« הקודםהמשך »
For, give that whipster but his errand,
Be to her virtues very kind; He takes my lord chief justice' warrant:
Be to her faults a little blind; Dauntless as Death, away he walks ;
Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
And clap your padlock-on her mind."
“ Since this bas been authentic truth,
Hans CARVEL, impotent and old,
Married a lass of London mold: The spy, which does this treasure kecp,
Handsome? enough; extremely gay: Does she ne'er say her prayers, nor sleep?
Lov'd music, company, and play: Does she to no excess incline?
High flights she had, and wit at will; Does she fly music, mirth, and wine?
And so her tongue lay sel om still : Or have not gold and flattery power
For, in all visits, who but she, To purchase one unguarded hour ?"
To argue, or to repartée? " Your care does further yet extend:
She made it plain, that human passion That spy is guarded by your friend.”—
Was order'd by predestination; “ But has this friend nor eye nor heart
That, if weak women went astray, May he not feel the cruel dart,
Th ir stars were inore in fault than they : Which, soon or late, all mortals feel?
Whole tragedies she had by heart; May he not, with too tender zcal,
Enter'd into Roxana's part: Give the fair prisoner cause to see,
To triumph in her rival's blood, How much he wishes she were free?
The action certainly was good. May he not craftily infer
“llow like a vine young Ammon curl'd ! The rules of friendship too severe,
Oh that dear conqueror of the world !” Which chain him to a hated trust;
She pitied Petterton in age, Which make him wretched, to be just ?
That ridicul d the god-like rage. And may not she, this darling she,
She, first of all the town, was told, Youthful and healthy, A sh and blood,
Where newest India things were sold: Easy with him, ill us'd by thee,
So in a morning, without bodice, Allow this logic to be good ?”
Slipt sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's; “Sir, will your questions never end?
To cheapen tea, to buy a screen: I trust to neither spy nor friend.
What else could so much virtue mean? In short, I keep her from the sight
For, to prevent the least reproach, Of every human face." "She'll write."
Betty went with her in the coach. “ From pen and paper she's debarr'd.”
But, when no very great affair “ Has she a bodkin and a card?
Excited her peculiar care,
Drank chocolate, then slept again :
At twelve she rose; with much ado The key (look here) is in this pocket."
Her clothes were huddled on by two; • The key - hole, is that left ?:-“ Most cer Then, “ Does my lady dine at home?" tain."
“ Yes, sure !" " But is the colonel come “ She'll thrust her letter through, sir Martin.”— Next, how to spend the afternoon,
“ Dear, angry friend, what must be done? And not come home again too soon; Is there no way? --" There is but one.
The change, the city, or the play, Send her abroad : and let her sce,
As each was proper for the day : That all this mingled mass, which she,
A turn, in summer, to Hyde-park, Being forbidden, longs to know,
When it grew tolerably dark. Is a dull farce, an empty show,
Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain: Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau;
Strange fancies come in Hans's brain: A staple of romance and lies,
He thought of what he did not name; False tears and real perjuries :
And would reform, but durst not blame. Where sighs and looks are bought and sold,
At first he therefore preach'd his wife And love is made but to be told:
The comforts of a pious life: Where the fat bawd and lavish heir
Told her, how transient beauty was; The spoils of ruin'd beauty share ;
That all must die, and flesh was grass : And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame,
He bought her sermons, psalms and graces, Must give up age to want and shame.
And doubled down the useful places. Let her behold the frantic scene,
But still the weight of worldly care The women wretched, false the men :
Allow'd her little time for prayer: And when, these certain ills to shun,
And Cleopatra was read o'er; She would to thy embraces run;
While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more, Receive her with extended arms,
That teach one to deny one's-self, Seem more delighted with her charms;
Stood unmolested on the shelf. Wait on her to the Park and play;
An untouch'd Bible grac'd her toilet: Put on good-humour; make her gay;
No fear that thumb of hers should spoil it
In short, the trade was still the same :
Appear'd to honest Hans again; The dame went out: the colonel came.
But not at all by madam seen: " What's to be done?” poor Carvel cry'd ; And, giving him a magic ring, " Another battery must be try'd :
Fit for the finger of a king; What if to spells I had recousse ?
“ Dear Hans," said he, “ this jewel take, Tis but to hinder something worse,
And wear it long for Satan's sake: The end must justify the means;
'T'will do your business to a hair : He only sins who ill intends :
For, long as you this ring shall wear, Since, therefore, 'tis to combat evil,
As sure as I look over Lincoln, 'Tis lawful to employ the Devil.”
That ne'er shall happen, which you think on.' Forthwith the Devil did appear,
Hans took the ring, with joy extreme, (For name him, and he's always near)
(All this was only in a dream) Not in the shape in which he plies
And, thrusting it beyond his joint, At miss's elbow when she lies;
“ 'Tis done,” he cry d: “ I've gain'd my point." Or stands before the nursery doors,
“What point,” said she, “ you ugly beast? To take the naughty boy that roars:
You neither give me joy nor rest."But, without sawcer-eye or claw,
“ 'Tis done."-"What's done, you drunken beard Like a grave barrister at law.
You've thrust your finger God knows where !" “ Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief," The Devil says; “ I bring relief.”" Relief !” says Hans : “ pray, let me crave Your name, sir?"-"Satan.”—“Sir, your slave; I did not look upon your feet:
A DUTCH PROVERB. You'll pardon me:-Aye, now I sec't:
“ FIRE, water, woman, are man's ruin," And pray, sir, when came you from Hell?
Says wise professor Vander Briin. Our friends there, did you leave them well?”
By flames a bouse I hir'd was lost “ All well; but pr’ythee, honest Hans,"
Last year: and I must pay the cost. Says Satan, “ leave your complaisance :
This spring the rains o'erflow'd my ground : The truth is this : I cannot stay
And my best Flanders mare was drown'de Flaring in sun shine all the day:
A slave I am to Clara's eyes: For, entre nous, we hellish sprites
The gipsy knows her power, and fjes. Love more the fresco of the nights;
Fire, water, woman, are my ruin: And oftener our receipts convey,
And great thy wisdom, Vander Brüin,
AN HONEST, BUT A SIMPLE PAIR.
Est enim quiddam, idque intelligitur in omni virBelieve for once what Satan saith.”
tute, quod deceat: quod cogitatione magis à Away went Hans: Glad? Not a little ;
virtute potest quàm re separari. Obey'd the Devil to a tittle;
Cic. de Off. I. i. Invited friends some half a dozen,
Beyond the fix'd and settled rules The colonel, and my lady's cousin.
Of vice and virtue in the schools, The meat was serv'd; the bowls were crown'd;
Beyond the letter of the law,
Which keeps our men and maids in awe,
The better sort should set before 'em
A grace, a manner, a decorum;
Something, that gives their acts a light;
Makes them not only just, but bright; But when, or how, Hans hardly knew.
And sets them in that open fame, Some modern anecdotes aver,
Which witty Malice cannot blame. He nodded in his elbow-chair;
For 'tis in life, as 'tis in painting: From thence was carried off to bed:
Much may be right, yet much be wanting; John held his heels, and Nan his head,
From lines drawn true, our eye may trace My lady was disturb'd: new sorrow !
A foot, a knee, a hand, a face ; Which Hans must answer for to-morrow,
May justly own the picture wrought In bed then view this happy pair;
Exact to rule, exempt from fault: And think how Hymen triumph'd there.
Yet, if the colouring be not there, Hans fast asleep as soon as laid,
The Titian stroke, the Guido air; The duty of the night unpaid:
To nicest judgment show the piece, The waking dame, with thoughts opprest,
At best, 'twill only not displease: That made her hate both him and rest :
It would not gain on Jersey's eye; By such a hasband, such a wife!
Bradford would frown, and set it by. 'Twas Acme's and Septimius' life:
Thus, in the picture of our mind, The lady sighd: the lover snor'd:
The action may be well design'd;
Guided by law, and bound by duty; The punctual Devil kept his word:
Yet want this je ne sçai quoi of beauty:
And though its errour may be such,
Our Don, who knew this tittic-tattle As Knags and Burgess cannot hit;
Did, sure as trumpet, call to battle, It yet may feel the nicer touch
Thought it extremely à propos, Of Wicherley's or Congreve's wit.
To ward against the coming blow : " What is this talk?” replies a friend, . To ward: but how? Aye, there's the question; " And where will this dry moral end?
Fierce the assault, unarm'd the bastion. The truth of what you here lay down
The doctor feign'd a strange surprise: By some example should be shown."
He felt her pulse; he view'd her eyes: « With all my heart-for once; read on.
That beat too fast, these rollid too quick; An honest, but a simple pair
She was, he said, or would be sick: (And twenty other I forbear)
He judg'd it absolutely good, May serve to make this thesis clear."
That she should purge, and cleanse her blood. A doctor of great skill and fame,
Spa waters for that end were got: Paulo Purganti was his name,
If they past easily or not, Had a good, comely, virtuous wife;
What matters it the lady's fever No woman led a better life:
Continued violent as ever. She to intrigues was ev'n hard-hearted :
For a distemper of this kind, She chuckled when a bawd was carted;
(Blackmore and Hans are of my mind) And thought the nation ne'er would thrive,
If once it youthful blood infects, Till all the whores were burnt alive.
And chiefly of the female sex, On married men, that dar'd be bad,
Is scarce remov'd by pill or potion ; She thought no mercy should be had;
Whate'er might be our doctor's notion. They should be hang'd, or starv'd, or ficad,
One luckless night, then, as in bed Or serv'd like Roinish priests in Swede.
The doctor and the dame were laid; In short, all lewdness she defied : 1
Again this cruel fever came, And stiff was her parochial pride.
High pulse, short breath, and blood in flame. Yet, in an honest way, the dame
What measures shall poor Paulo keep Was a great lover of that same;
With madam in this piteous taking? And could from Scripture take her cue,
| She, like Macbeth, has murder'd sleep, That husbands should give wives their due.
And won't allow him rost, though waking. Her prudence did so justly steer
Sad state of matters! when we dare Between the gay and the severe,
Not ask for peace, nor offer war; That if, in some regards, she chose
Nor Livy nor Comines have shown To curb poor Paulo in too close ;
What in this juncture may be done. In others she relax'd again,
Grotius might own, that Paulo's case is And govern'd with a looser rein.
Harder than any which he places Thus though she strictly did confine
Amongst his Belli and his Pacis. The doctor from excess of wine:
He strove, alas! but strove in vain, With oysters, eggs, and vermicelli,
By dint of logic, to maintain She let him almost burst his belly:
That all the sex was born to grieve, Thus drying coffee was denied;
Down to her ladyship from Eve. But chocolate that loss supplied :
He ranged his tropes, and preach'd up pa. And for tobacco, (who could bear it?)
tience, Filthy concomitant of claret,
Back'd his opinion with quotations, (Blest revolution !) one might see
Divines and moralists; and run ye on Eringo roots, and Bohea tea.
Quite through from Seneca to Bunyan.
As much in vain he bid her try
Telling ber, rest would do her good,
If any thing in nature could : She held it wholesomer by much,
So held the Greeks, quite down from Galen, To rest a little on the couch :
Masters and princes of the calling: About his waist in bed a-nights
So all our modern friends inaintain She clung so close--for fear of sprites.
(Though no great Greeks) in Warwick-lane. The doctor understood the call;
Reduce, my Muse, the wandering song: But had not always wherewithal.
A tale should never be too long. The lion's skin too short, you know,
The more he talk'd, the more she burn'd, (As Plutarch's morals finely show)
And sigh’d, and tost, and groan'd, and turn'd: Was lengthen'd by the fox's tail;
At last, “I wish," said she, “my dear" And art supplies, where strength may fail. And whisper'd something in his ear. Unwilling then in arms to meet
“ You wish!-wish on," the doctor cries : The enemy she could not beat;
“ Lord! when will womankind be wise? He strove to lengthen the campaign,
What, in your waters?-are you mad? And save his forces by chicane.
Why poison is not half so bad. Fabius, the Roman chief, who thus
I'll do it-but I give you warning: By fair retreat grew Maximus,
You'll die before tomorrow morning." Shows us, that all that warrior can do,
“ 'Tis kind, my dear, what you advise," With force inferior, is cunctando.
The lady, with a sigh, replies: One day, then, as the foc drew near,
“ But life, you know, at best, is pain; With love, and joy, and life, and dear;
And death is what we should disdain
So do it therefore, and adieu :
The sceptics think, 'twas long ago,
The poets now and painters hold
And if you see himn in a sketch,
These points, I say, of speculation,
Is it in cquilibrio,
Two gods came therefore froin above,
| Till, well nigh tir'd, at almost night,
Note here, that it as true as odd is,
'The honest farmer and his wife,
So said, so done; the gods consent :
Jove made his leg, and kiss'd the dame:
Well, then, things handsomely were serv'd:
The grace-cup serv'd, the cloth away,
pair of gods, (nay, never wonder) "This youth can fly, and I can thunder. I'm Jupiter, and he Mercurius, My page, my son indeed, but spurious. Form then three wishes, you and madam; And sure as you already had 'em,
The things desir'd, in half an hour,
To those who, at the market-rale, Shall all be here, and in your power."
Can barter honour for estate. “ Thank you, great gods,” the woman says: Now, if thou giant'st me my requests “ Oh! may your altars ever blaze !
To make thy votary truly blest, A Ladle for our silver-dish
Let ctirst Revenge and saucy Pride Is what I want, is what I wish."
To some bleak rock far off be tied ; “ A Ladle !» cries the man, “a Ladle! . Nor e'er approach my rural seat, Odzooks, Corisca, you have pray'd ill;
To tempt me to be base and great. What should be great, you turn to farce;
And, goddess, this kind office done, I wish the Ladle in your a-".
Charge Venus to command her son With equal grief and shame, my Muse
(Where-ever else she lets him rove) The sequel of the tale pursues;
To shun my house, and field, and grove : The Ladle fell into the room,
Peace cannot dwell with Hate or Love. And stuck in old Corisca's bum.
Hear, gracious Rhéa, what I say:
And thy petitioner shall pray.
WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNINGOP
MEZERAY'S HISTORY OF FRANCE.
WHATE'ER thy countrymen have done,
By law and wit, by sword and gun, And who is bless'd that is not great?
In thee is faithfuliy recited: Some sense, and more estate, kind Heaven And all the living world, that view To this well-lotted peer has given :
Thy work, give thee the praises due,
At once instructed and delighted.
Yet, for the fame of all these deeds,
What beggar in the Invalids, The sickly dotard wants a wife,
With lameness broke, with blindness smitteti, To draw off his last dregs of life.
Wish'd ever decently to die, Against our peace we arm our will:
To have been either Mezeray, Amidst our plenty, something still
Or any monarch he has written. For horses, houses, pictures, planting,
It's strange, dear author, yet it true is, To thee, to me, to him, is wanting.
That, down from Pharamund to Louis, The cruel something unpossess'd,
All covet life, yet call it pain ; Corrodes, and leavens all the rest.
All feel the ill, yet shun the cure: That something, if we could obtain,
Can sense this paradox endure? Would soon create a future pain :
Resolve me, Cambray or Fontaine.
The man, in graver tragic known,
Still on the stage desires to tarry :
And he, who play'd the Harlequin,
After the jest still loads the scene,
Unwilling to retire, though weary.
WRITTEN IN THE
NOUVEAUX INTERETS DES PRINCES DE L'EUROPE. My destin'd miles I shall have gone, By Thames or Maese, by Po or Rhone,
Blest be the princes, who have fought And found no foot of earth my own;
For poinpous names, or wide dominion ; Great Mother, let me once be able
Since by their errour we are taught
That happiness is but opinion ! .
ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM To throw me in but twenty acres :
ANIMULA, vagula, blandula, 'Tis all that I could wish or hope,
Hospes, comesque corporis, For me and John, and Nell and Crop.
Quæ nunc abibis in loca, Then, as thou wilt, dispose the rest
Pallidula, rigida, nudula? (And let not Fortune spoil the jest)
Nec, ut solcs, dabis jocan