Poems on Several Occasions by Samuel Wesley. The Second Edition, with Additions |
 |
A Familiar Epistle, to a Friend.
|
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
157
A Familiar Epistle, to a Friend.
I send this Verse your Health to greet,
Since in plain Prose we cannot meet.
I that am happy here at Home,
As e'er a Prince in Christendom:
Nay live, and laugh, and sport, and sing,
As free and friendless as a King;
I like not your Extremes, not I,
Your Guinea Meal, or Penny Pye;
But fain a middle Course would steer
'Twixt fine Champaigne, and thin Small-Beer;
Pleas'd and content to fare so so,
Nor costly nice, nor basely low:
Pomp, Pow'r and Riches I despise,
Nor fear to fall, nor seek to rise.
If you suspect there scarce can be
So strange a Mortal, come and see.
Since in plain Prose we cannot meet.
I that am happy here at Home,
As e'er a Prince in Christendom:
Nay live, and laugh, and sport, and sing,
As free and friendless as a King;
I like not your Extremes, not I,
Your Guinea Meal, or Penny Pye;
But fain a middle Course would steer
'Twixt fine Champaigne, and thin Small-Beer;
Pleas'd and content to fare so so,
Nor costly nice, nor basely low:
Pomp, Pow'r and Riches I despise,
Nor fear to fall, nor seek to rise.
If you suspect there scarce can be
So strange a Mortal, come and see.
So much for Me.—Of You I'd know
Some News, as what and how you do;
Of Plays and Authors your Opinion,
Of Booth and Oldfield, or Justinian:
Who near you is confess'd to be
The fairest or the frankest She:
What Youth is for Intrigue renown'd,
And who is sick, and who is sound;
Who is and who almost is undone;
And when you leave this wicked London,
Where heedless Youth may Bitter meet,
In rashly vent'ring after Sweet,
Unless their Eyes they open keep,
And look right well before they leap:
Tho' smooth and pleasing is the Way,
And full of Mirth, and full of Play;
For, oh, at School from Virgil learn I,
Descensus facilis Averni.
Nothing my Laughter more can move,
Than London Beaus' Platonick Love:
Content with Beauty in Idea,
Like Quixot with his Dulcinea,
The Puritans can feast their Sight,
Without carniv'rous Appetite;
Tho' oft the Nose, or Marten lies,
Is lost by wand'ring of the Eyes.
So have I seen a Beauish Fly,
Enamour'd with a Candle, try
T' approach unhurt the shining Thing,
And sport awhile, and buz and sing;
'Till too advent'rous bent on Game,
Touching he dies amidst the Flame;
Tho' not designing, you may swear,
To lose his Life by playing there:
No matter what the Wretch designs,
He finds it burns as well as shines.
Some News, as what and how you do;
Of Plays and Authors your Opinion,
Of Booth and Oldfield, or Justinian:
Who near you is confess'd to be
The fairest or the frankest She:
What Youth is for Intrigue renown'd,
And who is sick, and who is sound;
Who is and who almost is undone;
And when you leave this wicked London,
Where heedless Youth may Bitter meet,
In rashly vent'ring after Sweet,
158
And look right well before they leap:
Tho' smooth and pleasing is the Way,
And full of Mirth, and full of Play;
For, oh, at School from Virgil learn I,
Descensus facilis Averni.
Nothing my Laughter more can move,
Than London Beaus' Platonick Love:
Content with Beauty in Idea,
Like Quixot with his Dulcinea,
The Puritans can feast their Sight,
Without carniv'rous Appetite;
Tho' oft the Nose, or Marten lies,
Is lost by wand'ring of the Eyes.
So have I seen a Beauish Fly,
Enamour'd with a Candle, try
T' approach unhurt the shining Thing,
And sport awhile, and buz and sing;
'Till too advent'rous bent on Game,
Touching he dies amidst the Flame;
Tho' not designing, you may swear,
To lose his Life by playing there:
No matter what the Wretch designs,
He finds it burns as well as shines.
'Tis easier much to shun the Gin,
Than to escape when gotten in;
For Custom has been justly reckon'd
Strong as first Nature, tho' a second:
When Fuel's gone 'twill puff the Fire,
And rake the Embers of Desire.
To prove this true, a Tale I'll give,
Told by my Aunt of Sev'nty-five.
Than to escape when gotten in;
For Custom has been justly reckon'd
Strong as first Nature, tho' a second:
When Fuel's gone 'twill puff the Fire,
And rake the Embers of Desire.
159
Told by my Aunt of Sev'nty-five.
In Bed there once was laid, d'ye see,
A batter'd Rake, as You may be:
I mean, unless you leave the Town,
Whate'er you are, you may be one:
His Health, and Fame, and Fortune spent,
He thought it high time to repent.
Tir'd beyond suff'rance now and measure,
In search of Pain, which some call Pleasure,
He felt all Change of Air and Moons,
By Mercury within his Bones;
With Aches vex'd from Top to Toe,
Which You may—may you never—know.
All sorts of Females he forswore,
The griping and the gratis Whore:
None of Eve's Daughters he'd except,
No more the keeping than the kept:
The Devil, who is always near
To Younkers of that Character,
At first was put in some confusion,
To hear this virtuous Resolution;
But taking Heart, he chose t' appear,
And smiling whisper'd in his Ear,
My Lad, I've got a Beauty for ye,
Will make you quickly change your Story;
A fine-turn'd Shape, a Face that's new,
Known but at most by One or Two,
I care not what she is, quoth He,
I'm sure I'll never make up Three.
So said, He groan'd and turn'd his Back:
Quoth the Old Gentleman in Black,
Like Snow her Skin is to behold,
As white, as soft, but not so cold:
A Breath as fragrant as the Rose,
Come, let me help you to your Clothes:
A Wit that Age itself would whet,
And starry Eyes as Black as Jet.
Black Eyes d'ye say? then hold your Prating,
And reach my Doublet there, sweet Satan!
A batter'd Rake, as You may be:
I mean, unless you leave the Town,
Whate'er you are, you may be one:
His Health, and Fame, and Fortune spent,
He thought it high time to repent.
Tir'd beyond suff'rance now and measure,
In search of Pain, which some call Pleasure,
He felt all Change of Air and Moons,
By Mercury within his Bones;
With Aches vex'd from Top to Toe,
Which You may—may you never—know.
All sorts of Females he forswore,
The griping and the gratis Whore:
None of Eve's Daughters he'd except,
No more the keeping than the kept:
The Devil, who is always near
To Younkers of that Character,
At first was put in some confusion,
To hear this virtuous Resolution;
But taking Heart, he chose t' appear,
And smiling whisper'd in his Ear,
My Lad, I've got a Beauty for ye,
Will make you quickly change your Story;
A fine-turn'd Shape, a Face that's new,
Known but at most by One or Two,
I care not what she is, quoth He,
I'm sure I'll never make up Three.
160
Quoth the Old Gentleman in Black,
Like Snow her Skin is to behold,
As white, as soft, but not so cold:
A Breath as fragrant as the Rose,
Come, let me help you to your Clothes:
A Wit that Age itself would whet,
And starry Eyes as Black as Jet.
Black Eyes d'ye say? then hold your Prating,
And reach my Doublet there, sweet Satan!
| Poems on Several Occasions | |