The Modern Dunciad Virgil in London and Other Poems [by George Daniel] |
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| I. |
| II. | ECLOGUE II.
ALEXIS. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
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 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
133
ECLOGUE II. ALEXIS.
Beneath a shade, near Inner-Temple Lane,
Sat fond Alexis, a despairing swain;
A lawyer he, whom cruel love in sport
Had driv'n, relentless, from the Inns of Court:
Who, since he bow'd to little Cupid's yoke,
Had thought no more of Lyttelton and Coke,
But tun'd his plaintive harp to grief alone,
And Gray's-Inn gardens answer'd to his moan.
Sat fond Alexis, a despairing swain;
A lawyer he, whom cruel love in sport
Had driv'n, relentless, from the Inns of Court:
Who, since he bow'd to little Cupid's yoke,
Had thought no more of Lyttelton and Coke,
But tun'd his plaintive harp to grief alone,
And Gray's-Inn gardens answer'd to his moan.
“Ah! Easter Monday! Day for ever dear!
Thou blithesome herald of the vernal year;
To me, alone, thou prov'st a galling smart,
For on thy luckless day I lost my heart.
Fair shone the rosy morn, at six I rose,
And view'd with eager eyes my Sunday clothes;
Th' embroider'd vest, the pantaloons so trim;
The high-crown'd modish hat with narrow brim;
The hessian boot, the coat with taper skirt,
The stiff-starch'd cravat, and the ruffled shirt!
Thus nattily equipp'd, a London spark!
I march'd with hasty step to Greenwich Park;
Through clouds of dust I bent my joyous way,
With song and whistle, for my heart was gay;
But little thinking I should find, ere night,
My heart so heavy, and my purse so light.
Ye Muses of Apollo's sacred hill,
Whom once I woo'd, (and let me woo ye still!)
When, warm with passion and the rural scene,
I sung the blue-ey'd Maid of Stepney Green,
Teach me once more to sing my am'rous pains,
And Blouzelinda's charms in equal strains.
A gipsy hat her auburn hair confin'd,
Save some stray locks that sported in the wind;
And nature, bounteous nature, bade disclose
Her neck the lily, and her cheek the rose.
Thou blithesome herald of the vernal year;
To me, alone, thou prov'st a galling smart,
For on thy luckless day I lost my heart.
Fair shone the rosy morn, at six I rose,
And view'd with eager eyes my Sunday clothes;
Th' embroider'd vest, the pantaloons so trim;
The high-crown'd modish hat with narrow brim;
The hessian boot, the coat with taper skirt,
The stiff-starch'd cravat, and the ruffled shirt!
Thus nattily equipp'd, a London spark!
I march'd with hasty step to Greenwich Park;
134
With song and whistle, for my heart was gay;
But little thinking I should find, ere night,
My heart so heavy, and my purse so light.
Ye Muses of Apollo's sacred hill,
Whom once I woo'd, (and let me woo ye still!)
When, warm with passion and the rural scene,
I sung the blue-ey'd Maid of Stepney Green,
Teach me once more to sing my am'rous pains,
And Blouzelinda's charms in equal strains.
A gipsy hat her auburn hair confin'd,
Save some stray locks that sported in the wind;
And nature, bounteous nature, bade disclose
Her neck the lily, and her cheek the rose.
Long has the maid my youthful bosom fir'd,
Her beauty long my simple lay inspir'd;
I saw her charms unfolding ev'ry hour,
Fair was the bud, but fairer is the flower!
Her beauty long my simple lay inspir'd;
I saw her charms unfolding ev'ry hour,
Fair was the bud, but fairer is the flower!
As lately at the river's brink I stood,
In meditation deep, at Hornsey Wood,
I, while the sun delay'd his parting beam,
Beheld my face reflected in the stream;
My eyes look'd bright, with diffidence I speak,
And youthful blushes glow'd upon my cheek;
I mark'd my form, to Vestris no disgrace,
Where just proportion vied with manly grace:
But, since these beauties charm my love no more,
I shun the fountains that I sought before;
From billiards, rackets, quoits, and cricket flee;—
And taw and skittles have no charms for me.
In meditation deep, at Hornsey Wood,
135
Beheld my face reflected in the stream;
My eyes look'd bright, with diffidence I speak,
And youthful blushes glow'd upon my cheek;
I mark'd my form, to Vestris no disgrace,
Where just proportion vied with manly grace:
But, since these beauties charm my love no more,
I shun the fountains that I sought before;
From billiards, rackets, quoits, and cricket flee;—
And taw and skittles have no charms for me.
Canst thou forget, when, warm with love and ale,
I whisper'd in thine ear my tender tale?
How didst thou blush at Cupid's soft command,
(The glass of negus trembling in thy hand!)
And sighing, promise everlasting truth,
If I would take thee but to Saunders' booth,
To see the tailor, in equestrian pride,
With crupper, whip, and spur, to Brentford ride?
Did I not show thee ev'ry kind of fun;—
Cows with two heads, that never had but one;
Sage necromancers, who, to conjuring prone,
Tell ev'ry body's fortunes but their own;
And Lady Morgan short, and Patrick tall?
No Yorkshire club was ours—I paid for all.
Yes, cruel maid! and no reward I seek,
Though that day's flourish made me fast a week;
Bear witness to my vows, ye pow'rs above!
I ask no other payment, but thy love;
No fonder pledge I crave, my lovely girl,
Than that thou gav'st me o'er a pint of purl!
I whisper'd in thine ear my tender tale?
How didst thou blush at Cupid's soft command,
(The glass of negus trembling in thy hand!)
And sighing, promise everlasting truth,
If I would take thee but to Saunders' booth,
To see the tailor, in equestrian pride,
With crupper, whip, and spur, to Brentford ride?
Did I not show thee ev'ry kind of fun;—
Cows with two heads, that never had but one;
Sage necromancers, who, to conjuring prone,
Tell ev'ry body's fortunes but their own;
And Lady Morgan short, and Patrick tall?
No Yorkshire club was ours—I paid for all.
Yes, cruel maid! and no reward I seek,
Though that day's flourish made me fast a week;
136
I ask no other payment, but thy love;
No fonder pledge I crave, my lovely girl,
Than that thou gav'st me o'er a pint of purl!
Come to my longing arms, my lovely care!
And take the presents which the gods prepare!
The macaroni cake, the Chelsea bun,
And almonds crisp, and raisins of the sun:
But what avails it that I yield my store?
The purse-proud Daphnis still will offer more,
And Blouzelinda has too sweet a tooth,
To scorn his gifts, and wed the poorest youth.
In splendid courts, let haughty princes reign,
The shepherd loves the forest and the plain:—
The prowling dun the hungry bard pursues,
The politician travels after news,
The unpaid tailor dogs the London spark,
The curious hunt the Cossack through the park—
Each has his diff'rent hobby:—by this rule,
Sir Claudius plays the courtier, Coates the fool,
My Lord the jockey, Skeffington the beau,
And Love's my hobby, wheresoe'er I go.
And take the presents which the gods prepare!
The macaroni cake, the Chelsea bun,
And almonds crisp, and raisins of the sun:
But what avails it that I yield my store?
The purse-proud Daphnis still will offer more,
And Blouzelinda has too sweet a tooth,
To scorn his gifts, and wed the poorest youth.
In splendid courts, let haughty princes reign,
The shepherd loves the forest and the plain:—
The prowling dun the hungry bard pursues,
The politician travels after news,
The unpaid tailor dogs the London spark,
137
Each has his diff'rent hobby:—by this rule,
Sir Claudius plays the courtier, Coates the fool,
My Lord the jockey, Skeffington the beau,
And Love's my hobby, wheresoe'er I go.
Resound, ye hills! resound my mournful strain,
Of perjur'd Blouzelinda I complain!—
The doctor tries his Esculapian skill,
He draws the lancet, and prescribes the pill,
And lays for Cupid many an artful lure;
But love's a pang that physic cannot cure;
A ruthless dun, devoted to his prey,
By night tormenting, as he plagues by day.
Of perjur'd Blouzelinda I complain!—
The doctor tries his Esculapian skill,
He draws the lancet, and prescribes the pill,
And lays for Cupid many an artful lure;
But love's a pang that physic cannot cure;
A ruthless dun, devoted to his prey,
By night tormenting, as he plagues by day.
But see, the night emits unwholesome damps,
And nimble link-boys run to light their lamps;
Now strolls the painted Cyprian in the dark,
I'll to the Basin, in St. James's Park:—
Farewell! the lawyer's quirk, the pleader's bawl;
The Temple, Lincoln's-Inn, and Justice-Hall!
Farewell! the park, the play-house, and Pall-Mall!
Blouzy, adieu!—and all the world, farewell!
And nimble link-boys run to light their lamps;
Now strolls the painted Cyprian in the dark,
I'll to the Basin, in St. James's Park:—
Farewell! the lawyer's quirk, the pleader's bawl;
The Temple, Lincoln's-Inn, and Justice-Hall!
Farewell! the park, the play-house, and Pall-Mall!
Blouzy, adieu!—and all the world, farewell!
| The Modern Dunciad | |