תמונות בעמוד
PDF
ePub

That there his eyes took diftant aim,
And glanc'd respect to that bright dame,
In whofe delight his hope was centred,
And for whofe glove his life he ventur'd?
Objections to my general System

May rife perhaps; and I have mift them:
But I can call to my affiftance

Proximity (mark that!) and distance:
Can prove, that all things, on occafion,
Love union, and defire adhesion;
That Alma merely is a scale;

And motives, like the weights, prevail.
If neither fide turn down or up,
With lofs or gain, with fear or hope;
The balance always would hang ev'n,
Like Mah'met's tomb, 'twixt earth and heav'n.
This, Richard, is a curious cafe :
Suppofe your eyes fent equal rays,
Upon two diftant pots of ale,

Not knowing, which was mild or stale :
In this fad ftate your doubtful choice
Would never have the cafting voice:
Which beft or worst, you could not think;
And die you muft, for want of drink;
Unless fome chance inclines your fight,

Betting one pot in fairer light;

Then you prefer or A, or B,
As lines and angles beft agree:
Your fenfe refolv'd in pells your will:
She guides your hand,-fo drink your fill.
Have you not feen a baker's maid
Between two equal panniers fway'd?

[ocr errors]

Her tallies useless lie, and idle,"
If plac'd exactly in the middle:
But forc'd from this unactive ftate,
By virtue of fome cafual weight;

On either fide you hear 'em clatter,

And judge of right and left-hand matter.
Now, Richard, this coercive force,
Without your choice, must take its course,
Great kings to wars are pointed forth,
Like loaded needles to the North.
And thou and I, by pow'r unfeen,
Are barely paffive, and fuck'd in
To Henault's vaults, or Celia's chamber,
As ftraw and paper are by amber.
If we fit down to play or fet
(Suppofe at Ombre or Baffet)
Let people call us cheats or fools:
Our cards and we are equal tools.
We sure in vain the cards condemn :
Ourselves both cut and fhuff'd them.
In vain on fortune's aid rely :
She only is a ftander-by.

Poor men poor papers! we and they
Do fome impulfive force obey;
And are but play'd with -Do not play.
But space and matter we fhould blame;
They palm'd the trick that loft the game.
Thus to fave further contradiction,
Against what you may think but fiction :
I for attraction, Dick, declare:

Deny it those bold men that dare.

}

As well your motion, as your thought
Is all by hidden impulfe wrought:
Ev'n faying, that you think or walk,
How like a country 'Squire you talk?
Mark then where fancy or defire

Collects the beams of vital fire;
Into that limb fair Alma flides,

And there, pro tempore, refides.
She dwells in Nicholini's tongue,
When Pyrrhus chants the heav'nly fong:
When Pedro does the lute command,
She guides the cunning artist's hand.
Thro' Macer's gullet fhe runs down,
When the vile glutton dines alone.
And void of modefty and thought,
She follows Bibo's endless draught.
Through the foft fex again fhe ranges;
As youth, caprice, or fashion changes.
Fair Alma carelefs and ferene,

In Fanny's fprightly eyes is feen ;
While they diffuse their infant beams,
Themfelves not confcious of their flames.
Again fair Alma fits confeft,

On Florimel's experter breaft;
When the the rifing figh conftrains,
And by concealing fpeaks her pains.
In Cynthia's neck fair Alma glows,
When the vain thing her jewels fhows:
When Jenny's ftays are newly lac'd,
Fair Alma plays about her wafte;
And when the fwelling hoop fuftains
The rich brocard, fair Alma deigns

Into that lower space to enter,
Of the large round, herself the centre.
Again that fingle limb or feature
(Such is the cogent force of nature)
Which moft did Alma's paffion move,
In the first object of her love,
For ever will be found confeft,
And printed on the am'rous breaft.
O Abelard, ill fated youth,
Thy tale will justify this trath :
But well I weet, thy cruel wrong
Adorns a nobler poet's fong.
Dan Pope for thy misfortune griev❜d,
With kind concern, and skill has weav'd
A filken web; and ne'er fhall fade
Its colours gently has he laid
The mantle o'er thy fad diftrefs,
And Venus fhall the texture blefs.
He o'er the weeping nun has drawn
Such artful folds of facred lawn;
That love with equal grief and pride,
Shall fee the crime, he strives to hide :
And foftly drawing back the veil,
The god fhall to his vot'ries tell

Each confcious tear, each blushing grace,
That deck'd dear Eloifa's face.

Happy the poet, bleft the lays,

Which Buckingham has deign'd to praise.
Next Dick, as youth and habit sways,

A hundred gambols Alma plays.
If, whilft a boy, Jack ran from fchool,
Fond of his hunting-horn, and pole ;

[blocks in formation]

Tho' gout and age his speed detain,
Old John halloo's his hounds again :
By his fire-fide he starts the hare;
And turns her in his wicker chair:
His feet, however lame, you find,
Have got the better of his mind.

If while the mind was in her leg,
The dance affected nimble Reg;
Old Madge, bewitch'd at fixty one,
Calls for Green Sleeves, and Jumping Joan,
In public mask, or private ball,

From Lincoln's-Inn, to Goldsmith's-Hall,
All Christmas long away the trudges;
Trips it with prentices and judges;
In vain her children urge her stay;
And age or palfy bar the way.
But if thofe images prevail,
Which whilom did affect the tail
She ftill reviews the ancient scene;
Forgets the forty years between ;
Aukwardly gay, and oddly merry,
Her fcarf pale pink, her head-knot cherry;
O'er-heated with ideal rage,

She cheats her fon, to wed her page.

If Alma, whilft the man was young,
Slip'd up too foon into his tongue :
Pleas'd with his own fantastic skill,
He lets that weapon ne'er lie ftill.
On any point if you difpute,
Depend upon it, he'll confute:

Change fides; and you increase your pain:
For he'll confute you back again.

« הקודםהמשך »