,
And some men's vigils ne'er obtain?
For what must Sal or poet sue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verse, for luck at loo?
Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fame,
And Ned, thro' skill, secures the game.
217
The POET and the DUN. 1741.
These are Messengers
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Shakespear.
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Shakespear.
Comes a dun in the morning and raps at my door—
“I made bold to call—'tis a twelvemonth and more—
I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, Sir,—
But Job wou'd be paid, Sir, had Job been a mercer.”
My friend have but patience—“Ay these are your ways.”
I have got but one shilling to serve me two days—
But Sir—prithee take it, and tell your attorney.
If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.
“I made bold to call—'tis a twelvemonth and more—
I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, Sir,—
But Job wou'd be paid, Sir, had Job been a mercer.”
My friend have but patience—“Ay these are your ways.”
I have got but one shilling to serve me two days—
But Sir—prithee take it, and tell your attorney.
If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.
Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my passion,
And calmly consider—consider? vexation!
What whore that must paint, and must put on false looks,
And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox!
What beggar's wife's nephew, now starv'd, and now beaten,
Who, wanting to eat, fears himself shall be eaten!
What porter, what turnspit, can deem his case hard!
Or what dun boast of patience that thinks of bard!
Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can be poore,
Turn shoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procurer;
Get love, and respect, and good living, and pelf,
And dun some poor dog of a poet myself.
One's credit, however, of course will grow better;
Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter.
And calmly consider—consider? vexation!
What whore that must paint, and must put on false looks,
And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox!
What beggar's wife's nephew, now starv'd, and now beaten,
Who, wanting to eat, fears himself shall be eaten!
What porter, what turnspit, can deem his case hard!
Or what dun boast of patience that thinks of bard!
Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can be poore,
Turn shoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procurer;
Get love, and respect, and good living, and pelf,
And dun some poor dog of a poet myself.
One's credit, however, of course will grow better;
Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter.
218
“Dear Sir! I receiv'd your obliging epistle,
Your fame is secure—bid the critics go whistle.
I read over with wonder the poem you sent me;
And I must speak your praises, no soul shall prevent me.
The audience, believe me, cry'd out ev'ry line
Was strong, was affecting, was just, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight and beauty,
And to hide such a genius was—far from your duty.
I foresee that the court will be hugely delighted:
Sir Richard, for much a less genius, was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare ye;
I cou'd say much more, but you're modest, I spare ye.”
Quite fir'd with the flatt'ry, I call for my paper,
And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper:
I scribble 'till morn, when with wrath no small store,
Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.
“Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make such a pother,
Fate, fate has ordain'd us, to plague one another.”
Your fame is secure—bid the critics go whistle.
I read over with wonder the poem you sent me;
And I must speak your praises, no soul shall prevent me.
The audience, believe me, cry'd out ev'ry line
Was strong, was affecting, was just, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight and beauty,
And to hide such a genius was—far from your duty.
I foresee that the court will be hugely delighted:
Sir Richard, for much a less genius, was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare ye;
I cou'd say much more, but you're modest, I spare ye.”
Quite fir'd with the flatt'ry, I call for my paper,
And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper:
I scribble 'till morn, when with wrath no small store,
Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.
“Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make such a pother,
Fate, fate has ordain'd us, to plague one another.”
Written at an Inn at Henley.
To thee, fair freedom! I retire
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott, or humble inn.
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott, or humble inn.
'Tis here with boundless pow'r, I reign;
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champaigne;
Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champaigne;
Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.
219
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falsehood's specious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chuse my lodgings at an inn.
I fly from falsehood's specious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chuse my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.
A SIMILE.
What village but has sometime seen
the clumsy shape, the frightful mien,
Tremendous claws, and shagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclip'd a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you see;
Who with her plastic tongue alone,
Produc'd a visage—like her own—
And thus they hint, in mystic fashion,
The pow'rful force of education —
Perhaps yon crowd of swains is viewing
E'en now, the strange exploits of Bruin;
Who plays his antics, roars aloud;
The wonder of a gaping crowd!
the clumsy shape, the frightful mien,
Tremendous claws, and shagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclip'd a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you see;
Who with her plastic tongue alone,
Produc'd a visage—like her own—
And thus they hint, in mystic fashion,
The pow'rful force of education —
Perhaps yon crowd of swains is viewing
E'en now, the strange exploits of Bruin;
220
The wonder of a gaping crowd!
So have I known an aukward lad,
Whose birth has made a parish glad,
Forbid, for fear of sense, to roam,
And taught by kind mamma at home;
Who gives him many a well-try'd rule,
With ways and means—to play the fool.
In sense the same, in stature higher,
He shines, ere long, a rural squire,
Pours forth unwitty jokes, and swears,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly stares:
His tenants of superior sense
Carouze, and laugh, at his expence;
And deem the pastime I'm relating,
To be as pleasant, as bear-baiting.
Whose birth has made a parish glad,
Forbid, for fear of sense, to roam,
And taught by kind mamma at home;
Who gives him many a well-try'd rule,
With ways and means—to play the fool.
In sense the same, in stature higher,
He shines, ere long, a rural squire,
Pours forth unwitty jokes, and swears,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly stares:
His tenants of superior sense
Carouze, and laugh, at his expence;
And deem the pastime I'm relating,
To be as pleasant, as bear-baiting.
The Charms of Precedence.
A TALE.
“Sir, will you please to walk before?”
—No, pray Sir—you are next the door.
—“Upon mine honour, I'll not stir—”
Sir, I'm at home, consider, Sir—
“Excuse me, Sir, I'll not go first.”
Well, if I must be rude, I must—
But yet I wish I cou'd evade it—
'Tis strangely clownish, be persuaded—
—No, pray Sir—you are next the door.
—“Upon mine honour, I'll not stir—”
Sir, I'm at home, consider, Sir—
“Excuse me, Sir, I'll not go first.”
Well, if I must be rude, I must—
But yet I wish I cou'd evade it—
'Tis strangely clownish, be persuaded—
Go forward, cits! go forward, squires!
Nor scruple each, what each admires.
Life squares not, friends, with your proceeding;
It flies, while you display your breeding;
Such breeding as one's granam preaches,
Or some old dancing-master teaches.
O for some rude tumultuous fellow,
Half crazy, or, at least, half mellow,
To come behind you unawares,
And fairly push you both down stairs!
But death's at hand—let me advise ye,
Go forward, friends! or he'll surprise ye,
Nor scruple each, what each admires.
221
It flies, while you display your breeding;
Such breeding as one's granam preaches,
Or some old dancing-master teaches.
O for some rude tumultuous fellow,
Half crazy, or, at least, half mellow,
To come behind you unawares,
And fairly push you both down stairs!
But death's at hand—let me advise ye,
Go forward, friends! or he'll surprise ye,
Besides, how insincere you are!
Do ye not flatter, lye, forswear,
And daily cheat, and weekly pray,
And all for this—to lead the way?
Do ye not flatter, lye, forswear,
And daily cheat, and weekly pray,
And all for this—to lead the way?
Such is my theme, which means to prove,
That tho' we drink, or game, or love,
As that or this is most in fashion,
Precedence is our ruling passion.
That tho' we drink, or game, or love,
As that or this is most in fashion,
Precedence is our ruling passion.
When college-students take degrees,
And pay the beadle's endless fees,
What moves that scientific body,
But the first cutting at a gawdy?
And whence such shoals, in bare conditions,
That starve and languish as physicians,
Content to trudge the streets, and stare at
The fat apothecary's chariot?
But that, in Charlot's chamber (see
Moliere's Medicin malgre lui)
The leach, howe'er his fortunes vary,
Still walks before the apothecary.
And pay the beadle's endless fees,
What moves that scientific body,
But the first cutting at a gawdy?
And whence such shoals, in bare conditions,
That starve and languish as physicians,
Content to trudge the streets, and stare at
The fat apothecary's chariot?
But that, in Charlot's chamber (see
Moliere's Medicin malgre lui)
The leach, howe'er his fortunes vary,
Still walks before the apothecary.
222
Flavia in vain has wit and charms,
And all that shines, and all that warms;
In vain all human race adore her,
For—lady Mary ranks before her.
And all that shines, and all that warms;
In vain all human race adore her,
For—lady Mary ranks before her.
O Celia, gentle Celia! tell us,
You who are neither vain, nor jealous!
The softest breast, the mildest mien!
Wou'd you not feel some little spleen,
Nor bite your lip, nor furl your brow,
If Florimel, your equal now,
Shou'd, one day, gain precedence of ye?
First serv'd—tho' in a dish of coffee?
Plac'd first, altho' where you are found,
You gain the eyes of all around?
Nam'd first, tho' not with half the fame,
That waits my charming Celia's name?
You who are neither vain, nor jealous!
The softest breast, the mildest mien!
Wou'd you not feel some little spleen,
Nor bite your lip, nor furl your brow,
If Florimel, your equal now,
Shou'd, one day, gain precedence of ye?
First serv'd—tho' in a dish of coffee?
Plac'd first, altho' where you are found,
You gain the eyes of all around?
Nam'd first, tho' not with half the fame,
That waits my charming Celia's name?
Hard fortune! barely to inspire
Our fix'd esteem, and fond desire!
Barely, where'er you go, to prove
The source of universal love!—
Yet be content, observing this,
Honour's the offspring of caprice:
And worth howe'er you have pursu'd it,
Has now no pow'r—but to exclude it.
You'll find your general reputation
A kind of supplemental station.
Our fix'd esteem, and fond desire!
Barely, where'er you go, to prove
The source of universal love!—
Yet be content, observing this,
Honour's the offspring of caprice:
And worth howe'er you have pursu'd it,
Has now no pow'r—but to exclude it.
You'll find your general reputation
A kind of supplemental station.
Poor Swift, with all his worth, cou'd ne'er,
He tells us, hope to rise a peer;
So, to supply it, wrote for fame:
And well the wit secur'd his aim.
A common patriot has a drift,
Not quite so innocent as Swift:
In Britain's cause he rants, he labours;
“He's honest, faith”—have patience, neighbours,
For patriots may sometimes deceive,
May beg their friend's reluctant leave,
To serve them in a higher sphere;
And drop their virtue, to get there.—
He tells us, hope to rise a peer;
So, to supply it, wrote for fame:
And well the wit secur'd his aim.
223
Not quite so innocent as Swift:
In Britain's cause he rants, he labours;
“He's honest, faith”—have patience, neighbours,
For patriots may sometimes deceive,
May beg their friend's reluctant leave,
To serve them in a higher sphere;
And drop their virtue, to get there.—
As Lucian tells us, in his fashion,
How souls put off each earthly passion,
Ere on Elysium's flow'ry strand,
Old Charon suffer'd 'em to land;
So ere we meet a court's caresses,
No doubt our souls must change their dresses:
And souls there be, who, bound that way,
Attire themselves ten times a day.
How souls put off each earthly passion,
Ere on Elysium's flow'ry strand,
Old Charon suffer'd 'em to land;
So ere we meet a court's caresses,
No doubt our souls must change their dresses:
And souls there be, who, bound that way,
Attire themselves ten times a day.
If then 'tis rank which all men covet,
And saints alike and sinners love it;
If place, for which our courtiers throng
So thick, that few can get along;
For which such servile toils are seen,
Who's happier than a king?—a queen.
And saints alike and sinners love it;
If place, for which our courtiers throng
So thick, that few can get along;
For which such servile toils are seen,
Who's happier than a king?—a queen.
Howe'er men aim at elevation,
'Tis properly a female passion:
Women, and beaux, beyond all measure
Are charm'd with rank's extatic pleasure.
'Tis properly a female passion:
Women, and beaux, beyond all measure
Are charm'd with rank's extatic pleasure.
Sir, if your drift I rightly scan,
You'd hint a beau were not a man:
Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all disputable cases.
A man perhaps would something linger,
Were his lov'd rank to cost—a finger;
Or were an ear or toe the price on't,
He might delib'rate once or twice on't;
Perhaps ask Gataker's advice on't.
And many, as their frame grows old,
Would hardly purchase it with gold.
You'd hint a beau were not a man:
Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all disputable cases.
224
Were his lov'd rank to cost—a finger;
Or were an ear or toe the price on't,
He might delib'rate once or twice on't;
Perhaps ask Gataker's advice on't.
And many, as their frame grows old,
Would hardly purchase it with gold.
But women wish precedence ever;
'Tis their whole life's supreme endeavour;
It fires their youth with jealous rage,
And strongly animates their age.
Perhaps they would not sell out-right
Or maim a limb—that was in sight;
Yet on worse terms, they sometimes chuse it;
Nor ev'n in punishments, refuse it.
'Tis their whole life's supreme endeavour;
It fires their youth with jealous rage,
And strongly animates their age.
Perhaps they would not sell out-right
Or maim a limb—that was in sight;
Yet on worse terms, they sometimes chuse it;
Nor ev'n in punishments, refuse it.
Pre-eminence in pain, you cry!
All fierce and pregnant with reply.
But lend your patience, and your ear,
An argument shall make it clear.
But hold, an argument may fail,
Beside my title says, a tale.
All fierce and pregnant with reply.
But lend your patience, and your ear,
An argument shall make it clear.
But hold, an argument may fail,
Beside my title says, a tale.
Where Avon rolls her winding stream,
Avon, the muses fav'rite theme!
Avon, that fills the farmers' purses,
And decks with flow'rs both farms, and verses,
She visits many a fertile vale—
Such was the scene of this my tale.
For 'tis in Ev'sham's vale, or near it,
That folks with laughter tell, and hear it.
Avon, the muses fav'rite theme!
Avon, that fills the farmers' purses,
And decks with flow'rs both farms, and verses,
She visits many a fertile vale—
Such was the scene of this my tale.
For 'tis in Ev'sham's vale, or near it,
That folks with laughter tell, and hear it.
The soil with annual plenty blest
Was by young Corydon possest.
His youth alone I lay before ye,
As most material to my story:
For strength and vigour too, he had 'em,
And 'twere not much amiss, to add 'em.
Was by young Corydon possest.
225
As most material to my story:
For strength and vigour too, he had 'em,
And 'twere not much amiss, to add 'em.
Thrice happy lout! whose wide domain
Now green with grass, now gilt with grain,
In russet robes of clover deep,
Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep;
Now fragant with the bean's perfume.
Now purpled with the pulse's bloom,
Might well with bright allusion store me;
—But happier bards have been before me!
Now green with grass, now gilt with grain,
In russet robes of clover deep,
Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep;
Now fragant with the bean's perfume.
Now purpled with the pulse's bloom,
Might well with bright allusion store me;
—But happier bards have been before me!
Amongst the various year's increase,
The strippling own'd a field of pease;
Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours,
Were haunted by some female neighbours.
Each morn discover'd to his sight
The shameful havoc of the night;
Traces of this they left behind 'em,
But no instructions where to find 'em.
The devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the devil.
Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has said it,
Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us;
And bargain'd face to face to rule us;
But then old Noll was one in ten,
And sought him more than other men.
Our shepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.
He rose one morn at break of day,
And near the field in ambush lay:
When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years.
Smiling, amidst the pease, the sinners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own 'em,
Made free as tho' themselves had sown 'em.
The strippling own'd a field of pease;
Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours,
Were haunted by some female neighbours.
Each morn discover'd to his sight
The shameful havoc of the night;
Traces of this they left behind 'em,
But no instructions where to find 'em.
The devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the devil.
Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has said it,
Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us;
And bargain'd face to face to rule us;
But then old Noll was one in ten,
And sought him more than other men.
Our shepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.
226
And near the field in ambush lay:
When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years.
Smiling, amidst the pease, the sinners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own 'em,
Made free as tho' themselves had sown 'em.
'Tis worth a sage's observation
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out o' door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well, 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out o' door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well, 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
The am'rous youth, for their offence,
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful muse to name.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Tis what Bett --- grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune—to a shilling.
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful muse to name.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Tis what Bett --- grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune—to a shilling.
227
Each stood awhile, as 'twere suspended,
And loth to do, what—each intended.
And loth to do, what—each intended.
At length with soft pathetic sighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies.
The matron, bent with age, replies.
'Tis vain to strive—justice, I know,
And our ill stars will have it so—
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And shew some deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, G--- knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.
And our ill stars will have it so—
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And shew some deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, G--- knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.
Our shepherd, like the Phrygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddesses he stood suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddesses he stood suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.
ODE To be performed by Dr. Brettle, and a Chorus of Hales-owen Citizens.
The Instrumental Part, a Viol d' Amour.
AIR by the Doctor.
Awake! I say, awake good people!And be for once alive and gay;
Come let's be merry; stir the tipple;
How can you sleep,
Whilst I do play? how can you sleep, &c.
228
CHORUS of Citizens.
Pardon, O! Pardon, great musician!On drowsy souls some pity take!
For wond'rous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,
Thy strains to hear;
To drink,
To hear,
And keep awake!
SOLO by the Doctor.
Hear but this strain—'twas made by Handel,A wight of skill, and judgment deep!
Zoonters they're gone—Sal, bring a candle—
No, here is one, and he's asleep.
DUETTE.
Dr.Soft music.
—How cou'd they go
Whilst I do play?
Sal.
Warlike music.
—How cou'd they go?
How shou'd they stay?
229
EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of Cleone.
Well, ladies—so much for the tragic stile—
And now the custom is to make you smile.
To make us smile!—methinks I hear you say—
Why, who can help it, at so strange a play?
The captain gone three years!—and then to blame
The faultless conduct of his virtuous dame!
My stars!—what gentle belle would think it treason,
When thus provok'd, to give the brute some reason?
Out of my house!—this night, forsooth depart!
A modern wife had said—“With all my heart—
But think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone!
Order your coach—conduct me safe to town—
Give me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid—
And pray take care my pin-money be paid.”
And now the custom is to make you smile.
To make us smile!—methinks I hear you say—
Why, who can help it, at so strange a play?
The captain gone three years!—and then to blame
The faultless conduct of his virtuous dame!
My stars!—what gentle belle would think it treason,
When thus provok'd, to give the brute some reason?
Out of my house!—this night, forsooth depart!
A modern wife had said—“With all my heart—
But think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone!
Order your coach—conduct me safe to town—
Give me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid—
And pray take care my pin-money be paid.”
Such is the language of each modish fair;
Yet memoirs, not of modern growth, declare
The time has been when modesty and truth
Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth:
When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces,
Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor star'd at public places,
Nor took the airs of amazons for graces:
Then plain domestic virtues were the mode,
And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad;
They lov'd their children, learnt no flaunting airs,
But with the joys of wedlock mixt the cares.
Those times are past—yet sure they merit praise,
For marriage triumph'd in those golden days:
By chaste decorum they affection gain'd;
By faith and fondness what they won, maintain'd.
Yet memoirs, not of modern growth, declare
The time has been when modesty and truth
Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth:
When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces,
Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor star'd at public places,
Nor took the airs of amazons for graces:
Then plain domestic virtues were the mode,
And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad;
They lov'd their children, learnt no flaunting airs,
But with the joys of wedlock mixt the cares.
230
For marriage triumph'd in those golden days:
By chaste decorum they affection gain'd;
By faith and fondness what they won, maintain'd.
'Tis yours, ye fair, to bring those days agen,
And form anew the hearts of thoughtless men;
Make beauty's lustre amiable as bright,
And give the soul, as well as sense, delight;
Reclaim from folly a fantastic age,
That scorns the press, the pulpit, and the stage.
Let truth and tenderness your breasts adorn,
The marriage chain with transport shall be worn;
Each blooming virgin rais'd into a bride
Shall double all their joys, their cares divide;
Alleviate grief, compose the jars of strife,
And pour the balm that sweetens human life.
And form anew the hearts of thoughtless men;
Make beauty's lustre amiable as bright,
And give the soul, as well as sense, delight;
Reclaim from folly a fantastic age,
That scorns the press, the pulpit, and the stage.
Let truth and tenderness your breasts adorn,
The marriage chain with transport shall be worn;
Each blooming virgin rais'd into a bride
Shall double all their joys, their cares divide;
Alleviate grief, compose the jars of strife,
And pour the balm that sweetens human life.
| The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq | |