« הקודםהמשך »
Lesbia the fair, to fire her jealous lord,
For difficult amours can smooth the way, Pretends, the top she laughs al, is ador'd.
And tender letters diclate, or convey. In vain she's proud of secret innocence ;
But, if depriv'd of such important cares, The fact she feigns were scarce a worse offence. Her wisdom condescends to less affairs.
Mira, endow'd with every charm to bless, For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Has no design, but on her husband's peace :
Nor take her tea without a stralagem ; He lov'd her much; and greatly was he mov'd Presides o'er trifles with a serious face; At small inquietudes in her he lov’d.
Important, by the virtue of grimace. “ How charming this !”—The pleasure lasted long; Ladies supreme among amusemenis reign ; Now every day the fits come thick and strong : By nature born to soothe, and entertain. At last he found the charmer only feign'd; Their prudence in a share of folly lies : And was diverted when he should be pain'd. Why will they be so weak, as to be wise ? What greater vengeance have the gods in store ? Syrena is for ever in extremes, How tedious life, now she can plague no more ! And with a vengeance she commends, or blames She tries a thousand arts; but none succeed : Conscious of her discernment, which is good, She's forc'd a fever to procure indeed :
She strains too much to make it understood.
Brunetta 's wise in actions, great, and rare :
Thus every hour Brunetta is to blame,
Because th' occasion is beneath her aim. His wounded ears complaints eternal fill,
Think nought a trifie, though it small appear; As unoild hinges, querulously shrill.
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year “ You went last night with Celia to the ball.” And trilles life. Your care to trifles give, You prove it false. Not go! that's worst of all." Or you may die, before you truly live. Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame;
Go breakfast with Alicia, there you'll see,
Simplex munditiis, to the last degree :
And what she has of head-dress, is aside.
She draws her words, and waddles in her pace; There's one, that wounds far deeper than the rest ; Unwash'd her hands, and much besnuff d her face To wreck her quiet, the most dreadful shelf A nail uncut, and head uncomb’d, she loves; Is if her lover dares enjoy bimself.
And would draw on jack-boots, as soon as gloves. And this, because she's exquisitely fair : Gloves by queen Bess's maidens might be mist; Should I dispute her beauty, how she'd stare ! Her blessed eyes ne'er saw a female fist. How would Melania be surpris'd to hear
Lovers, beware! to wound how can she fail, She's quite deform'd! And yet the case is clear; With scarlet finger, and long jetty nail ? What's female beauty, but an air divine,
For Harvey, the first wit she cannot be, Through which the mind's all-genile graces shine? Nor, cruel Richmond, the first toast, for thee. They, like the Sun, irradiate all between ;
Since full each other station of renown, The body charms because the soul is seen.
Who would not be the greatest trapes in town? Hence, men are often captives of a face,
Women were made to give our eyes delight;
A female sloven is an odious sight.
Through hopes of contradiction, oft she 'll say of taste refin'd, in life and manners read;
Methinks I look so wretchedly to-day!" Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense,
When most the world applauds you, most beware, But to be teas'd by her own excellence.
"Tis often less a blessing than a snare. Folks are so awkward! Things so unpolite !" Distrust mankind ; with your own hearl confer; She's elegantly pain’d from morn till night.
And dread even there to find a flatterer. Her delicacy's shock'd where'er she goes ;
The breath of others raises our renown; Each creature's imperfections are her woes. Our own as surely blows the pageant down. Heaven by its favor has the fair distrest,
Take up no more than you by worth can claim, And pour'd such blessings—that she can't be blest. Lest soon you prove a bankrupl in your fame.
Ah! why so vain, though blooming in thy spring ? But own I must, in this perverled age, Thou shining, frail, ador'd, and wretched thing! Who most deserve, can't always most engage. Old-age will come; disease may come before ; So far is worth from making glory sure, Fifteen is full as mortal as threescore.
It often hinders what it should procure.
And who so blind, as not to see the cause ?
By which our spleen may wound true worth the more. Julia 's a manager; she's born for rule;
Ladies there are who think one crime is all : And knows her wiser husband is a fool ;
Can women, then, no way but backward fall ? Assemblies holds, and spins the subile thread So sweet is thal one crime they don't pursue That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed : To pay its loss, they think all others few.
Who hold that crime so dear, must never claim Grand reservoirs of public happiness,
Through secret streams diffusively they bless,
But Satire is my task; and these destroy Yes, to commend as you are wont to do,
Her gloomy province, and malignant joy. My kind instructor, and example too.
Help me, ye misers! help me to complain, Daphnis,” says Clio,“ has a charming eye: And blast our comnion enemy, Germain : What pity 'tis her shoulder is awry!
But our invectives must despair success; Aspasia's shape indeed—But then her air For, next to praise, she values nothing less. The man has parts who finds destruction there.
What picture 's yonder, loosen'd from its frame ? Almeria's wit has something that's divine ; Or is 't Asturia, that affected dame ? And wit's enough-how few in all things shine! The brightest forms, through affectation, fade Selina serves her friends, relieves the poor To strange new things, which Nature never made. Who was it said Selina's near threescore ? Frown not, ye fair! so much your sex we prize, At Lucia's match I from my soul rejoice; We hate those arts that take you from our eyes. The world congratulates so wise a choice; In Albucinda's native grace is seen His lordship’s rent-roll is exceeding great What you, who labor at perfection, mean. But mortgages will sap the best estate.
Short is the rule, and to be learnt with ease, In Shirley's form might cherubims appear; Retain your gentle selves, and you must please But then—she has a freckle on her ear.”
Here might I sing of Memmia's mincing mien, Without a but, Hortensia she commends,
And all the movements of the soft machine : The first of women, and the best of friends; How two red lips affected Zephyrs blow, Owns her in person, wit, fame, virtue bright; To cool the bohea, and inflame the beau : But how comes this to pass ?--She died last night. While one white finger and a thumb conspire
Thus nymphs commend, who yet at Satire rail : To lift the cup, and make the world admire. Indeed that's needless, if such praise prevail.
Tea! how I tremble at thy fatal stream! And whence such praise? Our virulence is thrown As Lethe, dreadful to the Love of Fame. On others' fame, through fondness for our own. What devastations on thy banks are seen!
Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns; What shades of mighty names which once have been For are not coronets akin to crowns ?
A hecatomb of characters supplies Her greedy eye, and her sublime address, Thy painted altars' daily sacrifice. The height of avarice and pride confess.
H—— B-, aspers’d by thee, decay, You seek perfections worthy of her rank;
As grains of finest sugars melt away, Go, seek for her perfections at the Bank.
And recommend thee more to mortal taste; By wealth unquench’d, by reason uncontrollid, Scandal's the sweetener of a female feast. For ever burns her sacred thirst of gold.
But this inhuman triumph shall decline, As fond of five-pence, as the veriest cit;
And thy revolting Naiads call for wine ; And quite as much detested as a wit.
Spirits no longer shall serve under thee; Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine ? But reign in thy own cup, erploded tea! Can we dig peace, or wisdom, from the mine? Citronia's nose declares thy ruin nigh, Wisdom to gold prefer; for 'tis much less
And who dares give Citronia's nose the lie? To make our fortune, than our happiness.
The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd, That happiness which great ones often see, And what impair'd both health and virtue, blam'd. With rage and wonder, in a low degree;
At length, to rescue man, the generous lass 'Themselves unblest. The poor are only poor! Stole from her consort the pernicious glass ; But what are they who droop amid their store! As glorious as the British queen renown'd, Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state ; Who suck'd the poison from her husband's wound The happy only are the truly great.
Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclin'd, Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings ;
But every bolder vice of bold mankind. And those best satisfied with cheapest things.
O Juvenal! for thy severer rage ! Could both our Indies buy but one new sense,
To lash the ranker follies of our age. Our envy would be due to large expense.
Are there, among the females of our isle, Since not, those pomps which to the great belong, Such faults, at which it is a fault to smile? Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng. There are. Vice, once by modest Nature chain'd See how they beg an alms of flattery!
And legal ties, expatiates unrestrain'd; They languish! oh support them with a lie! Without thin decency held up to view, A decent competence we fully taste ;
Naked she stalks o'er Law and Gospel too. It strikes our sense, and gives a constant feast : Our matrons lead such exemplary lives, More, we perceive by dint of thought alone; Men sigh in vain for none but for their wives ; The rich must labor to possess their own,
Who marry to be free, to range the more, To feel their great abundance; and request And wed one man, to wanton with a score. Their humble friends to help them to be blest ; Abroad too kind, at home 'tis stedfast hate, To see their treasures, hear their glory told, And one eternal tempest of debate. And aid the wretched impotence of gold. What foul eruptions, from a look most meek! But some, great souls! and touch'd with warmth What thunders bursting, from a dimpled cheek! divine,
Their passions bear it with a lofty hand ! Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine. But then, their reason is at due command. All hoarded treasures they repute a load ; Is there whom you detest, and seek his lise ? Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestow'd. Trust no soul with the secret—but his wise.
Wives wonder that their conduct I condemn, Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show :
What swarms of amorous grandmothers I see! Thus pleads the Devil's fair apologist,
And, pleading, safely enters on his list. What blasting whispers, and what loud declaiming! Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain ; What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, gaming! Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane. Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence; For what's true beauty, but fair virtue's face? Such griping avarice, such profuse expense; Virtue made visible in outward grace! Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes ; She, then, that's haunted with an impious mind, Such licens'd ill, such masquerading times ;
The more she charms, the more she shocks mankind Such venal faith, such misapplied applause ;
But charms decline: the fair long vigils keep: Such flatter'd guilt, and such inverted laws! They sleep no more! Quadrille has murderd slern* Such dissolution through the whole I find,
Poor K-p!" cries Livia ; " I have not been ibere "Tis not a world, but chaos of mankind.
These two nights; the poor creature will despai: Since Sundays have no balls, the well-dress'd belle I hate a crowd—but to do good, you knowShines in the pew, but smiles to hear of Hel; And people of condition should bestow." And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all
Convinc'd, o'ercome, to K-p's grave matrons ru; Who listen less to Collins than St. Paul.
Now set a daughter, and now stake a son ; Atheists have been but rare; since Nature's birth, Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune, fly; Till now, she-atheists ne'er appear'd on Earth. And beggar half their race through charity. Ye men of deep researches, say, whence springs Immortal were we, or else mortal quile, This daring character, in timorous things ?
I less should blame this criminal delight: Who start at feathers, from an insect fly,
But since the gay assembly's gayest room A match for nothing—but the Deity.
'Is but an upper story to some tomb, But, not to wrong the fair, the Musé must own Methinks, we need not our short being shun, In this pursuit they court not fame alone ;
And, thought to fly, contend to be undone. But join to that a more substantial view,
We need not buy our ruin with our crime ; "From thinking free, to be free agents 100." And give elernity to murder time. They strive with their own hearts, and keep them The love of gaming is the worst of ills; down,
With ceaseless storms the blackend soul it fills; In complaisance to all the fools in town.
Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood; O how they tremble at the name of prude! Destroys the power and will of doing good; And die with shame at thought of being good! Kills health, pawns honor, plunges in disgrace, For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,
And, what is still more dreadful—spoils your faco What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, say? See yonder set of thieves that live on spoil, They Heaven defy, to Earth's vile dregs a slave; The scandal and the ruin of our isle ! Through cowardice, most execrably brave.
And see (strange sight!) amid that ruffian band, With our own judgments durst we to comply, A form divine high wave her snowy hand; In virtue should we live, in glory die.
That rattles loud a small enchanted bos, Rise then, my Muse, in honest fury rise ;
Which, loud as thunder, on the board she knocks. They dread a Satire, who defy the skies.
And as fierce storms, which Earth's foundation Atheists are few : most nymphs a Godhead own;
shook, And nothing but his attributes dethrone.
From Æolus's cave impetuous broke, From atheists far, they stedfastly believe
From this small cavern a mix'd tempest flies, God is, and is Almighty-to forgive.
Fear, rage, convulsion, tears, oaths, blasphemies! His other excellence they'll not dispute ;
For men, I mean— the fair discharges none; But mercy, sure, is his chief attribute.
She (guiltless creature!) swears to Heaven alone. Shall pleasures of a short duration chain
See her eyes start! cheeks glow! and muscles A lady's soul in everlasting pain?
swell! Will the great Author us poor worms destroy, Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell. For now and then a sip of transient joy?
Thus that divine one her soft nights employs! No, he's for ever in a smiling mood;
Thus tunes her soul to tender nuptial joys! He's like themselves; or how could he be good ? And when the cruel morning calls to bed, And they blaspheme, who blacker schemes suppose. And on her pillow lays her aching head, Devoutly, thus, Jehovah they depose,
With the dear images her dreams are crown'd,
Imaginary ruin charms her still;
He marks the forehead of her darling son.
See my lord threaten, and my lady weep,
TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE Why the whole house in sudden ruin laid, O nothing, but last night—my lady play'd.
Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipse, canemus. But wanders not my Satire from her theme ?
Virg. Is this too owing to the love of fame?
On this last labor, this my closing strain, Though now your hearts on lucre are bestow'd, 'Twas first a vain-devotion to the mode ;
Smile, Walpole, or the Nine inspire in vain :
To thee, 'tis due; that verse how justly thine,
Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole design' This may be said, in honor of our times,
That glory, which thy counsels make so bright; That none now stand distinguish'd by their crimes. That glory, which on thee reflects a light. If sin you must, take Nature for your guide :
Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known, Love has some soft excuse to soothe your pride :
To give, and take, a lustre from the throne. Ye fair apostates from love's ancient power!
Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme; Can nothing ravish, but a golden shower ?
The fountain is not foreign to the stream. Can cards alone your glowing fancy seize ;
How all mankind will be surpris'd to see Must Cupid learn to punt, e'er he can please?
This flood of British folly charg'd on thee! When you're enamour'd, of a lift or cast,
Say, Britain! whence this caprice of thy sons, What can the preacher more, to make us chaste ?
Which through their various ranks with fury runs ? Why must strong youths unmarried pine away?
The cause is plain, a cause which we must bless;
For caprice is the daughter of success.
(A bad effect, but from a pleasing cause !) They find from play no disengag'd-estate.
And gives our rulers undesign'd applause ; Flavia, at lovers false, untouchd, and hard,
Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase, Turns pale, and trembles at a cruel card.
And lulls us in the downy lap of peace. Nor Arria's Bible can secure her age;
While I survey the blessings of our isle, Her threescore years are shuffling with her page.
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile, While Death stands by, but till the game is done,
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high, To sweep that stake, in justice, long his own ;
Her commerce spreading sails in every sky, Like old cards ting'd with sulphur, she takes fire;
The pleasing scene recalls my theme again, Or, like snuffs sunk in sockets, blazes higher
And shows the madness of ambitious men, Ye gods! with new delights inspire the fair;
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword, Or give us sons, and save us from despair.
And burn to give mankind a single lord. Sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen,
The follies past are of a private kind; close
Their sphere is small; their mischief is confinid : In my complaint, and brand your sins in prose :
But daring men there are (awake, my Muse, Yet I believe, as firmly as my Creed,
And raise thy verse!) who bolder frenzy choose : In spite of all our wisdom, you 'll proceed :
Who, stung by glory, rave, and bound a way: Our pride so great, our passion is so strong,
The world their field, and human-kind their prey. Advice to right confirms us in the wrong.
The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride, I hear you cry, “This fellow's very odd.”
With Rage and Terror stalking by his side,
Raves round the globe; he soars into a god!
Stand fast, Olympus! and sustain his nod.
The pest divine in horrid grandeur reign
And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains. That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight.
What slaughter'd hosts! what cities in a blaze! What guardian power o'erwhelms your souls with What wasted countries! and what crimson seas ! awe?
With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflows, Her deeds are precepts, her example law;
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose. 'Midst empire's charms, how Carolina's heart
And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise Glows with the love of virtue, and of art!
The boisterous boy, and blast his guilty bays ? Her favor is diffus'd to that degree,
Why want we then encomiums on the storm, Excess of goodness! it has dawn'd on me:
Or famine, or volcano ? They perform When in my page, to balance numerous faults,
Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay, Or godlike deeds were shown, or generous thoughts
, and spread their ample deserts in a day. She smild, industrious to be pleas’d, nor knew
O great alliance! O divine renown! From whom my pen the borrow'd lustre drew.
With dearth, and pestilence, to share the crown. Thus the majestic mother of mankind, *
When men extol a wild destroyer's name, To her own charms most amiably blind,
Earth's Builder and Preserver they blasphemę. On the green margin innocently stood,
One to destroy, is murder by the law; And gaz'd indulgent on the crystal flood;
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; Survey'd the stranger in the painted wave,
To murder thousands, takes a specious name, And, smiling, prais’d the beauties which she gave.
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame,
When, after battle, I the field have seen
Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once wero • Milton.
A nation crush'd, a nation of the brave !
But oh! this passion planted in the soul,
Set up false gods, and wrong'd her high descent How did my heart with indignation rise !
Ambition, hence, exerts a doubtful force, Ilow honest nature swell'd into my eyes !
of blots, and beauties, an alternate source ; How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit, Of such materials, fame and triumph, made! Who thrives upon the carcasses of wit;
How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they, And in art-loving Scarborough is seen Who reach false glory by a smoother way; How kind a patron Pollia might have been. Who wrap destruction up in gentle words, Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools, And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their swords; And into corcombs burnishes our fools ; Who stifle nature, and subsist on art ;
Pursuit of fame makes solid learning bright, Who coin the face, and petrify the heart ;
And Newton lifts above a mortal height; All real kindness for the show discard,
That key of Nature, by whose wit she clears As marble polish'd, and as marble hard ;
Her long, long secrets of five thousand years. Who do for gold what Christians do through grace, Would you then fully comprehend the whole, “With open arms their enemies embrace ;" Why, and in what degrees, pride sways the soul? Who give a nod when broken hearts repine ; (For, though in all, not equally she reigns) “The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine :" Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains. Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclin'd,
Ye doctors! hear the doctrine I disclose, And, in their height of kindness, are unkind. As true, as if 't were writ in dullest prose; Such courliers were, and such again may be, As if a letter'd dunce had said, “ 'Tis right," Walpole, when men forget to copy thee.
And imprimatur usher'd it to light. Here cease, my Muse! the catalogue is writ; Ambition, in the truly noble mind, Nor one more candidate for fame admit,
With sister Virtue is for ever join'd; Though disappointed thousands justly blame As in fam'd Lucrece, who, with equal dread, Thy partial pen, and boast an equal claim : From guilt and shame, by her last conduct, fled : Be this their comfort, fools, omitted here,
Her virtue long rebellid in firm disdain, May furnish laughter for another year.
And the sword pointed at her heart in vain ; Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refus'd
But, when the slave was threatend to be laid The justice yet of being well abus'd,
Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obey'd. With patience wait; and be content to reign
In meaner minds Ambition works alone; The pink of puppies in some future strain.
But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on, Some future strain, in which the Muse shall tell That not more like in feature and in mien, How science dwindles, and how volumes swell. The God and mortal in the comic scene :*
How commentators each dark passage shun, False Julius, ambush'd in this fair disguise, And hold their farthing candle to the Sun. Soon made the Roman liberties his prize.
How tortur'd texts to speak our sense are made, No mask in basest minds Ambition wears,
But in full light pricks up her ass's ears:
And prove my theme unfolded not amiss.
Ye vain! desist from your erroneous strise ;
How lawyers' fees to such excess are run, The true ambition there alone resides,
How one man's anguish is another's sport; Where inward dignity joins outward state ;
Our purpose good, as our achievement great; How man eternally false judgments makes, Where public blessings public praise attend; And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes.
Where glory is our motive, not our end. This swarm of themes that settles on my pen, Wouldst thou be fam'd? Have those high deeds Which I, like summer flies, shake off again,
in view Let others sing; to whom my weak essay Brave men would act, though scandal should ensue. But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey : Behold a prince! whom no swoln thoughts in That duty done, I hasten to complete
flame; My own design, for Tonson's at the gate.
No pride of thrones, no fever after fame : The Love of Fame in its effect survey'd, But when the welfare of mankind inspires, The Muse has sung: be now the cause display'd : And death in view to dear-bought glory fires, Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway,
Proud conquests then, then regal pomps delight; What is this power, whom all mankind obey ! Then crowns, then triumphs, sparkle in his sight;
Shot from above, by Heaven's indulgence, came Tumult and noise are dear, which with them bring This generous ardor, this unconquer'd flame, His people's blessings to their ardent king: To warm, to raise, to deify, mankind,
But, when those great heroic motives cease, Still burning brightest in ihe noblest mind. His swelling soul subsides to native peace; By large-soul'd men, for thirst of fame renown'd, From tedious grandeur's faded charms withdraws, Wise laws were fram'd, and sacred arts were found; A sudden foe to splendor and applause; Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest; Greatly deferring his arrears of fame, And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast; Till men and angels jointly shout his name. It bids Argyll in fields and senate shine : What more can prove its origin divine ?