 | Ximenes |  |
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The EPILOGUE; Written by the Authour, and intended for Leonora.
Ladies, I must confess, I've played the fool;
But when could reason love romantick rule?
For though you'll own that valour graced the Moor,
And truth; yet he was execrably poor;
I, the first heiress in the realms of Spain,
And he, without an acre of domain!
Titles we idolize; and I had been,
In Zaigri's wife, a titulary queen;
But what effects proceed from rank alone?
—Our numerous wants are eminently shown;
Chill penury with frost intenser stings;
And sharpens all the ridicule she brings.
But when could reason love romantick rule?
For though you'll own that valour graced the Moor,
And truth; yet he was execrably poor;
I, the first heiress in the realms of Spain,
And he, without an acre of domain!
Titles we idolize; and I had been,
In Zaigri's wife, a titulary queen;
But what effects proceed from rank alone?
—Our numerous wants are eminently shown;
Chill penury with frost intenser stings;
And sharpens all the ridicule she brings.
From Corsica—the fact we all must know;
It passed, not half a century ago
(Before Paoli's grew Timoleon's fame)—
A hapless king, and Theodore his name,
A prisoner in the fleet, resigned his breath,
Where oft enormous debts are payed;—by death.
Say, while he breathed it's inauspicious air,
Did luxury, did flattery soothe him, there?
Did one good statesman, free from courtly guile,
Grieve at his frown, or triumph in his smile?
It passed, not half a century ago
(Before Paoli's grew Timoleon's fame)—
A hapless king, and Theodore his name,
A prisoner in the fleet, resigned his breath,
Where oft enormous debts are payed;—by death.
Say, while he breathed it's inauspicious air,
Did luxury, did flattery soothe him, there?
Did one good statesman, free from courtly guile,
Grieve at his frown, or triumph in his smile?
Than with a phantom struck, to wed renown,
A barren laurel, or ideal crown;
Better, to sink in ignominious down;
To bid our Cupid take his prudent stand
On some rough northern squire's extensive land;
Or, by an alderman's unwieldy side,
To sleep;—or wake;—at least, a wealthy bride.
A barren laurel, or ideal crown;
Better, to sink in ignominious down;
To bid our Cupid take his prudent stand
On some rough northern squire's extensive land;
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To sleep;—or wake;—at least, a wealthy bride.
Yet, there's a truth betwixt each false extreme,
The selfish blunder, and the airy dream;
And nature will, sometimes, resistless rise,
A glorious rebel, against art's disguise;
And force even folly to be truly wise.
Sage parents, and ye modish fair, excuse
The momentary sermon of the muse.
A venal world, impatient to be sold,
Rashly ascribes omnipotence to gold:
But there's a source of bliss to married life,
Of Hymen's brightest honours, to the wife;
A worth, unmoved by fortune's blind controul,
Enthroned, enshrined, for ever, in the soul;
Diffusing orient rays, that far outshine
The stars terrestrial from Golconda's mine!
The selfish blunder, and the airy dream;
And nature will, sometimes, resistless rise,
A glorious rebel, against art's disguise;
And force even folly to be truly wise.
Sage parents, and ye modish fair, excuse
The momentary sermon of the muse.
A venal world, impatient to be sold,
Rashly ascribes omnipotence to gold:
But there's a source of bliss to married life,
Of Hymen's brightest honours, to the wife;
A worth, unmoved by fortune's blind controul,
Enthroned, enshrined, for ever, in the soul;
Diffusing orient rays, that far outshine
The stars terrestrial from Golconda's mine!
| Ximenes | |