Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Leave we a while the well instructed Fair,
And to the gentle Beau transfer our care;
Tho' here, how small does the Digression seem
Alike the Precepts, as alike the Theme.

Our Youth of old were wont the Fair to move,
By manly Vigour, and athletic Love:
With healthful Nerves they prest the glowing Dame,
Not squeal'd in sing-song Lays a sickly Flame.
At Eyes alone our Beaus direct their art,
Nor know the nobler Conquest of the Heart.

With her own Arms a Mistress they pursue,
Snuff, Powder, Patches, Paste, and Billets doux.
Man's hardy mould is in his Habit lost,
And Beaus assume the Softness of their Toast.

The smart Toupêt my foremost Praise must claim,
(Invention fatal to the ogling Dame!)
This, tuck'd on high, the brawny Neck displays;
What Beauty pants not, who but dares to gaze?
See, lengthen'd down the pond'rous Queüe descend:
What stale Platonic can her heart defend?
Thus Ægypt's Gods did once of old prevail,
Tho' dignify'd alone by Length of Tail.
When Britain's Sons, in fam'd Rammillies's field,
With Force resistless taught the Foe to yield,
Their ample Curls in order to confine,
Tis said the Queüe at first was their design:
A Birth how glorious, but a Fall how great!
Kings, Queües and Empires must submit to Fate.
The Hero's Pride, and Terror of the Foe,
Now humbly deigns to deck the peaceful Beau.

If to the Law thy careful thoughts incline,
This modern Garb will frustrate the Design:
The reverend Bench will be amaz'd to see
An infant Brother staring in Toupêt!

Preferment will be slow, and Clients few,
Nor ever shall the Coif succeed the Queüe.

Would Youth consider what depends on Dress,
Complaints of slighted Merit would be less:
In all Professions, since the world began,
The useful Habit typify'd the Man.
How bow the gaping croud submissive down,
When the huge Doctor rustles in his Gown?
The Preacher's self is heeded but by few,
Men think their Patience to his Habit due.
By breadth of Band the Lawyer gets his fee,
For what Cravat can be so wise as he?
In Lace the Mountebank harangues the croud,
His Jacket gaudy, as his Nonsense loud.
Dress aptly judg'd shall pass for sterling Skill,
Alike in Law, Divinity, and Pill.

I have beheld a Beau, of hapless mind,
To some old Peruque add a Tail behind;
Then, pleas'd, survey the inconsistent grace,
And claim alliance with the Pig-tail Race:
How would our Connoisseurs be pleas'd to see
Debilitated Bob commence Toupêt!
Of all improvements this appears the worst,
For Queües, like Poets, must be born at first.

If you the fashionable trade profess,
Of thinking little and of acting less,
A painful life, from all employment barr'd:
(For doing nothing is to labour hard)
Then let the Queüe it's utmost Length display,
And shew the World you can at least be gay:
So shall each Coachman woo thee for his fare;
So “Bless your Honour” sound from every Chair:
For thee the Croud obsequious shall divide:
Thy Wig shall press where Merit is denied.
The Fair shall place thee in her foremost train,
The Monkey's Rival, and the Parrot's Bane.

Yet think, O Youth, while Youth maintains it's prime,
Is Dress a Tribute to be paid to Time?
So low, so trifling is the vain Employ,
You nor improve the moments, nor enjoy.
Oh! think, when Age shall press thy hoary head,
And Dance, and Dress, and Nonsense all be fled;
When thy dim Eyes Diseases shall disarm,
When Lace, when Beauty can no longer charm,
What gleaming Joys shall cheer thy close of day,
Or where's the Comfort to have once been gay?
What of thy Phyllis shall in Age remain,
That once so pretty was, and once so vain?

When Youth shall cease to gild her frailties o'er,
When Beauty privilege Deceit no more!
As thy Desires, so shall her Charms be lost;
No more a Coxcomb thou, or she a Toast.

Thus Folly flies with all her painted Train;
But sacred Wisdom shall unhurt remain.
O Goddess! ever fair, and ever young,
As Venus gentle; yet as Atlas strong;
O may thy Pow'r my latest steps attend,
When Lace shall tarnish, and when Curls unbend!

Would you be sure to please the judging eye?
Still let your Habit with your Age comply.
Does not the Earth this lesson well express,
Observe her changes, and like Nature dress?
Mark when December, sullen, and severe,
With wintry blasts deforms th' expiring year;
From the keen season shelter'd by the snow,
Unseen, and safe, her tender harvests grow.
But when the Spring elate with youthful Grace,
Thro' kinder skies pursues his glorious race;
Her conscious vales the fruitful blessing greet,
Her buds expanded smile beneath the Heat;
Soft op'ning flow'rs their balmy sweets display,
Court the warm Sun, and wanton in his ray.

The beardless Stripling, just arriv'd at age,
Frequents the Church, the Ring, the Mall, and Stage.
With like Contempt his wand'ring eyes survey,
Religion, Beauty, Company, and Play:
Collected in his Cloaths he stands alone,
Nor seeks to be esteem'd, but to be known.
In Man confirm'd a different View appears,
The Thirst of Gain increases with our Years:
No more the wild Extravagant you see;
We dress for Use alone, and Decency:
Or Wealth or Fame 'tis now our task to win,
And all the Vanity retires within.
To glitt'ring Baubles we devote our Prime,
And what does rip'ning Age but change the Crime:
The Man transform'd at diff'ring times survey,
Now meanly sordid, once profusely gay.

As where the Bridge the foaming Thames divides,
What various Prospects crown the parted Sides?
What Gewgaws in his infant waters flow,
What weightier Burdens crown his deeps below?
Here to Spring-Garden in the guilty boat
The wand'ring Rake, and wither'd Letcher float;
Where Drury's-Dames, an ever-gentle train,
Invite the fond, the thoughtless, and the vain:
There far beneath with Wealth, and Plenty gay,
The loaded Vessels ride in proud array;

Whence the vain Trader quits the faithful Shore,
Curst with his Much, yet eager still for more;
While Cares and Fears his anxious hours divide,
A wretched Prey to Avarice and Pride:
So flows the Stream of Life, a restless wave;
So rolls a motly torrent to the Grave.

See fault'ring Age with countless Ills appears;
(The sure attendants of increasing Years)
Where now the foreign Mein, and practis'd Air,
Which warm'd the Wishes of the rip'ning Fair?
Or where the nervous Limbs, and sturdy Frame,
Beheld with Rapture by the knowing Dame?
Sick Fancy triumphs o'er Performance dead;
And all of Life, but Misery, is fled.
Now pond'rous Coats our shiv'ring limbs enfold,
To fence the Morning Dews, or Ev'ning Cold;
The feeble Legs with Tortures are o'er-run;
The Eyes unconscious of the flaming Sun.
Thus ever doom'd is Man to drag the chain;
In Youth of Passion, and in Age of Pain.
Hard Lot at last, not to be wish'd at first!
(A wretched Reptile in Existence curst!)

The Sons of Galen, anxious for the Fee,
In dress consult an artful Gravity.
They nor affect the martial Queüe to wear,
Or chuse the dapper Bob's assuming air;

The copious Knot adown their shoulders flows,
And free from Powder hang their well-brush'd Cloaths.
With Looks demure, they grasp the golden Bait,
And issue Mandates in arrest of Fate:
Feather and Lace with reason they despise,
Well knowing to be grave is to be wise.
Tho' Phœbus pride him in his Summer Show,
And blend in one the Doctor, and the Beau,
To mortal wights no Pattern yet is he;
The Gods take greater Liberties than we.

Poets (a caution needful but to few)
Should shun a dress extravagant, or new:
The heav'n-born Muse can charm with native Grace,
Tho' not bedawb'd with Simile, or Lace.
Let squealing Peacocks gawdy Plumes display,
The warbling Lark appears in sober Grey.
Parnassus' Hill is mounted but with time;
'Twould discompose the puny Beau to climb:
A rugged Rock and must be gain'd by Care;
The splendid Equipage avails not there.
Few in it's sides their footsteps firm can fix,
'Tis quite impervious to a Coach and Six.
Homer himself, dependent on the Throng,
In Rags immortal tun'd his venal Song.

Ye rural Sages, who the Laws retail,
O'er mouldy Statutes, and composing Ale;

Who obstinately just, and deaf to pray'r,
To ruthless Bridewell damn the pregnant Fair;
Would you unrival'd thro' the Parish reign,
Be grave in Aspect, and in Habit plain;
In Posture solemn; in Attention deep;
As half to Thought inclin'd, and half to Sleep:
So may your Nod contesting Swains advise,
While wond'ring Tenants pant to be so wise.
So may your slow-succeeding days be blest,
In peaceful Plenty, and unmeaning Rest.

Return my Muse, return we to the Fair,
Thy great Inspirer, and thy best-lov'd Care,
For Their's the Claim to each instructive Tongue,
And Their's the great Monopoly of Song.