Poems, chiefly pastoral By John Cunningham. The second edition. With the Addition of several pastorals and other pieces |
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AN EPILOGUE,
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 | Poems, chiefly pastoral |  |
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AN EPILOGUE,
Spoke at Edinburgh, in the Character of Lady Fanciful.
Fancy, we're told, of parentage Italic,
And Folly, whose original is Gallic,
Set up to sale their vast mishapen daughter,
And Britain, by a large subscription, bought her.
And Folly, whose original is Gallic,
Set up to sale their vast mishapen daughter,
And Britain, by a large subscription, bought her.
The fertile soil grew fond of this exotic,
And nurs'd her, till her pow'r became despotic;
'Till ev'ry would-be beauty in the nation
Did homage at the shrine of Affectation.
But Common Sense will certainly dethrone her,
And (like the fair ones of this place) disown her.
If she attempts the dimpled smile, delightful!
The dimpled smile of Affectation's frightful:
Mark but her bagatelles,—her whine—her whimper—
Her loll—her lisp—her saunter, stare—her simper;
All outres, all—no native charm about her,
And Ridicule would soon expire without her.
And nurs'd her, till her pow'r became despotic;
'Till ev'ry would-be beauty in the nation
Did homage at the shrine of Affectation.
But Common Sense will certainly dethrone her,
And (like the fair ones of this place) disown her.
If she attempts the dimpled smile, delightful!
The dimpled smile of Affectation's frightful:
Mark but her bagatelles,—her whine—her whimper—
Her loll—her lisp—her saunter, stare—her simper;
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And Ridicule would soon expire without her.
Look for a grace, and Affectation hides it;
If Beauty aims an arrow, she misguides it:
So aukwardly she mends unmeaning faces,
To Insipidity she gives—grimaces.
If Beauty aims an arrow, she misguides it:
So aukwardly she mends unmeaning faces,
To Insipidity she gives—grimaces.
Without her dear coquetish arts to aid 'em,
Fine ladies would be just as—nature made 'em,
Such sensible—sincere—domestic creatures,
The jest of modern belles, and petit maitres.
Fine ladies would be just as—nature made 'em,
Such sensible—sincere—domestic creatures,
The jest of modern belles, and petit maitres.
Safe with good sense, this circle's not in danger,
But as the foreign phantom's—here a stranger,
I gave her portrait, that the fair may know her,
And if they meet, be ready to forego her;
For trust me, ladies, she'd deform your faces,
And with a single glance destroy the graces.
But as the foreign phantom's—here a stranger,
I gave her portrait, that the fair may know her,
And if they meet, be ready to forego her;
For trust me, ladies, she'd deform your faces,
And with a single glance destroy the graces.
| Poems, chiefly pastoral | |