 |
|
 | The Poetical Works Of the Right Honourable Lady M---y W---y M---e [i.e. Montagu] |  |
9
TOWN ECLOGUES
MONDAY.
Roxana, or, the Drawing-Room.
Roxana from the Court retiring late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. James's gate.
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen with more weight oppress'd;
They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear;
She in these gentle sounds express'd her care.
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. James's gate.
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen with more weight oppress'd;
10
She in these gentle sounds express'd her care.
“Was it for this, that I these roses wear,
“For this new-set the jewels for my hair?
“Ah! princess! with what zeal have I pursu'd!
“Almost forgot the duty of a prude.
“Thinking I never could attend too soon,
“I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
“For thee, ah! what for thee did I resign?
“My pleasures, passions, all that e'er was mine.
“I sacrific'd both modesty and ease,
“Left operas, and went to filthy plays;
“Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
“Yet even this for thee I chose to bear.
“In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
“And every joy of life before me lay,
“By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
“The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd:
“Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
“Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
Alas! how chang'd!—with the same sermon-mien
“That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye-call't I've seen.
“Ah! cruel princess, for thy sake I've lost
“That reputation which so dear had cost
“I, who avoided every public place,
“When bloom and beauty bade me show my face;
“Now near thee constant every night abide
“With never-failing duty by thy side,
“Myself and daughters standing on a row,
“To all the foreigners a goodly show!
“Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
“And merchants' wives close by the chair been seen;
“Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
“And sav'd your highness from the dire disgrace.
“For this new-set the jewels for my hair?
“Ah! princess! with what zeal have I pursu'd!
“Almost forgot the duty of a prude.
“Thinking I never could attend too soon,
“I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
“For thee, ah! what for thee did I resign?
“My pleasures, passions, all that e'er was mine.
“I sacrific'd both modesty and ease,
“Left operas, and went to filthy plays;
“Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
“Yet even this for thee I chose to bear.
“In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
“And every joy of life before me lay,
“By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
“The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd:
“Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
“Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
11
“That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye-call't I've seen.
“Ah! cruel princess, for thy sake I've lost
“That reputation which so dear had cost
“I, who avoided every public place,
“When bloom and beauty bade me show my face;
“Now near thee constant every night abide
“With never-failing duty by thy side,
“Myself and daughters standing on a row,
“To all the foreigners a goodly show!
“Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
“And merchants' wives close by the chair been seen;
“Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
“And sav'd your highness from the dire disgrace.
“Yet Coquetilla's artifice prevails,
“When all my merit and my duty fails:
“That Coquetilla, whose deluding airs
“Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares;
“So sunk her character, so lost her fame,
“Scarce visited before your highness came:
“Yet for the bed-chamber 'tis her you chuse,
“When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
“Ah! worthy choice! not one of all your train
“Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
“Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
“And the proud pea-hen hatch the cuckoo's eggs!
“Let Iris leave her paint and own her age,
“And grave Suffolka wed a giddy page!
“A greater miracle is daily view'd,
“A virtuous princess with a court so lewd.
“When all my merit and my duty fails:
“That Coquetilla, whose deluding airs
“Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares;
12
“Scarce visited before your highness came:
“Yet for the bed-chamber 'tis her you chuse,
“When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
“Ah! worthy choice! not one of all your train
“Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
“Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
“And the proud pea-hen hatch the cuckoo's eggs!
“Let Iris leave her paint and own her age,
“And grave Suffolka wed a giddy page!
“A greater miracle is daily view'd,
“A virtuous princess with a court so lewd.
“I know thee, Court! with all thy treach'rous wiles,
“Thy false caresses and undoing smiles!
“Ah! princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
“To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts!
“Thy false caresses and undoing smiles!
“Ah! princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
“To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts!
13
“Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim;
“And the neglected patriot follows fame.
“The prince is ogled; some the king pursue;
“But your Roxana only follows You.
“Despis'd Roxana, cease, and try to find
“Some other, since the princess proves unkind:
“Perhaps it is not hard to find at court,
“If not a greater, a more firm support.”
“And the neglected patriot follows fame.
“The prince is ogled; some the king pursue;
“But your Roxana only follows You.
“Despis'd Roxana, cease, and try to find
“Some other, since the princess proves unkind:
“Perhaps it is not hard to find at court,
“If not a greater, a more firm support.”
14
TUESDAY.
St. James's Coffee-House.Silliander and Patch.
Thou, who so many favours hast receiv'd,
Wond'rous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh! H---d, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how two lovers boastingly contend:
Like thee successful, such their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth.
Wond'rous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh! H---d, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how two lovers boastingly contend:
Like thee successful, such their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth.
St. James's bell had toll'd some wretches in,
(As tatter'd riding-hoods alone could sin)
The happier sinners now their charms put out,
And to their manteuas their complexions suit;
The opera queens had finish'd half their faces,
And city dames already taken places;
Fops of all kinds, to see the Lion, run;
The beauties stay till the first act's begun,
And beaux step home to put fresh linen on.
No well-dress'd youth in coffee house remain'd,
But pensive Patch, who on the window lean'd;
And Silliander, that alert and gay,
First pick'd his teeth, and then began to say.
Silliander.
(As tatter'd riding-hoods alone could sin)
The happier sinners now their charms put out,
And to their manteuas their complexions suit;
The opera queens had finish'd half their faces,
And city dames already taken places;
15
The beauties stay till the first act's begun,
And beaux step home to put fresh linen on.
No well-dress'd youth in coffee house remain'd,
But pensive Patch, who on the window lean'd;
And Silliander, that alert and gay,
First pick'd his teeth, and then began to say.
Why all these sighs; ah! why so pensive grown?
Some cause there is why thus you fit alone.
Does hapless passion all this sorrow move?
Or dost thou envy where the ladies love?
Patch.
If, whom they love, my envy must pursue,
'Tis true, at least, I never envy you.
Silliander.
No, I'm unhappy—you are in the right—
'Tis you they favour, and 'tis me they slight.
16
A club of ladies where 'tis me they toast.
Patch.
Toasting does seldom any favour prove;
Like us, they never toast the thing they love.
A certain duke one night my health begun;
With chearful pledges round the room it run,
'Till the young Silvia, press'd to drink it too,
Started and vow'd she knew not what to do:
What, drink a fellow's health! she dy'd with shame:
Yet blush'd whenever she pronounc'd my name.
Silliander.
Ill fates pursue me, may I never find
The dice propitious, or the ladies kind,
If fair Miss Flippy's fan I did not tear,
And one from me she condescends to wear.
17
Women are always ready to receive;
'Tis then a favour when the sex will give.
A lady (but she is too great to name)
Beauteous in person, spotless in her fame,
With gentle strugglings let me force this ring;
Another day may give another thing.
Silliander.
I could say something—see this billet-doux—
And as for presents—look upon my shoe—
These buckles were not forc'd, nor half a theft,
But a young countess fondly made the gift.
Patch.
My countess is more nice, more artful too,
Affects to fly, that I may fierce pursue:
This snuff-box which I begg'd, she still deny'd,
And when I strove to snatch it, seem'd to hide;
18
With affectation cram'd it down her stays;
Yet hop'd she did not place it there unseen,
I press'd her breasts, and pull'd it from between.
Silliander.
Last night, as I stood ogling of her grace,
Drinking delicious poison from her face,
The soft enchantress did that face decline,
Nor ever rais'd her eyes to meet with mine;
With sudden art some secret did pretend,
Lean'd cross two chairs to whisper to a friend,
While the stiff whalebone with the motion rose,
And thousand beauties to my sight expose.
Patch.
Early this morn—(but I was ask'd to come)
I drank bohea in Celia's dressing-room:
Warm from her bed, to me alone within,
Her night-gown fasten'd with a single pin;
19
And her bright hair play'd careless round her face;
Reaching the kettle made her gown unpin,
She wore no waistcoat, and her shift was thin.
Silliander.
See Titiana driving to the park!
Hark! let us follow, 'tis not yet too dark:
In her all beauties of the spring are seen,
Her cheeks are rosy, and her mantle green.
Patch.
See Tintoretta to the opera goes!
Haste, or the crowd will not permit our bows;
In her the glory of the heav'ns we view,
Her eyes are star-like, and her mantle blue.
Silliander.
What colour does in Celia's stockings shine?
Reveal that secret, and the prize is thine.
20
What are her garters? tell me if you can;
I'll freely own thee far the happier man.
Thus Patch continued his heroic strain,
While Silliander but contends in vain,
After a conquest so important gain'd,
Unrivall'd Patch in every ruelle reign'd:
21
WEDNESDAY.
The Tête à Tête.
Dancinda.
“No, fair Dancinda, no; you strive in vain
“To calm my care, and mitigate my pain;
“If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,
“Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love.”
Thus Strephon spoke. Dancinda thus reply'd:
What must I do to gratify your pride?
Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)
How much you triumph in this tender heart:
What proof of love remains for me to grant?
Yet still you teaze me with some new complaint.
Oh! would to heaven!—but the fond wish is vain—
Too many favours had not made it plain!
But such a passion breaks through all disguise,
Love reddens on my cheek, and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind!)
I own the secret conflict of my mind;
You cannot know what secret pain I prove,
When I with burning blushes own I love.
You see my artless joy at your approach,
I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch;
And in your absence all the world I shun;
I hate mankind, and curse the chearing sun.
Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue;
Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you.
I shew you all my heart without disguise:
But these are tender proofs that you despise—
I see too well what wishes you pursue;
You would not only conquer, but undo:
You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,
Would seek a cure in my eternal shame;
And not content my honour to subdue,
Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too.
Oh! Love, a God indeed to womankind,
Whose arrows burn me, and whose fetters bind,
Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,
And blast these traitors that profane thy name;
Who by pretending to thy sacred sire,
Raise cursed trophies to impure desire.
“To calm my care, and mitigate my pain;
“If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,
“Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love.”
Thus Strephon spoke. Dancinda thus reply'd:
What must I do to gratify your pride?
Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)
How much you triumph in this tender heart:
What proof of love remains for me to grant?
Yet still you teaze me with some new complaint.
Oh! would to heaven!—but the fond wish is vain—
Too many favours had not made it plain!
22
Love reddens on my cheek, and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind!)
I own the secret conflict of my mind;
You cannot know what secret pain I prove,
When I with burning blushes own I love.
You see my artless joy at your approach,
I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch;
And in your absence all the world I shun;
I hate mankind, and curse the chearing sun.
Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue;
Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you.
I shew you all my heart without disguise:
But these are tender proofs that you despise—
I see too well what wishes you pursue;
You would not only conquer, but undo:
You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,
Would seek a cure in my eternal shame;
And not content my honour to subdue,
Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too.
23
Whose arrows burn me, and whose fetters bind,
Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,
And blast these traitors that profane thy name;
Who by pretending to thy sacred sire,
Raise cursed trophies to impure desire.
Have you forgot with what ensnaring art
You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart?
Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,
“Turn, cruel beauty; whither would you fly?
“Why all these doubts? why this distrustful fear?
“No impious wishes shall offend your ear:
“Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend
“Above the title of a tender friend;
“Blest, if my lovely goddess will permit
“My humble vows thus sighing at her feet.
“The tyrant Love that in my bosom reigns,
“The god himself submits to wear your chains:
“You shall direct his course, his ardor tame,
“And check the fury of his wildest flame.”
You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart?
Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,
“Turn, cruel beauty; whither would you fly?
“Why all these doubts? why this distrustful fear?
“No impious wishes shall offend your ear:
“Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend
“Above the title of a tender friend;
“Blest, if my lovely goddess will permit
“My humble vows thus sighing at her feet.
“The tyrant Love that in my bosom reigns,
“The god himself submits to wear your chains:
24
“And check the fury of his wildest flame.”
Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd;
Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd;
Now, quite forgot that soft submissive fear,
You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.
Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd;
Now, quite forgot that soft submissive fear,
You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.
Could I forget the honour of my race,
And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace;
Could passion o'er my tender youth prevail,
And all my mother's pious maxims fail;
Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,
False as it is, for ever dear to me)
This fatal proof of love I would not give,
Which you'd contemn the moment you receive.
The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys,
A man may pity, but he must despise.
Your ardour ceas'd, I then should see you shun
The wretched victim by your arts undone.
Yet if I could that cold indifference bear,
What more would strike me with the last despair,
With this reflection would my soul be torn,
To know I merited your cruel scorn.
And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace;
Could passion o'er my tender youth prevail,
And all my mother's pious maxims fail;
Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,
False as it is, for ever dear to me)
This fatal proof of love I would not give,
Which you'd contemn the moment you receive.
The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys,
A man may pity, but he must despise.
Your ardour ceas'd, I then should see you shun
The wretched victim by your arts undone.
25
What more would strike me with the last despair,
With this reflection would my soul be torn,
To know I merited your cruel scorn.
Has love no pleasures free from guilt or fear?
Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere?
Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze,
Love is a child, and like a child it plays.
Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere?
Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze,
Love is a child, and like a child it plays.
O Strephon, if you would continue just,
If love be something more than brutal lust,
Forbear to ask what I must still deny,
This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,
So closely follow'd by the dismal train
Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.
If love be something more than brutal lust,
Forbear to ask what I must still deny,
This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,
So closely follow'd by the dismal train
Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.
She paus'd; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan;
He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began;
Madam, if love—but he could say no more,
For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.
The dangerous moments no adieus afford;
—Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my lord.
The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,
To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves:
The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares,
While Strephon cursing slips down the back-stairs.
He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began;
Madam, if love—but he could say no more,
For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.
26
—Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my lord.
The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,
To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves:
The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares,
While Strephon cursing slips down the back-stairs.
40
SATURDAY.
The Small-Pox.
Flavia.
The wretched Flavia on her couch reclin'd,
Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind,
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now she shun'd the face she sought before.
Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind,
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now she shun'd the face she sought before.
“How am I chang'd! alas! how am I grown
“A frightful spectre, to myself unknown!
“Where's my complexion? where my radiant bloom,
“That promis'd happiness for years to come?
“Then with what pleasure I this face survey'd!
“To look once more, my visits oft delay'd!
“Charm'd with the view, a fresher red would rise,
“And a new life shot sparkling from my eyes!
“A frightful spectre, to myself unknown!
“Where's my complexion? where my radiant bloom,
“That promis'd happiness for years to come?
“Then with what pleasure I this face survey'd!
“To look once more, my visits oft delay'd!
41
“And a new life shot sparkling from my eyes!
“Ah! faithless glass, my wonted bloom restore;
“Alas! I rave, that bloom is now no more!
“The greatest good the gods on men bestow,
“Ev'n youth itself to me is useless now.
“There was a time (oh! that I could forget!)
“When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet;
“And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine,
“The earliest cherries of the spring were mine.
“Witness, O Lilly; and thou, Motteux, tell,
“How much japan these eyes have made ye sell.
“With what contempt ye saw me oft despise
“The humble offer of the raffled prize;
“For at the raffle still each prize I bore,
“With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore!
“Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more!
“Alas! I rave, that bloom is now no more!
“The greatest good the gods on men bestow,
“Ev'n youth itself to me is useless now.
“There was a time (oh! that I could forget!)
“When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet;
“And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine,
“The earliest cherries of the spring were mine.
“Witness, O Lilly; and thou, Motteux, tell,
“How much japan these eyes have made ye sell.
“With what contempt ye saw me oft despise
“The humble offer of the raffled prize;
“For at the raffle still each prize I bore,
“With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore!
“Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more!
“For me the Patriot has the house forsook,
“And left debates to catch a passing look:
“For me the soldier has soft verses writ:
“For me the beau has aim'd to be a wit.
“For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd;
“The Gamester has for me his dun delay'd,
“And overseen the card he would have play'd.
“The bold and haughty by success made vain,
“Aw'd by my eyes, have trembled to complain:
“The bashful 'Squire touch'd by a wish unknown,
“Has dar'd to speak with spirit not his own:
“Fir'd by one wish, all did alike adore;
“Now beauty's fled, and lovers are no more!
“And left debates to catch a passing look:
42
“For me the beau has aim'd to be a wit.
“For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd;
“The Gamester has for me his dun delay'd,
“And overseen the card he would have play'd.
“The bold and haughty by success made vain,
“Aw'd by my eyes, have trembled to complain:
“The bashful 'Squire touch'd by a wish unknown,
“Has dar'd to speak with spirit not his own:
“Fir'd by one wish, all did alike adore;
“Now beauty's fled, and lovers are no more!
“As round the room I turn my weeping eyes,
“New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise.
“Far from my sight that killing picture bear,
“The face disfigure, and the canvass tear:
“That picture, which with pride I us'd to show,
“The lost resemblance but upbraids me now.
“And thou, my toilette! where I oft have sate,
“While hours unheeded pass'd in deep debate,
“How curls should fall, or where a patch to place;
“If blue or scarlet best became my face;
“Now on some happier nymph your aid bestow;
“On fairer heads, ye useless jewels, glow!
“No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore;
“Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more!
“New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise.
“Far from my sight that killing picture bear,
“The face disfigure, and the canvass tear:
“That picture, which with pride I us'd to show,
“The lost resemblance but upbraids me now.
“And thou, my toilette! where I oft have sate,
“While hours unheeded pass'd in deep debate,
43
“If blue or scarlet best became my face;
“Now on some happier nymph your aid bestow;
“On fairer heads, ye useless jewels, glow!
“No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore;
“Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more!
“Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine;
“Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine
“But 'midst your triumphs with confusion know,
“'Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe.
“Would pitying heav'n restore my wonted mien,
“Ye still might move unthought of and unseen:
“But oh, how vian, how wretched is the boast
“Of beauty faded, and of empire lost!
“What now is left but weeping, to deplore
“My beauty fled, and empire now no more?
“Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine
“But 'midst your triumphs with confusion know,
“'Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe.
“Would pitying heav'n restore my wonted mien,
“Ye still might move unthought of and unseen:
“But oh, how vian, how wretched is the boast
“Of beauty faded, and of empire lost!
“What now is left but weeping, to deplore
“My beauty fled, and empire now no more?
“Ye cruel chymists, what withheld your aid!
“Could no pomatums save a trembling maid?
“How false and trifling is that art ye boast!
“No art can give me back my beauty lost.
“In tears, surrounded by my friends I lay,
“Mask'd o'er, and trembled at the sight of day;
“Mirmillio came my fortune to deplore,
“(A golden-headed cane well carv'd he bore)
“Cordials, he cry'd, my spirits must restore!
“Beauty is fled, and spirit is no more!
“Could no pomatums save a trembling maid?
44
“No art can give me back my beauty lost.
“In tears, surrounded by my friends I lay,
“Mask'd o'er, and trembled at the sight of day;
“Mirmillio came my fortune to deplore,
“(A golden-headed cane well carv'd he bore)
“Cordials, he cry'd, my spirits must restore!
“Beauty is fled, and spirit is no more!
“Galen, the grave; officious Squirt, was there,
“With fruitless grief and unavailing care:
“Machaon too, the great Machaon, known
“By his red cloak and his superior frown;
“And why, he cry'd, this grief and this despair,
“You shall again be well, again be fair;
“Believe my oath; (with that an oath he swore)
“False was his oath; my beauty is no more!
“With fruitless grief and unavailing care:
“Machaon too, the great Machaon, known
“By his red cloak and his superior frown;
“And why, he cry'd, this grief and this despair,
“You shall again be well, again be fair;
“Believe my oath; (with that an oath he swore)
“False was his oath; my beauty is no more!
“Cease, hapless maid, no more thy tale pursue.
“Forsake mankind, and bid the world adieu!
“Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway;
“All strive to serve, and glory to obey:
“Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow—
“Men mock the idol of their former vow.
“Forsake mankind, and bid the world adieu!
45
“All strive to serve, and glory to obey:
“Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow—
“Men mock the idol of their former vow.
“Adieu! ye parks!—in some obscure recess,
“Where gentle streams will weep at my distress,
“Where no false friend will in my grief take part,
“And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart;
“There let me live in some desertèd place,
“There hide in shades this Iost inglorious face.
“Plays, operas, circles, I no more must view!
“My toilette, patches, all the world adieu!”
“Where gentle streams will weep at my distress,
“Where no false friend will in my grief take part,
“And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart;
“There let me live in some desertèd place,
“There hide in shades this Iost inglorious face.
“Plays, operas, circles, I no more must view!
“My toilette, patches, all the world adieu!”
46
VERSES
Addressed to the IMITATOR Of the FIRST SATIRE of the Second Book of HORACE.
In two large columns on thy motly page,
Where Roman wit is stripe'd with English rage;
Where ribaldry to satire makes pretence;
And modern scandal rolls with ancient sense:
Whilst on one side we see how Horace thought;
And on the other how he never wrote:
Who can believe, who view the bad and good,
That the dull copi'st better understood
That Spirit, he pretends to imitate,
Than heretofore that Greek he did translate?
Where Roman wit is stripe'd with English rage;
Where ribaldry to satire makes pretence;
And modern scandal rolls with ancient sense:
47
And on the other how he never wrote:
48
That the dull copi'st better understood
That Spirit, he pretends to imitate,
Than heretofore that Greek he did translate?
Thine is just such an image of his pen,
As thou thyself art of the sons of men:
Where our own species in burlesque we trace,
A sign-post likeness of the human race;
That is at once resemblance and disgrace.
As thou thyself art of the sons of men:
49
A sign-post likeness of the human race;
That is at once resemblance and disgrace.
Horace can laugh, is delicate, is clear;
You only coarsely rail, or darkly sneer:
His style is elegant, his diction pure,
Whilst none thy crabbed numbers can endure;
Hard as thy heart, and as thy birth obscure.
You only coarsely rail, or darkly sneer:
His style is elegant, his diction pure,
Whilst none thy crabbed numbers can endure;
Hard as thy heart, and as thy birth obscure.
If he has thorns, they all on roses grow;
Thine like rude thistles, and mean brambles show,
With this exception, that tho' rank the soil,
Weeds as they are they seem produc'd by toil.
Satire should, like a polish'd razor keen,
Wound with a touch, that's scarcely felt or seen.
Thine is an oyster-knife, that hacks and hews;
The rage, but not the talent to abuse;
And is in hate, what love is in the stews.
'Tis the gross lust of hate, that still annoys,
Without distinction, as gross love enjoys:
Neither to folly, nor to vice confin'd;
The object of thy spleen is human kind:
It preys on all, who yield or who resist;
To thee 'tis provocation to exist.
Thine like rude thistles, and mean brambles show,
With this exception, that tho' rank the soil,
Weeds as they are they seem produc'd by toil.
Satire should, like a polish'd razor keen,
Wound with a touch, that's scarcely felt or seen.
Thine is an oyster-knife, that hacks and hews;
The rage, but not the talent to abuse;
And is in hate, what love is in the stews.
'Tis the gross lust of hate, that still annoys,
Without distinction, as gross love enjoys:
50
The object of thy spleen is human kind:
It preys on all, who yield or who resist;
To thee 'tis provocation to exist.
But if thou seest a great and generous heart,
Thy bow is doubly bent to force a dart.
Nor dignity nor innocence is spar'd,
Nor age, nor sex, nor thrones, nor graves rever'd.
Nor only justice vainly we demand,
But even benefits can't rein thy hand:
To this or that alike in vain we trust,
Nor find thee less ungrateful than unjust.
Thy bow is doubly bent to force a dart.
Nor dignity nor innocence is spar'd,
Nor age, nor sex, nor thrones, nor graves rever'd.
Nor only justice vainly we demand,
But even benefits can't rein thy hand:
To this or that alike in vain we trust,
Nor find thee less ungrateful than unjust.
Not even youth and beauty can controul
The universal rancour of thy soul;
Charms that might soften superstition's rage,
Might humble pride, or thaw the ice of age.
But how should'st thou by beauty's force be mov'd,
No more for loving made, than to be lov'd?
It was the equity of righteous heav'n,
That such a soul to such a form was giv'n;
And shews the uniformity of fate,
That one so odious should be born to hate.
The universal rancour of thy soul;
Charms that might soften superstition's rage,
Might humble pride, or thaw the ice of age.
51
No more for loving made, than to be lov'd?
It was the equity of righteous heav'n,
That such a soul to such a form was giv'n;
And shews the uniformity of fate,
That one so odious should be born to hate.
When God created thee, one would believe,
He said the same as to the snake of Eve;
To human race antipathy declare,
'Twixt them and thee be everlasting war.
But oh! the sequel of the sentence dread,
And whilst you bruise their heel, beware your head.
He said the same as to the snake of Eve;
To human race antipathy declare,
'Twixt them and thee be everlasting war.
But oh! the sequel of the sentence dread,
And whilst you bruise their heel, beware your head.
Nor think thy weakness shall be thy defence;
The female scold's protection in offence.
Sure 'tis as fair to beat who cannot fight,
As 'tis to libel those who cannot write.
And if thou draw'st thy pen to aid the law,
Others a cudgel, or a rod, may draw.
If none with vengeance yet thy crimes pursue,
Or give thy manifold affronts their due;
If limbs unbroken, skin without a stain,
Unwhipt, unblanketed, unkick'd, unslain;
That wretched little carcase you retain:
The reason is, not that the world wants eyes;
But thou'rt so mean, they see, and they despise:
When fretful porcupine, with rancorous will,
From mounted back shoots forth a harmless quill,
Cool the spectators stand; and all the while,
Upon the angry little monster smile.
Thus 'tis with thee:—while impotently safe,
You strike unwounding, we unhurt can laugh.
Who but must laugh, this bully when he sees,
A puny insect shiv'ring at a breeze?
One over-match'd by ev'ry blast of wind,
Insulting and provoking all mankind.
The female scold's protection in offence.
Sure 'tis as fair to beat who cannot fight,
As 'tis to libel those who cannot write.
And if thou draw'st thy pen to aid the law,
Others a cudgel, or a rod, may draw.
52
Or give thy manifold affronts their due;
If limbs unbroken, skin without a stain,
Unwhipt, unblanketed, unkick'd, unslain;
That wretched little carcase you retain:
The reason is, not that the world wants eyes;
But thou'rt so mean, they see, and they despise:
When fretful porcupine, with rancorous will,
From mounted back shoots forth a harmless quill,
Cool the spectators stand; and all the while,
Upon the angry little monster smile.
Thus 'tis with thee:—while impotently safe,
You strike unwounding, we unhurt can laugh.
Who but must laugh, this bully when he sees,
A puny insect shiv'ring at a breeze?
One over-match'd by ev'ry blast of wind,
Insulting and provoking all mankind.
Is this the thing to keep mankind in awe,
To make those tremble who escape the law?
Is this the ridicule to live so long,
The deathless satire, and immortal Song?
No: like thy self-blown praise, thy scandal flies;
And, as we're told of wasps, it stings and dies.
To make those tremble who escape the law?
53
The deathless satire, and immortal Song?
No: like thy self-blown praise, thy scandal flies;
And, as we're told of wasps, it stings and dies.
If none do yet return th' intended blow,
You all your safety to your dullness owe:
But whist that armour thy poor corps defends,
'Twill make thy readers few, as are thy friends;
Those, who thy nature loath'd, yet lov'd thy art,
Who lik'd thy head, and yet abhorr'd thy heart;
Chose thee, to read, but never to converse,
And scorn'd in prose, him whom they priz'd in verse.
Even they shall now their partial error see,
Shall shun thy writings like thy company;
And to thy books shall ope their eyes no more,
Than to thy person they wou'd do their door.
You all your safety to your dullness owe:
But whist that armour thy poor corps defends,
'Twill make thy readers few, as are thy friends;
Those, who thy nature loath'd, yet lov'd thy art,
Who lik'd thy head, and yet abhorr'd thy heart;
Chose thee, to read, but never to converse,
And scorn'd in prose, him whom they priz'd in verse.
Even they shall now their partial error see,
Shall shun thy writings like thy company;
And to thy books shall ope their eyes no more,
Than to thy person they wou'd do their door.
Nor thou the justice of the world disown,
That leaves thee thus an out-cast, and alone;
For tho' in law, to murder be to kill,
In equity the murder's in the will:
Then whilst with coward hand you stab a name,
And try at least t'assassinate our fame;
Like the first bold assassins be thy lot,
Ne'er be thy guilt forgiven, or forgot;
But as thou hat'st, be hated by mankind,
And with the emblem of thy crooked mind,
Mark'd on thy back, like Cain, by God's own hand,
Wander, like him, accursed through the land.
That leaves thee thus an out-cast, and alone;
54
In equity the murder's in the will:
Then whilst with coward hand you stab a name,
And try at least t'assassinate our fame;
Like the first bold assassins be thy lot,
Ne'er be thy guilt forgiven, or forgot;
But as thou hat'st, be hated by mankind,
And with the emblem of thy crooked mind,
Mark'd on thy back, like Cain, by God's own hand,
Wander, like him, accursed through the land.
55
AN EPISTLE TO LORD B---.
How happy you! who varied joys pursue;
And every hour presents you something new!
Plans, schemes, and models, all Palladio's art,
For six long months have gain'd upon your heart;
Of colonnades, of corridores you talk,
The winding stair-case and the cover'd walk;
You blend the orders with Vitruvian toil,
And raise with wond'rous joy the fancy'd pile:
But the dull workman's slow performing hand
But coldly executes his lord's command.
With dirt and mortar soon you go displeas'd,
Planting succeeds, and avenues are rais'd,
Canals are cut, and mountains level made;
Bowers of retreat, and galleries of shade;
The shaven turf presents a lively green;
The bordering flowers in mystic knots are seen:
With studied art on nature you refine—
The spring beheld you warm in this design,
But scarce the cold attacks your fav'rite trees,
Your inclination fails, and wishes freeze:
You quit the grove, so lately you admir'd;
With other views your eager hopes are fir'd,
Post to the city you direct your way;
Not blooming paradise could bribe your stay:
Ambition shews you power's brightest side,
'Tis meanly poor in solitude to hide:
Though certain pains attend the cares of state,
A good man owes his country to be great;
Shou'd act abroad the high-distinguish'd part,
Or shew at least the purpose of his heart.
With thoughts like these the shining courts you seek;
Full of new projects for almost a week:
You then despise the tinsel glittering snare;
Think vile mankind below a serious care.
Life is too short for any distant aim;
And cold the dull reward of future fame:
Be happy then, while yet you have to live;
And love is all the blessing heav'n can give.
Fir'd by new passion you address the fair;
Survey the opera as a gay parterre:
Young Cloe's bloom had made you certain prize,
But for a side-long glance from Celia's eyes:
Your beating heart acknowledges her power;
Your eager eyes her lovely form devour;
You feel the poison swelling in your breast,
And all your soul by fond desire possess'd.
In dying sighs a long three hours are past;
To some assembly with impatient haste,
With trembling hope, and doubtful fear you move,
Resolv'd to tempt your fate, and own your love:
But there Belinda meets you on the stairs,
Easy her shape, attracting all her airs;
A smile she gives, and with a smile can wound;
Her melting voice has music in the sound;
Her every motion wears resistless grace;
Wit in her mien, and pleasure in her face:
Here while you vow eternity of love,
Cloe and Celia unregarded move.
And every hour presents you something new!
Plans, schemes, and models, all Palladio's art,
For six long months have gain'd upon your heart;
Of colonnades, of corridores you talk,
The winding stair-case and the cover'd walk;
You blend the orders with Vitruvian toil,
And raise with wond'rous joy the fancy'd pile:
56
But coldly executes his lord's command.
With dirt and mortar soon you go displeas'd,
Planting succeeds, and avenues are rais'd,
Canals are cut, and mountains level made;
Bowers of retreat, and galleries of shade;
The shaven turf presents a lively green;
The bordering flowers in mystic knots are seen:
With studied art on nature you refine—
The spring beheld you warm in this design,
But scarce the cold attacks your fav'rite trees,
Your inclination fails, and wishes freeze:
You quit the grove, so lately you admir'd;
With other views your eager hopes are fir'd,
Post to the city you direct your way;
Not blooming paradise could bribe your stay:
Ambition shews you power's brightest side,
'Tis meanly poor in solitude to hide:
Though certain pains attend the cares of state,
A good man owes his country to be great;
57
Or shew at least the purpose of his heart.
With thoughts like these the shining courts you seek;
Full of new projects for almost a week:
You then despise the tinsel glittering snare;
Think vile mankind below a serious care.
Life is too short for any distant aim;
And cold the dull reward of future fame:
Be happy then, while yet you have to live;
And love is all the blessing heav'n can give.
Fir'd by new passion you address the fair;
Survey the opera as a gay parterre:
Young Cloe's bloom had made you certain prize,
But for a side-long glance from Celia's eyes:
Your beating heart acknowledges her power;
Your eager eyes her lovely form devour;
You feel the poison swelling in your breast,
And all your soul by fond desire possess'd.
In dying sighs a long three hours are past;
To some assembly with impatient haste,
58
Resolv'd to tempt your fate, and own your love:
But there Belinda meets you on the stairs,
Easy her shape, attracting all her airs;
A smile she gives, and with a smile can wound;
Her melting voice has music in the sound;
Her every motion wears resistless grace;
Wit in her mien, and pleasure in her face:
Here while you vow eternity of love,
Cloe and Celia unregarded move.
Thus on the sands of Afric's burning plains,
However deeply made, no long impress remains;
The slightest leaf can leave its figure there;
The strongest form is scattered by the air.
So yielding the warm temper of your mind,
So touch'd by every eye, so toss'd by wind;
Oh! how unlike the heav'n my soul design'd!
Unseen, unheard, the throng around me move;
Not wishing praise, insensible of love:
No whispers soften, nor no beauties fire;
Careless I see the dance, and coldly hear the lyre.
However deeply made, no long impress remains;
The slightest leaf can leave its figure there;
The strongest form is scattered by the air.
So yielding the warm temper of your mind,
So touch'd by every eye, so toss'd by wind;
Oh! how unlike the heav'n my soul design'd!
Unseen, unheard, the throng around me move;
Not wishing praise, insensible of love:
59
Careless I see the dance, and coldly hear the lyre.
So num'rous herds are driv'n o'er the rock;
No print is left of all the passing flock:
So sings the wind around the solid stone:
So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan.
Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care,
Who dare attempt to fix impressions there:
But should some swain more skilful than the rest,
Engrave his name upon this marble breast,
Not rolling ages could deface that name;
Thro' all the storms of life 'tis still the same:
Tho' length of years with moss may shade the ground,
Deep, though unseen, remains the secret wound.
No print is left of all the passing flock:
So sings the wind around the solid stone:
So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan.
Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care,
Who dare attempt to fix impressions there:
But should some swain more skilful than the rest,
Engrave his name upon this marble breast,
Not rolling ages could deface that name;
Thro' all the storms of life 'tis still the same:
Tho' length of years with moss may shade the ground,
Deep, though unseen, remains the secret wound.
60
EPISTLE FROM ARTHUR GREY, the Footman,
After his Condemnation for attempting a Rape.
Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read,
I have no more to wish, nor you to dread:
I ask not life, for life to me were vain,
And death a refuge from severer pain.
My only hope in these last lines I try;
I would be pitied, and I then would die.
I have no more to wish, nor you to dread:
I ask not life, for life to me were vain,
And death a refuge from severer pain.
61
I would be pitied, and I then would die.
Long had I liv'd as sordid as my fate,
Nor curs'd the destiny that made me wait
A servile slave: content with homely food,
The gross instinct of happiness pursu'd:
Youth gave me sleep at night, and warmth of blood.
Ambition yet had never touch'd my breast;
My lordly master knew no sounder rest;
With labour healthy, in obedience blest.
But when I saw—oh! had I never seen
That wounding softness, that engaging mien!
The mist of wretched education flies,
Shame, fear, desire, despair and love arise,
The new creation of those beauteous eyes,
But yet that love pursu'd no guilty aim,
Deep in my heart I hid the secret flame.
I never hop'd my fond desire to tell,
And all my wishes were to serve you well.
Heav'ns! how I flew, when wing'd by your command,
And kiss'd the letters giv'n me by your hand.
How pleas'd, how proud, how fond was I to wait,
Present the sparkling wine, or change the plate!
How when you sung my soul devour'd the sound,
And ev'ry sense was in the rapture drown'd!
Tho' bid to go, I quite forgot to move;
—You knew not that stupidity was love!
But oh! the torment not to be express'd,
The grief, the rage, the hell that fir'd this breast,
When my great rivals, in embroid'ry gay,
Sate by your side, or led you from the play!
I still contriv'd near as I could to stand,
(The flambeau trembling in my shaking hand)
I saw, or thought I saw, those finger's press'd,
For thus their passion by my own I guess'd,
And jealous fury all my soul possess'd.
Like torrents, love and indignation meet,
And madness would have thrown me at your feet.
Nor curs'd the destiny that made me wait
A servile slave: content with homely food,
The gross instinct of happiness pursu'd:
Youth gave me sleep at night, and warmth of blood.
Ambition yet had never touch'd my breast;
My lordly master knew no sounder rest;
With labour healthy, in obedience blest.
62
That wounding softness, that engaging mien!
The mist of wretched education flies,
Shame, fear, desire, despair and love arise,
The new creation of those beauteous eyes,
But yet that love pursu'd no guilty aim,
Deep in my heart I hid the secret flame.
I never hop'd my fond desire to tell,
And all my wishes were to serve you well.
Heav'ns! how I flew, when wing'd by your command,
And kiss'd the letters giv'n me by your hand.
How pleas'd, how proud, how fond was I to wait,
Present the sparkling wine, or change the plate!
How when you sung my soul devour'd the sound,
And ev'ry sense was in the rapture drown'd!
Tho' bid to go, I quite forgot to move;
—You knew not that stupidity was love!
But oh! the torment not to be express'd,
The grief, the rage, the hell that fir'd this breast,
63
Sate by your side, or led you from the play!
I still contriv'd near as I could to stand,
(The flambeau trembling in my shaking hand)
I saw, or thought I saw, those finger's press'd,
For thus their passion by my own I guess'd,
And jealous fury all my soul possess'd.
Like torrents, love and indignation meet,
And madness would have thrown me at your feet.
Turn, lovely nymph (for so I would have said)
Turn from those triflers who make love a trade;
This is true passion in my eyes you see;
They cannot, no—they cannot love like me.
Frequent debauch has pall'd their sickly taste,
Faint their desire, and in a moment past:
They sigh not from the heart, but from the brain;
Vapours of vanity, and strong champagne.
Too dull to feel what forms, like yours, inspire,
After long talking of their painted fire,
To some lewd brothel they at night retire;
There pleas'd with fancy'd quality and charms,
Enjoy your beauties in a strumpet's arms.
Such are the joys those toasters have in view,
And such the wit and pleasure they pursue:
—And is this love that ought to merit you?
Each opera-night a new address begun,
They swear to thousands what they swear to one.
Not thus I sigh—but all my sighs are vain—
Die, wretched Arthur, and conceal thy pain:
'Tis impudence to wish, and madness to complain.
Turn from those triflers who make love a trade;
This is true passion in my eyes you see;
They cannot, no—they cannot love like me.
Frequent debauch has pall'd their sickly taste,
Faint their desire, and in a moment past:
They sigh not from the heart, but from the brain;
Vapours of vanity, and strong champagne.
Too dull to feel what forms, like yours, inspire,
After long talking of their painted fire,
To some lewd brothel they at night retire;
64
Enjoy your beauties in a strumpet's arms.
Such are the joys those toasters have in view,
And such the wit and pleasure they pursue:
—And is this love that ought to merit you?
Each opera-night a new address begun,
They swear to thousands what they swear to one.
Not thus I sigh—but all my sighs are vain—
Die, wretched Arthur, and conceal thy pain:
'Tis impudence to wish, and madness to complain.
Fix'd on this view, my only hope of ease,
I waited not the aid of slow disease:
The keenest instruments of death I sought,
And death alone employ'd my lab'ring thought.
This all the night—when I remember well,
The charming tinkle of your morning bell!
Fir'd by the sound, I hasten'd with your tea,
With one last look to smooth the darksome way—
But oh! how dear that fatal look has cost!
In that fond moment my resolves were lost.
Hence all my guilt, and all your sorrows rise—
I saw the languid softness of your eyes;
I saw the dear disorder of your bed;
Your cheeks all glowing with a tempting red;
Your night-cloaths tumbled with resistless grace;
Your flowing hair play'd careless down your face,
Your night-gown fasten'd with a single pin;
—Fancy improv'd the wond'rous charms within!
I fix'd my eyes upon that heaving breast,
And hardly, hardly I forbore the rest;
Eager to gaze, unsatisfy'd with sight,
My head grew giddy with the near delight!
—Too well you know the fatal following night!
Th' extremest proof of my desire I give,
And since you will not love, I will not live.
Condemn'd by you, I wait the righteous doom,
Careless and fearless of the woes to come.
But when you see me waver in the wind,
My guilty flame extinct, my soul resign'd,
Sure you may pity what you can't approve,
The cruel consequence of furious love.
Think the bold wretch, that could so greatly dare,
Was tender, faithful, ardent, and sincere:
Think when I held the pistol to your breast,
Had I been of the world's large rule possess'd,
That world had then been yours, and I been blest!
Think that my life was quite below my care,
Nor fear'd I any hell beyond despair.—
I waited not the aid of slow disease:
The keenest instruments of death I sought,
And death alone employ'd my lab'ring thought.
This all the night—when I remember well,
The charming tinkle of your morning bell!
Fir'd by the sound, I hasten'd with your tea,
With one last look to smooth the darksome way—
65
In that fond moment my resolves were lost.
Hence all my guilt, and all your sorrows rise—
I saw the languid softness of your eyes;
I saw the dear disorder of your bed;
Your cheeks all glowing with a tempting red;
Your night-cloaths tumbled with resistless grace;
Your flowing hair play'd careless down your face,
Your night-gown fasten'd with a single pin;
—Fancy improv'd the wond'rous charms within!
I fix'd my eyes upon that heaving breast,
And hardly, hardly I forbore the rest;
Eager to gaze, unsatisfy'd with sight,
My head grew giddy with the near delight!
—Too well you know the fatal following night!
Th' extremest proof of my desire I give,
And since you will not love, I will not live.
Condemn'd by you, I wait the righteous doom,
Careless and fearless of the woes to come.
66
My guilty flame extinct, my soul resign'd,
Sure you may pity what you can't approve,
The cruel consequence of furious love.
Think the bold wretch, that could so greatly dare,
Was tender, faithful, ardent, and sincere:
Think when I held the pistol to your breast,
Had I been of the world's large rule possess'd,
That world had then been yours, and I been blest!
Think that my life was quite below my care,
Nor fear'd I any hell beyond despair.—
If these reflections, though they seize you late,
Give some compassion for your Arthur's fate:
Enough you give, nor ought I to complain;
You pay my pangs, nor have I dy'd in vain:
Give some compassion for your Arthur's fate:
Enough you give, nor ought I to complain;
You pay my pangs, nor have I dy'd in vain:
67
AN ANSWER TO A LOVE-LETTER.
Is it to me, this sad lamenting strain?Are heaven's choicest gifts bestow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune, and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, gratify'd your pride:
Yet leaving her—'tis me that you pursue
Without one single charm, but being new.
How vile is man! how I detest their ways
Of artful falshood, and designing praise!
68
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears a fan,—
While roves unpunish'd the destroyer, man.
Not bound by vows, and unrestrain'd by shame,
In sport you break the heart, and rend the fame.
Not that your art can be successful here,
Th' already plunder'd need no robber fear:
Nor sighs, nor charms, nor flatteries can move,
Too well secur'd against a second love.
Once, and but once, that devil charm'd my mind;
To reason deaf, to observation blind;
I idly hop'd (what cannot love persuade!)
My fondness equal'd, and my love repay'd;
Slow to distrust, and willing to believe,
Long hush'd my doubts, and did myself deceive;
But oh! too soon—this tale would ever last;
Sleep, sleep my wrongs, and let me think 'em past.
69
And ask so boldly like a begging thief,
May soon some other nymph inflict the pain,
You know so well with cruel art to feign.
Tho' long you sported have with Cupid's dart,
You may see eyes, and you may feel a heart.
So the brisk wits, who stop the evening coach,
Laugh at the fear which follows their approach;
With idle mirth, and haughty scorn despise
The passenger's pale cheek, and staring eyes:
But seiz'd by Justice, find a fright no jest,
And all the terror doubled in their breast.
70
AN ELEGY ON Mrs. THOMPSON.
Unhappy fair! by fatal love betray'd!Must then thy beauties thus untimely fade?
And all thy blooming, soft, inspiring charms,
Become a prey to death's destructive arms?
Tho' short thy day, and transient like the wind,
How far more blest than those yet left behind!
Safe in the grave, thy griefs with thee remain;
And life's tempestuous billows break in vain.
71
Who heedless down the paths of pleasure stray;
Tho' long secure, with blissful joy elate,
Yet pause, and think of Arabella's fate:
For such may be your unexpected doom,
And your next slumbers lull you in the tomb.
But let it be the muse's gentle care
To shield from envy's rage the mould'ring fair:
To draw a veil o'er faults she can't defend;
And what prudes have devour'd, leave time to end:
Be it her part to drop a pitying tear,
And mourning sigh around thy sable bier.
Nor shall thy woes long glad th' ill natur'd crowd,
Silent to praise, and in detraction loud:
When scandal, that thro' life each worth destroys,
And malice that imbitters all our joys,
Shall in some ill starr'd wretch find later stains;
And let thine rest, forgot as thy remains.
72
In Answer to a LADY, who advised Retirement.
You little know the heart that you advise;I view this various scene with equal eyes:
In crowded courts I find myself alone,
And pay my worship to a nobler throne.
Long since the value of this world I know,
Pity the madness, and despise the show.
Well as I can my tedious part I bear,
And wait for my dismission without fear.
Seldom I mark mankind's detested ways,
Not hearing censure, nor affecting praise;
And, unconcern'd, my future state I trust
To that sole being, merciful and just.
73
ON THE DEATH OF Mrs. BOWES.
Hail happy bride, for thou art truly blest!Three months of rapture, crown'd with endless rest.
Merit, like yours, was heaven's peculiar care,
You lov'd-yet tasted happiness sincere.
To you the sweets of love were only shewn,
The sure succeeding bitter dregs unknown;
74
The tender lover, for the imperious lord:
Nor felt the pain that jealous fondness brings;
Nor felt the coldness, from possession springs.
Above your sex, distinguish'd in your fate,
You trusted—yet experienced no deceit;
Soft were your hours, and wing'd with pleasure flew;
No vain repentance gave a sigh to you:
And if superior bliss heaven can bestow,
With fellow angels you enjoy it now.
75
VERSES Written in a GARDEN.
See how that pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves;
And heedless of censorious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want molest
The downy quiet of their nest;
No int'rest join'd the happy pair,
Securely blest in Nature's care,
While her dear dictates they pursue:
For constancy is nature too.
With open murmurs own their loves;
And heedless of censorious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want molest
The downy quiet of their nest;
No int'rest join'd the happy pair,
Securely blest in Nature's care,
While her dear dictates they pursue:
For constancy is nature too.
76
Can all the doctrine of our schools,
Our maxims, our religious rules,
Can learning to our lives ensure
Virtue so bright, or bliss so pure?
The great Creator's happy ends,
Virtue and pleasure ever blends:
In vain the church and court have try'd
Th' united essence to divide;
Alike they find their wild mistake,
The pedant priest, and giddy rake.
Our maxims, our religious rules,
Can learning to our lives ensure
Virtue so bright, or bliss so pure?
The great Creator's happy ends,
Virtue and pleasure ever blends:
In vain the church and court have try'd
Th' united essence to divide;
Alike they find their wild mistake,
The pedant priest, and giddy rake.
77
A HYMN TO THE MOON.
Written in July, in an Arbor.
Thou silver Deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps thro' the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The lover's guardian, and the muses aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
78
The charms of young Endymion drew;
Veil'd with the mantle of concealing night;
With all thy greatness, and thy coldness too.
79
EPILOGUE TO MARY, Queen of SCOTS.
What could luxurious woman wish for more,
To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r?
Their every wish was in this Mary seen,
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.
Vain useless blessings with ill conduct join'd!
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow,
Beauty, what poor omnipotence hast thou!
To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r?
Their every wish was in this Mary seen,
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.
80
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow,
Beauty, what poor omnipotence hast thou!
Queen Bess had wisdom, council, power, and laws;
How few espous'd a wretched beauty's cause!
Learn thence, ye fair, more solid charms to prize,
Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.
The brightest object shines but while 'tis new:
That influence lessens by familiar view.
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway,
All strive to serve, and glory to obey;
Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow—
Men mock the idol of their former vow.
How few espous'd a wretched beauty's cause!
Learn thence, ye fair, more solid charms to prize,
Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.
The brightest object shines but while 'tis new:
That influence lessens by familiar view.
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway,
All strive to serve, and glory to obey;
Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow—
Men mock the idol of their former vow.
Two great examples have been shewn to-day,
To what sure ruin passion does betray;
What long repentance to short joys is due;
When reason rules, what glory does ensue.
To what sure ruin passion does betray;
What long repentance to short joys is due;
When reason rules, what glory does ensue.
81
If you will love, love like Eliza then;
Love for amusement, like those traitors, men.
Think that the pastime of a leisure hour
She favour'd oft—but never shar'd her pow'r.
Love for amusement, like those traitors, men.
Think that the pastime of a leisure hour
She favour'd oft—but never shar'd her pow'r.
The traveller by desart wolves pursu'd,
If by his art the savage foe's subdu'd,
The world will still the noble act applaud,
Tho' victory was gain'd by needful fraud.
If by his art the savage foe's subdu'd,
The world will still the noble act applaud,
Tho' victory was gain'd by needful fraud.
Such is, my tender sex, our helpless case;
And such the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face.
By passion fir'd, and not withheld by shame,
They cruel hunters are; we, trembling game.
Trust me, dear ladies, (for I know 'em well)
They burn to triumph, and they sigh to tell:
Cruel to them to yield, cullies to them that sell.
Believe me, 'tis by far the wiser course,
Superior art should meet superior force:
Hear, but be faithful to your int'rest still:
Secure your hearts—then fool with whom you will.
And such the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face.
By passion fir'd, and not withheld by shame,
They cruel hunters are; we, trembling game.
Trust me, dear ladies, (for I know 'em well)
They burn to triumph, and they sigh to tell:
Cruel to them to yield, cullies to them that sell.
82
Superior art should meet superior force:
Hear, but be faithful to your int'rest still:
Secure your hearts—then fool with whom you will.
83
A BALLAD.
1
To that dear nymph, whose powerful nameDoes every throbbing nerve inflame,
(As the soft sound I low repeat
My pulse unequal measures beat)
Whose eyes I never more shall see,
That once so sweetly shin'd on thee;
Go, gentle wind! and kindly bear
My tender wishes to the fair.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.
84
2
Amidst her pleasures let her knowThe secret anguish of my woe,
The midnight pang, the jealous hell,
Does in this tortur'd bosom dwell:
While laughing she, and full of play,
Is with her young companions gay;
Or hearing in some fragrant bower
Her lover's sigh, and beauty's power.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.
3
Lost and forgotten may I be!Oh may no pitying thought of me
Disturb the joy that she may find,
When love is crown'd, and fortune kind:
May that biess'd swain (whom yet I hate)
Be proud of his distinguish'd fate:
85
And he be bless'd as I am curs'd.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.
4
While in these pathless woods I stray,And lose my solitary way;
Talk to the stars, to trees complain,
And tell the senseless woods my pain:
But madness spares the sacred name,
Nor dares the hidden wound proclaim;
Which secret rankling, sure and slow,
Shall close in endless peace my woe.
Hoh, ho, ho.
5
When this fond heart shall ake no more,And all the ills of life are o'er;
(If gods by lovers prayers are mov'd
As every god in heaven has lov'd)
86
That unknown something in the skies,
In recompence of all my pain,
The only heaven I would obtain,
May I the guardian of her charms
Preserve that paradise from harms.
Hoh, ho, ho, &c.
87
The LOVER: A BALLAD.
To Mr. C---.
I
At length, by so much importunity press'd,Take, C---, at once the inside of my breast.
This stupid indiff'rence so often you blame,
Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame:
I am not as cold as a virgin in lead,
Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head:
I know but too well how time flies along,
That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young.
88
II
But I hate to be cheated, and never will buyLong years of repentance for moments of joy.
Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find
Good sense and good-nature so equally join'd?)
Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine;
Not meanly would boast, nor lewdly design,
Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain,
For I would have the power, tho' not give the pain.
III
No pedant, yet learned; no rake-helly gay,Or laughing, because he has nothing to say;
To all my whole sex, obliging and free,
Yet never be fond of any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely pert, nor foppishly low.
89
IV
But when the long hours of public are past,And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May every fond pleasure that moment endear;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!
Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd,
He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud,
'Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live,
And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.
V
And that my delight may be solidly fix'd,Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd,
In whose tender bosom my soul may confide,
Whose kindness can sooth me, whose counsel can guide.
From such a dear lover as here I describe,
No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe;
But till this astonishing creature I know,
As I long have liv'd chaste, I will keep myself so.
90
VI
I never will share with the wanton coquet,Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit.
The toasters and songsters may try all their art,
But never shall enter the pass of my heart.
I loath the lewd rake, the dress'd fopling despise:
Before such pursuers the nice virgin flies:
And as Ovid has sweetly in parable told,
We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold.
91
THE LADY's Resolve.
Written extempore on a Window.
Whilst thirst of praise, and vain desire of fame,
In every age, is every woman's aim;
With courtship pleas'd, of silly toasters proud,
Fond of a train, and happy in a crowd;
On each poor fool bestowing some kind glance,
Each conquest owing to some loose advance;
92
And think they're virtuous, if not grossly lewd:
Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide;
In part she is to blame that has been try'd—
He comes too near that comes to be deny'd.
93
THE GENTLEMAN's Answer.
Whilst pretty fellows think a woman's fameIn ev'ry state and ev'ry age the same;
With their own folly pleas'd, the fair they toast,
And where they least are happy, swear they're most;
No difference making 'twixt coquet and prude;
And her that seems, yet is not really lewd;
While thus they think, and thus they vainly live,
And taste no joys but what their fancy give:
94
May I ne'er hope, though I am ne'er deny'd;
Nor think a woman won, that's willing to be try'd.
95
A MAN in Love.
L'Homme qui ne se trouve point & ne se trouvera jamais.
The man who feels the dear disease,
Forgets himself, neglects to please:
The crowd avoids and seeks the groves,
And much he thinks when much he loves;
Press'd with alternate hope and fear,
Sighs in her absence, sighs when she is near.
The gay, the fond, the fair, the young,
Those trifles pass unseen along;
To him a pert, insipid throng.
But most he shuns the vain coquet;
Contemns her false affected wit:
96
Oppress and hurt the am'rous soul.
'Tis solitude alone can please,
And give some intervals of ease.
He feeds the soft distemper there,
And fondly courts the distant fair;
To balls, the silent shade prefers,
And hates all other charms but hers.
When thus your absent swain can do,
Molly, you may believe him true.
97
A RECEIPT To Cure the VAPOURS.
Written to Lady J---n.
I
Why will Delia thus retire,And idly languish life away?
While the sighing crowd admire,
'Tis too soon for hartshorn tea:
98
II
All those dismal looks and frettingCannot Damon's life restore;
Long ago the worms have eat him,
You can never see him more.
III
Once again consult your toilette,In the glass your face review:
So much weeping soon will spoil it,
And no spring your charms renew.
IV
I, like you, was born a woman,Well I know what vapours mean:
The disease, alas! is common;
Single, we have all the spleen.
V
All the morals that they tell us,Never cur'd the sorrow yet:
Chuse, among the pretty fellows,
One of honour, youth, and wit.
99
VI
Prithee hear him every morning,At the least an hour or two;
Once again at night returning—
I believe the dose will do.
100
The Fifth ODE of HORACE imitated.
For whom are now your airs put on,And what new beauty's doom'd to be undone?
That careless elegance of dress,
This essence that perfumes the wind,
Your very motion does confess
Some secret conquest is design'd.
Alas! the poor unhappy maid,
To what a train of ills betray'd!
What fears, what pangs shall rend her breast,
How will her eyes dissolve in tears!
That now with glowing joy is bless'd,
Charm'd with the faithless vows she hears.
101
Gaily pursues his destin'd way:
Fearless and careless on the deck he stands,
Till sudden storms arise and thunders roll;
In vain he casts his eyes to distant lands,
Distracting terror tears his timorous soul.
For me, secure I view the raging main,
Past are my dangers, and forgot my pain:
My votive tablet in the temple shews
The monument of folly past;
I paid the bounteous god my grateful vows,
Who snatch'd from ruin, sav'd me at the last.
102
FAREWELL TO BATH.
To all you ladies now at Bath,
And eke, ye beaus, to you,
With aikng heart, and watry eyes,
I bid my last adieu.
And eke, ye beaus, to you,
With aikng heart, and watry eyes,
I bid my last adieu.
Farewell ye nymphs, who waters sip
Hot reeking from the pumps,
While music lends her friendly aid,
To cheer you from the dumps.
Hot reeking from the pumps,
While music lends her friendly aid,
To cheer you from the dumps.
103
Farewell, ye wits, who prating stand,
And criticise the fair;
Yourselves the joke of men of sense,
Who hate a coxcomb's air.
And criticise the fair;
Yourselves the joke of men of sense,
Who hate a coxcomb's air.
Farewell to Deard's, and all her toys,
Which glitter in her shop,
Deluding traps to girls and boys,
The warehouse of the fop.
Which glitter in her shop,
Deluding traps to girls and boys,
The warehouse of the fop.
Lindsay's and Hayes's both farewell,
Where in the spacious hall;
With bounding steps, and sprightly air,
I've led up many a ball.
Where in the spacious hall;
With bounding steps, and sprightly air,
I've led up many a ball.
Where Somerville of courteous mein,
Was partner in the dance,
With swimming Haws, and Brownlow blithe,
And Britton pink of France.
Was partner in the dance,
With swimming Haws, and Brownlow blithe,
And Britton pink of France.
104
Poor Nash, farewell! may fortune smile,
Thy drooping soul revive,
My heart is full, I can no more—
John, bid the Coachman drive.
Thy drooping soul revive,
My heart is full, I can no more—
John, bid the Coachman drive.
105
TO CLIO.
Occasioned by her Verses on FRIENDSHIP.
While, Clio, pondering o'er thy lines I roll,Dwell on each thought, and meditate thy soul,
Methinks I view thee, in some calm retreat,
Far from all guilt, distraction and deceit;
Thence pitying view, the thoughtless fair and gay,
Who whirl their lives in giddiness away.
106
Contemn the proud, their tumults, power and state.
And deem it thence inglorious to descend
For ought below, but virtue and a friend.
How com'st thou fram'd, so different from thy sex,
Whom trifles ravish, and whom trifles vex?
Capricious things, all flutter, whim and show,
And light and varying as the winds that blow.
To candour, sense, to love, to friendship blind,
To flatterers fools, and coxcombs only kind!
Say whence those hints, those bright ideas came,
That warm thy breast with friendship's holy flame?
That close thy heart against the joys of youth,
And ope thy mind to all the rays of truth,
That with such sweetness and such grace unite,
The gay, the prudent, virtuous, and polite.
As heaven inspires thy sentiment divine,
May heaven vouchsafe a friendship worthy thine;
A friendship, plac'd where ease and fragrance reign,
Where nature sways us, and no laws restrain.
107
And heavenly musing, lifts the aspiring mind.
There with thy friend, may years on years be spent,
In blooming health, and, ever gay, content;
There blend your cares with soft assuasive arts,
There sooth the passions, there unfold your hearts;
Join in each wish, and warming into love,
Approach the raptures of the blest above.
108
A CAVEAT To the FAIR SEX.
Wife and Servant are the same,But only differ in the name;
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide;
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme is made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride:
Fierce as an Eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows:
109
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take:
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as her god:
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit:
Then shun, O shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatterers hate:
Value yourselves; and men despise,
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
FINIS.
| The Poetical Works Of the Right Honourable Lady M---y W---y M---e [i.e. Montagu] | |