The Modern Dunciad Virgil in London and Other Poems [by George Daniel] |
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WOMAN. |
 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
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WOMAN.
I sing of Woman; Ladies, lend an ear,
The theme is pleasing, and the verse sincere.
If Chloe blame my monitory style,
I find a recompense in Stella's smile.
To laugh at folly let the task be mine,
Accomplish'd Stella, to reform it, thine.
The theme is pleasing, and the verse sincere.
If Chloe blame my monitory style,
I find a recompense in Stella's smile.
To laugh at folly let the task be mine,
Accomplish'd Stella, to reform it, thine.
Some to the Ladies have at once assign'd
A trifling heart, a vain, capricious mind;
'Tis too severe, their virtues may demand
A juster picture from a milder hand.
A trifling heart, a vain, capricious mind;
'Tis too severe, their virtues may demand
A juster picture from a milder hand.
Kind Heav'n form'd Woman on the social plan,
To prove a source of happiness to man;
To share alike his blessings and his woes,
From life's gay sunshine, to its dreary close.
And oft she well performs her tender part,
When sharp affliction rends the bursting heart;
When the dark tempests of misfortune low'r,
She shines with Love's re-animating pow'r.
When friendship fails, nor hope, nor succour's nigh,
She wipes the bitter tear from mis'ry's eye;
Pours consolation's healing balm the while,
And cheers the mourner's sorrows with a smile.
To prove a source of happiness to man;
To share alike his blessings and his woes,
From life's gay sunshine, to its dreary close.
And oft she well performs her tender part,
When sharp affliction rends the bursting heart;
When the dark tempests of misfortune low'r,
She shines with Love's re-animating pow'r.
When friendship fails, nor hope, nor succour's nigh,
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Pours consolation's healing balm the while,
And cheers the mourner's sorrows with a smile.
Tho' form'd for Love, for gentle arts design'd,
Her courage argues a superior mind;
Not rashly bold, the warlike sword she draws,
To violate fond nature's sacred laws;
But for some glorious end, some godlike deed,
That Kings and Heroes had been proud to bleed!
While oft rebellious man, when ills arise,
Arraigns th' unerring judgments of the skies;
To her superior piety is giv'n,
She learns to bless the chast'ning hand of Heav'n.
Her courage argues a superior mind;
Not rashly bold, the warlike sword she draws,
To violate fond nature's sacred laws;
But for some glorious end, some godlike deed,
That Kings and Heroes had been proud to bleed!
While oft rebellious man, when ills arise,
Arraigns th' unerring judgments of the skies;
To her superior piety is giv'n,
She learns to bless the chast'ning hand of Heav'n.
In scenes domestic, scenes which most endear,
She shines resistless in her brightest sphere;
Close to her bosom prest, with fond alarms,
See infant Beauty smiles in all his charms!
Endearing sight! O may he ne'er destroy,
Thy mother's hope, thy dream of future joy;
But by his filial love fulfil thy pray'r,
And well repay thy tenderness and care.
She shines resistless in her brightest sphere;
Close to her bosom prest, with fond alarms,
See infant Beauty smiles in all his charms!
Endearing sight! O may he ne'er destroy,
Thy mother's hope, thy dream of future joy;
But by his filial love fulfil thy pray'r,
And well repay thy tenderness and care.
Fair is the morn, the gilded prospect gay,
May no dark wintry cloud obscure the day!
When Beauty, blooming like an Eastern Queen,
Forsakes the shade to grace a brighter scene.
Obsequious coxcombs ev'ry hour assail,
For her the flatt'rer weaves his artful tale,
Youth, health, and pleasure, all united, seem,
One fairy vision, one enchanting dream!
Ah! who shall then forewarn the trusting Fair
To shun the danger, and avoid the snare;
The hesitating speech, the downcast eye,
And the delicious poison of a sigh?
May no dark wintry cloud obscure the day!
When Beauty, blooming like an Eastern Queen,
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Obsequious coxcombs ev'ry hour assail,
For her the flatt'rer weaves his artful tale,
Youth, health, and pleasure, all united, seem,
One fairy vision, one enchanting dream!
Ah! who shall then forewarn the trusting Fair
To shun the danger, and avoid the snare;
The hesitating speech, the downcast eye,
And the delicious poison of a sigh?
To please a Woman is a task indeed!
We all attempt; alas! how few succeed!
A shameful truth, that female charms are sold,
Some are with flatt'ry bought, and some with gold.
Delia, who once inspir'd the poet's page,
Soon finds a ready purchaser, in age.
Daphne, who lov'd a fool, mistaken fair!
Because he prais'd her beauty, shape, and air;
Her raptures over, her illusions past,
Longs to obey one will—that will—his last!
We all attempt; alas! how few succeed!
A shameful truth, that female charms are sold,
Some are with flatt'ry bought, and some with gold.
Delia, who once inspir'd the poet's page,
Soon finds a ready purchaser, in age.
Daphne, who lov'd a fool, mistaken fair!
Because he prais'd her beauty, shape, and air;
Her raptures over, her illusions past,
Longs to obey one will—that will—his last!
In Woman various characters we find,
No two alike in feature, or in mind.
Laura, whose spouse is sober once a week,
Ne'er felt the flush of anger warm her cheek.
Clio, whose scolding tongue affrights the house,
Screams at a beetle, trembles at a mouse.
Consid'rate Fanny, tender-hearted dame!
Will cut her linnet's wings to make him tame:
While squeamish Lady Buckram, who would think!
Can sip much more than honest topers drink.
No two alike in feature, or in mind.
Laura, whose spouse is sober once a week,
Ne'er felt the flush of anger warm her cheek.
Clio, whose scolding tongue affrights the house,
Screams at a beetle, trembles at a mouse.
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Will cut her linnet's wings to make him tame:
While squeamish Lady Buckram, who would think!
Can sip much more than honest topers drink.
Amelia wears a smile from morn to night,
Because her teeth are regular and white.
Priscilla, ancient nymph, by fashion led,
To hide the palsy, tosses high her head.
Poor Julia makes a hearty meal by stealth,
Yet tells the world she has but sorry health!
The sturdy vulgar are exempt from pain,
'Tis only folks of quality complain!
Because her teeth are regular and white.
Priscilla, ancient nymph, by fashion led,
To hide the palsy, tosses high her head.
Poor Julia makes a hearty meal by stealth,
Yet tells the world she has but sorry health!
The sturdy vulgar are exempt from pain,
'Tis only folks of quality complain!
Say, is not Prudence more than Dian chaste?
What mortal man will suit her maiden taste?
How cold her eye, it freezes with despair!
Love, tender Love, can never enter there!
O strange reverse! beneath that artful guise,
Some wicked thoughts intrude, and mischief lies.
What mortal man will suit her maiden taste?
How cold her eye, it freezes with despair!
Love, tender Love, can never enter there!
O strange reverse! beneath that artful guise,
Some wicked thoughts intrude, and mischief lies.
Now view the contrast in Clarissa's air,
Light, easy, graceful, spruce, and debonnair!
Her laughing eye, soft smile, at once bespeak
Love warms her mind, and blushes in her cheek;
Blest with each grace that nature can impart
To captivate the eye, and charm the heart,
Clarissa weds for love—and, what is worse,
A man with brains, but then an empty purse!
Light, easy, graceful, spruce, and debonnair!
Her laughing eye, soft smile, at once bespeak
Love warms her mind, and blushes in her cheek;
Blest with each grace that nature can impart
To captivate the eye, and charm the heart,
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A man with brains, but then an empty purse!
What sudden friendships has Lucretia made,
Eternally betraying, and betray'd!
'Tis hers to heave th' involuntary sigh,
The tear unconscious glistens in her eye,
Yet, sympathetic soul! she knows not why!
If soft Lucretia hear her friend is dead,
Her lap-dog's scalded, or her monkey's fled;
If Poll no more can charm her gentle ears
With dainty oaths, the nymph dissolves in tears!
The pity which in female hearts we prize,
Flows from no deeper channel than her eyes.
Eternally betraying, and betray'd!
'Tis hers to heave th' involuntary sigh,
The tear unconscious glistens in her eye,
Yet, sympathetic soul! she knows not why!
If soft Lucretia hear her friend is dead,
Her lap-dog's scalded, or her monkey's fled;
If Poll no more can charm her gentle ears
With dainty oaths, the nymph dissolves in tears!
The pity which in female hearts we prize,
Flows from no deeper channel than her eyes.
Stern Hecatissa gives the world her hate,
Her thoughts are fix'd upon a future state;
From morn to night, in mere religious whim,
She screams aloud her anabaptist hymn!
Mistaken fool! put off thy borrow'd part,
Learn meekness and sincerity of heart;
Heav'n counts thy vows as vain, and nothing worth,
Unless a righteous spirit give them birth.
Her thoughts are fix'd upon a future state;
From morn to night, in mere religious whim,
She screams aloud her anabaptist hymn!
Mistaken fool! put off thy borrow'd part,
Learn meekness and sincerity of heart;
Heav'n counts thy vows as vain, and nothing worth,
Unless a righteous spirit give them birth.
Behold yon captious dame, reserv'd, and sly,
Suspicion ever lurking in her eye;
The very fury of domestic strife,
Behold Corinna pale—the jealous wife!
Her spouse, good easy man! she makes a drone,
Demure he sits, his eyes are not his own!
Speaks he unguarded of another's charms?
A mistress! quick her soul is up in arms.
She raves, she sighs, the tears obedient start,
And well she plays the loud virago's part.
How long, Corinna, to conviction blind,
Wilt thou torment thyself, and all mankind,
With jealous fancies, with suppos'd neglects?
—She most deserves suspicion, who suspects.
Suspicion ever lurking in her eye;
The very fury of domestic strife,
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Her spouse, good easy man! she makes a drone,
Demure he sits, his eyes are not his own!
Speaks he unguarded of another's charms?
A mistress! quick her soul is up in arms.
She raves, she sighs, the tears obedient start,
And well she plays the loud virago's part.
How long, Corinna, to conviction blind,
Wilt thou torment thyself, and all mankind,
With jealous fancies, with suppos'd neglects?
—She most deserves suspicion, who suspects.
Prudella, cautious nymph! behind her fan,
Gives many an artful leer at odious Man;
With paint and patches tries, a silly crime!
To hide the fearful ravages of time.
When in the Park she takes her night parade,
We ask, what spectre 'tis that haunts the shade.
She sings an air—the connoisseur that hears,
Would swear a jack were winding in his ears;
She joins the dance—the graces in a fume,
Behold the hideous sprite, and quit the room.
Gives many an artful leer at odious Man;
With paint and patches tries, a silly crime!
To hide the fearful ravages of time.
When in the Park she takes her night parade,
We ask, what spectre 'tis that haunts the shade.
She sings an air—the connoisseur that hears,
Would swear a jack were winding in his ears;
She joins the dance—the graces in a fume,
Behold the hideous sprite, and quit the room.
Chloe, whom perjur'd wits engaging call,
Is pleas'd with half mankind, and pleases all.
She goes to church on ev'ry Sabbath day,
But fashionable people never pray!
If parsons are polite, 'tis very well,
But Chloe can't endure the name of hell.
If some fond fool confess a tender smart,
She smiles encouragement, then breaks his heart.
Beware how Chloe's kindnesses beguile,
Her frown is not so fatal as her smile.
Is pleas'd with half mankind, and pleases all.
She goes to church on ev'ry Sabbath day,
But fashionable people never pray!
If parsons are polite, 'tis very well,
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If some fond fool confess a tender smart,
She smiles encouragement, then breaks his heart.
Beware how Chloe's kindnesses beguile,
Her frown is not so fatal as her smile.
Poor Sappho, forc'd to wed against her will
The man she hates; and, more provoking still,
A thing that ev'ry woman hates alive,
A toothless, doting rogue of sixty-five!
At midnight balls, and masquerades is seen,
And fashionable routs, to cure the spleen;
Her ancient lord, a martyr to the gout,
For Sappho calls in vain—my lady's out!
Stung with the pangs of jealousy, he swears,
Sappho returns, and wonders at his airs;
To prove her faith, calls Betty, and the saints,
And if occasion suit, my lady faints.
The man she hates; and, more provoking still,
A thing that ev'ry woman hates alive,
A toothless, doting rogue of sixty-five!
At midnight balls, and masquerades is seen,
And fashionable routs, to cure the spleen;
Her ancient lord, a martyr to the gout,
For Sappho calls in vain—my lady's out!
Stung with the pangs of jealousy, he swears,
Sappho returns, and wonders at his airs;
To prove her faith, calls Betty, and the saints,
And if occasion suit, my lady faints.
But who is she, that sits with head awry,
Lank is her form, and haggard is her eye,
Her garments turn'd in many a mazy fold,
Frantic she seems and ghastly to behold?
'Tis sad Calista, who, with brandish'd quill,
Makes ghosts appear, and vampires rise, at will;
She writes for demons', not for man's applause,
And is herself the fury that she draws.
Lank is her form, and haggard is her eye,
Her garments turn'd in many a mazy fold,
Frantic she seems and ghastly to behold?
'Tis sad Calista, who, with brandish'd quill,
Makes ghosts appear, and vampires rise, at will;
She writes for demons', not for man's applause,
And is herself the fury that she draws.
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“High life is charming, say what people will!”
Cries Mistress Fustian, hot from Holborn Hill;
“O, who would breathe this vulgar city air,
When honest folks might drive a coach and pair?
My spouse, dull soul! would rather grub the while,
Than sport a handsome house, and live in style.”
By fortune's freaks see Madam Fustian plac'd
High in the realms of elegance and taste;
A well-bred dame, she leaves her bed at noon,
Sups with the sun, and breakfasts with the moon!
At balls and concerts the presiding belle,
For who indeed can dance or sing so well?
At fashion's fane she rules the varying year,
For who will dress so gay, and pay so dear?
Ah! must I tell the sequel of the tale?
Poor Madam Fustian's purse begins to fail!
The house is sold, the servants all dismiss'd,
Her luckless husband dreads the bailiff's fist;
Such mad presumption all her friends deride,
Guests at her routs, and sharers of her pride!
And Mistress Fustian, much against her will,
Returns to breathe the air of Holborn Hill!
Cries Mistress Fustian, hot from Holborn Hill;
“O, who would breathe this vulgar city air,
When honest folks might drive a coach and pair?
My spouse, dull soul! would rather grub the while,
Than sport a handsome house, and live in style.”
By fortune's freaks see Madam Fustian plac'd
High in the realms of elegance and taste;
A well-bred dame, she leaves her bed at noon,
Sups with the sun, and breakfasts with the moon!
At balls and concerts the presiding belle,
For who indeed can dance or sing so well?
At fashion's fane she rules the varying year,
For who will dress so gay, and pay so dear?
Ah! must I tell the sequel of the tale?
Poor Madam Fustian's purse begins to fail!
The house is sold, the servants all dismiss'd,
Her luckless husband dreads the bailiff's fist;
Such mad presumption all her friends deride,
Guests at her routs, and sharers of her pride!
And Mistress Fustian, much against her will,
Returns to breathe the air of Holborn Hill!
Why sits Clarinda in her garb of woe?
Her spouse, sweet mourner! died a week ago;
Frantic with grief, she sent for Lady D—,
Implor'd her tears, and company to tea.
For six long days, a penance truly hard!
She never saw a play, nor touch'd a card;
The seventh, the woeful widow (custom pleads!)
Puts off her sorrow, and puts on her weeds.
Her spouse, sweet mourner! died a week ago;
Frantic with grief, she sent for Lady D—,
Implor'd her tears, and company to tea.
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She never saw a play, nor touch'd a card;
The seventh, the woeful widow (custom pleads!)
Puts off her sorrow, and puts on her weeds.
My Lady Cynthia oft, of gaming sick,
Will lose her charming temper, with a trick.
Nubilia wears a patch, contriving belle!
To hide a speck; a mask would do as well.
How Flavia's face, and Flavia's picture strike;
The cause is plain, they're painted much alike!
O then shall truth the voice of satire hush?
Fair virtue's true complexion is a blush!
Will lose her charming temper, with a trick.
Nubilia wears a patch, contriving belle!
To hide a speck; a mask would do as well.
How Flavia's face, and Flavia's picture strike;
The cause is plain, they're painted much alike!
O then shall truth the voice of satire hush?
Fair virtue's true complexion is a blush!
But one I know, sweet subject of my lays,
Whose beauty still is only second praise;
In action graceful, as in sense refin'd,
The softest manners, with the chastest mind:
Uniting all that we design to please,
The charms of temper, elegance, and ease;
A fond expression, never reach'd by art,
Which speaks the glowing language of the heart!
Whose beauty still is only second praise;
In action graceful, as in sense refin'd,
The softest manners, with the chastest mind:
Uniting all that we design to please,
The charms of temper, elegance, and ease;
A fond expression, never reach'd by art,
Which speaks the glowing language of the heart!
Charms such as these, nor deem the picture rare,
Shall render beauty more divinely fair.
When man's warm passions, with resistless sway,
Bear virtue, truth, and reason far away;
One soft persuasive smile shall soon reprove,
And call him back to liberty and love.
Shall render beauty more divinely fair.
When man's warm passions, with resistless sway,
Bear virtue, truth, and reason far away;
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And call him back to liberty and love.
Dear Stella, to my moral verse attend,
Forgive the censor, and believe the friend.
May ev'ry bliss that softens life, or cheers,
Charm thy young days, and crown thy riper years!
Fair is the prospect in life's op'ning morn,
The rose is fair, but still retains the thorn!
The world will tempt thee with alluring praise,
And Folly lead thee to her fairy maze,
But O, beware! and shun the dang'rous way,
They flatter beauty only to betray;
And still through life, in thy desire to please,
Retain thy soft simplicity and ease.
To charm by art let others vainly seek,
What art can reach the blossom on thy cheek?
And while through life's uncertain path we stray,
Hope for our guide to lead us on the way,
Say, shall the Muse thy gentle steps attend,
Pleas'd to become thy monitor and friend?
To tell thee oft how thousands are undone,
What paths to follow, and what ills to shun;
That vice, though late, shall meet severest doom,
That virtue lives and blossoms in the tomb.
Forgive the censor, and believe the friend.
May ev'ry bliss that softens life, or cheers,
Charm thy young days, and crown thy riper years!
Fair is the prospect in life's op'ning morn,
The rose is fair, but still retains the thorn!
The world will tempt thee with alluring praise,
And Folly lead thee to her fairy maze,
But O, beware! and shun the dang'rous way,
They flatter beauty only to betray;
And still through life, in thy desire to please,
Retain thy soft simplicity and ease.
To charm by art let others vainly seek,
What art can reach the blossom on thy cheek?
And while through life's uncertain path we stray,
Hope for our guide to lead us on the way,
Say, shall the Muse thy gentle steps attend,
Pleas'd to become thy monitor and friend?
To tell thee oft how thousands are undone,
What paths to follow, and what ills to shun;
That vice, though late, shall meet severest doom,
That virtue lives and blossoms in the tomb.
| The Modern Dunciad | |