University of Virginia Library

While yet the World was in its Teens,
(Of Centuries, the Poet means)
By Jove commission'd from above,
Strait to the earth flew Death and Love,
As mutual benefits design'd
To shed their blessings on Mankind:—
Love like a fair Adonis shone,
Nor Death appear'd that Skeleton
Which modern Painters falsely shew him,
(To judge from them you'd scarcely know him)
His face, tho' somewhat pale and thin,
Was smiling, and devoid of grin;
He was, in air, shape, voice, and feature,
A decent, unforbidding creature:
A bow and arrows either bore,
Both welcome guests at ev'ry door;—
Death was commission'd to set free
Old palsied Age from Misery;
And Love his arrows to employ
In dealing that inchanting joy,
Without which Heav'n would tasteless prove;—
For what were Heav'n, unbless'd with Love?
Love's pow'r the Young and Fair obey,
Whilst Age hail'd Death's obliging sway;
Each courted as Man's guardian Friend,
Tho' widely different their end.—

For some time matters smoothly went,
Happy the Young—the Old content:
When Death and Love travelling together,
The Ev'ning dark, stormy the weather,
Quick to a neighb'ring Farm they sped,
They crav'd a supper and a bed:
The honest Farmer and his Dame,
He Camus call'd—Demea her name,
With hospitality sincere,
A welcome gave, and wholesome cheer:—
The Guests, to entertain the Peasant,
Crack'd jokes, told tales, and stories pleasant;
Talk'd scandal, and abus'd the Great,
Pity'd the Poor, reform'd the State;
They chatted, drank, and laugh'd, 'till tir'd,
Shook hands, and then to bed retir'd.

But our good Dame, who, by the bye,
Had some small Curiosity,
Observ'd the Quivers which each Guest
With care conceal'd beneath his vest;
She wonder'd what they could contain,
She thought, re-thought—she rack'd her brain;
And when her Guests, all weary, slept,
She snugly to their chamber crept,
Their Quivers seiz'd, and strait withdrew,
Impatient the contents to view;
She emptied 'em upon the floor,
Eagerly turn'd 'em o'er and o'er,
The variegated feathers eyes
With admiration and surprize;
But fearing lest her Guests should wake,
And umbrage at her peeping take,
Hurrying—poor Demea so commix'd 'em,
When in the Quivers she refix'd 'em,
That many of Love's Darts convey'd,
Into Death's fatal Quiver stray'd;
And, vice versa, Death's were found
Among Love's Arrows to abound;
Which prov'd the source of such mistakes,
Such unaccountable, strange freaks,
That by this accident so scurvy,
All Nature seem'd turn'd topsey turvey.—
Death's Arrows twang'd from Cupid's Bow,
Now breathless laid Love's Vot'ries low;
And Cupid's Darts, from Death's fell Quiver,
Now for the first time pierc'd the liver
Of ill-starr'd Age, who loud complains
Of fires shot thro' his shrivell'd veins:—
Hence we behold the wrinkled Dame,
With youthful airs avow her flame;
Or Square-Toes like a Coxcomb cry,
“If Cloe proves unkind, I die.”—
In short, since this curst blund'ring Æra,
Man's Happiness is all Chimera.

Oh, Female Curiosity!
Great Source of Man's Felicity!
How very much to thee we owe,
Let Mother Eve and Demea show:—
What endless Blessings flow from thee,
Oh, Female Curiosity!