While pleas'd Thalia deigns to write
The flips and bounds of Alma's flight.
My fimple fyftem shall suppose,
That Alma enters at the toes;
That then the mounts by juft degrees
Up to the ancles, legs, and knees;
Next, as the fap of life does rife,
She lends her vigour to the thighs;
And, all these under-regions paft,
She neftles fomewhere near the waift;
Gives pain or pleasure, grief or laughter;
As we shall fhew at large hereafter.
Mature, if not improv'd by time,
Up to the heart fhe loves to climb;
From thence, compell'd by craft and age,
She makes the head her latest stage.
From the feet upward to the head-
Pithy and fhort, fays Dick, proceed.
Dick, this is not an idle notion:
Obferve the progrefs of the motion.
First, I demonstratively prove
That feet were only made to move :
And legs, defire to come and go;
For they have nothing elfe to do.
Hence, long before the child can crawl, He learns to kick, and wince, and sprawl: To hinder which, your midwife knows
To bind thofe parts extremely clofe;
Left Alma, newly enter'd in,
And ftunn'd at her own chriftening's din,
Fearful of future grief and pain,
Should filently sneak out again.
Full piteous feems young Alma's cafe';
As in a lucklefs gamester's place,
She would not play, yet must not pass.
Again; as the grows fomething stronger,
And mafter's feet are fwath'd no longer,
If in the night too oft he kicks,
Or fhews his loco-motive tricks;
These first affaults fat Kate repays him;
When half-afleep, fhe overlays him.
Now mark, dear Richard, from the age
That children tread this worldly stage,
Broom-ftaff or poker they beftride,
And round the parlour love to ride;
Till thoughtful father's pious care
Provides his brood, next Smithfield Fair,
With fupplemental hobby-horses:
And happy be their infant courfes !
Hence for fome years they ne'er stand still :
Their legs, you fee, direct their will;
From opening morn till fetting fun,
Around the fields and woods they run :
They frisk, and dance, and leap, and play;
Nor heed what Freind or Snape can fay.
To her next stage as Alma flies,
And likes, as I have faid, the thighs,
With fympathetic power the warms
Their good allies and friends, the arms;
While Betty dances on the green;
And Sufan is at fool-ball feen;
While John for nine-pins does declare;
And for the nymph in fecret grieves.
In dying accents he complains
Of cruel fires, and raging pains.
The nymph too longs to be alone;
Leaves all the fwains, and fighs for one.
The nymph is warm'd with young defire;
And feels, and dies to quench his fire.
They meet each evening in the grøve :
Their parley but augments their love;
So to the priest their cafe they tell :
He ties the knot; and all goes well.
But, O my Mufe, just distance keep;
Thou art a maid, and muft not peep..
And that young life and quickening sense
Spring from his influence darted thence.
So from the middle of the world
The Sun's prolific rays are hurl'd :
"Tis from that feat he darts those beams, Which quicken Earth with genial flames.
Dick, who thus long had paffive fat, Here ftroak'd his chin, and cock'd his hat; Then flapp'd his hand upon the board;
And thus the youth put in his word.
Love's advocates, fweet Sir, would find him
A higher place than you affign'd him.
Love's advocates! Dick, who are thofe ?→→ The Poets, you may well fuppofe.
I'm forry, Sir, you have difcarded.
The men with whom till now you herded.
Profe-men alone for private ends,
I thought, forfook their ancient friends.
In cor fellavit, cries Lucretius;
If he may be allow'd to teach us.
The felf-fame thing foft Ovid fays
(A proper judge in such a case).
Horace's phrafe is, torret jecur;
And happy was that curious speaker.
Here Virgil too has plac'd this paffion.
What fignifies too long quotation?
In Ode and Epic, plain the cafe is,
That Love holds one of thefe two places.
Dick, without paffion or reâection,
I'll ftrait demolish this objection.
First, Poets, all the world agrees,
Write half to profit, half to please.
Matter and figure they produce;
For garnish this, and that for use;
And, in the ftructure of their feafts,
They feck to feed and please their guests:
But one may balk this good intent,
And take things otherwife than meant.
Thus, if you dine with my lord mayor,
Roaft-beef, and venifon, is your fare;
Thence you proceed to swan and bustard,
And perfevere in tart and cuftard:
But tulip-leaves and lemon-peel
Help only to adorn the meal;
And painted flags, fuperb and neat,
Proclaim you welcome to the treat.
The man of fense his meat devours ;
But only fmells the peel and flowers;
And he must be an idle dreamer,
Who leaves the pie, and gnaws the streamer.
That Cupid goes with bow and arrows,
And Venus keeps her coach and fparrows,
Is all but emblem, to acquaint one,
The fon is fharp, the mother wanton.
Such images have fometimes fhown
A mystic fenfe, but oftener none.
For who conceives, what bards devife,
That Heaven is plac'd in Celia's eyes;
Or where's the fenfe, direct and moral,
That teeth are pearl, or lips are coral?
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