Poor men! poor papers! we and they
Do fome impulfive force obey,
And are but play'd with-do not play.
But fpace 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 mention as your thought
Is all by hidden impulfe wrought:
Ev'n faying that you think or walk,
How like a country fquire you talk?
Mark then;-Where fancy or desire
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 artift's hand;
Thro' Macer's gullet she runs down,
When the vile glutton dines alone;
And, void of modesty and thought,
She follows Bibo's endless draught.
Thro' 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 diffufe their infant beams,
Themselves not confcious of their flames.
Again, fair Alma fits confeft
On Florimel's experter breaft,
When the the rifing figh constrains,
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 waist;
And when the fwelling hoop fuftains
The rich brocade, fair Alma deigns
Into that lower fpace to enter,
Of the large round herself the centre.
Again; that fingle limb or feature
(Such is the cogent force of Nature)
Which most did Alma's paffion move,
In the first object of her love,
For ever will be found confeft,
And printed on the am'rous breast.
O Abelard! ill-fated youth,
Thy tale will justify this truth;
But well I weet thy cruel wrong
Aderns a nobler poet's fong,
Dan Pope, for thy misfortune griev'd,
Happy the poet, bleft the lays,
Which Buckingham has deign'd to praife.
Next, Dick, as youth and habit sways,
A hundred gambols Alma plays.
If, whilft a boy, Jack run from school,
Fond of his hunting-hern and pole,
Tho' gout and age his fpeed detain,
Old John halloos his hounds again:
By his firefide 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 Peg,
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 fhe 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 fcene,
Forgets the forty years between;
Awkwardly gay, and oddly merry,
Her fcarf pale pink, her headknot cheri y,
O'erheated with ideal rage,
She cheats her fon to wed her page.
If Alma, whilft the man was young,
Slipp'd up too foon into his tongue,
Pleas'd with his own fantaftic skill,
He lets that weapon ne'er lie ftill:
On any point if you dispute,
Depend upon it he'll confute :
Change fides, and you increase your pain,
For he'll confute you back again:
For one may speak with Tully's tongue,
Yet all the while be in the wrong;
And 'tis remarkable that they
Talk most who have the least to say.
Your dainty fpeakers have the curfe
To plead bad caufes down to worie;
As dames who native beauty want,
Sill uglier look the more they paint.
Again: if in the female fex
Alma fhould on this member fix,
(A cruel and a defp'rate cafe,
From which Heav'n fhield my lovely lass!)
For evermore all care is vain
That would bring Alma down again.
As in habitual gout or stone,
The only thing that can be done
Is to correct your drink and diet,
And keep the inward foe in quiet;
So if, for any fins of ours,
Or our forefathers, higher pow'rs,
Severe, tho' juft, afflict our life,
With that prime ill, a talking wife,
Till death shall bring the kind relief,
We must be patient or be deaf.
You know a certain lady, Dick,
Who faw me when I laft was fick;
She kindly talk'd, at least three hours,
Of plaftic forms and mental pow'rs;
Defcrib'd our pre-existing station,
Before this vile terrene creation;
And, left I fhould be weary'd, Madam,
To cut things fhort, came down to Adam;
From whence, as faft as fhe was able,
She drowns the world, and builds up
Thro' Syria, Perfia, Greece, fhe goes,
And takes the Romans in the close.
But we'll descant on gen'ral Nature;
This is a fyftem, not a fatire,
Turn we this globe, and let us fee
How diff'rent nations difagree,
In what we wear, or eat, and drink;
Nay, Dick, perhaps in what we think.
In water as you smell and tafte
The foils thro' which it rose and past,
In Alma's manners you may read
The place where the was born and bred.
One people from their fwaddling-bands
Releas'd their infants' feet and hands:
Here Alma to thefe limbs was brought,
And Sparta's offspring kick'd and fought.
Another taught their babes to talk
Ere they could yet in go-carts walk:
There Alma fettled in the tongue,
And orators from Athens sprung.
Obferve but in thefe neighb'ring lands
The diff'rent ufe of mouth and hands:
As men repos'd their various hopes,
In battles these, and thofe in tropes.
In Britain's ifles, as Heylin notes,
The ladies trip in petticoats,
Which, for the honour of their nation,
They quit but on fome great occafion,
Men there in breeches clad you view;
They claim that garment as their due.
In Turkey the reverse appears;
Long coats the haughty husband wears,
And greets
his wife with angry speeches,
If she be seen without her breeches.
In our fantaftic climes the fair
With cleanly powder dry their hair,
And round their lovely breaft and head
Fresh flow'rs their mingled odours shed :
Your nicer Hottentots think meet
With guts and tripe to deck their feet;
With downcaft looks on Totta's legs
The ogling youth moft humbly begs
She would not from his hopes remove
At once his breakfast and his love;
And if the skittish nymph fhould fly,
He in a double fenfe muft die.
We fimple toafters take delight
To fee our women's teeth look white,
And ev'ry faucy ill-bred fellow
Sneers at a mouth profoundly yellow.
In China none hold women fweet,
Except their fnags are black as jet :
King Chihu put nine queens to death,
Convict on ftatute, iv'ry teeth.
At Tonquin, if a prince should die,
(As Jefuits write, who never lie)
The wife, and counsellor, and priest,
Who ferv'd him moft, and lov'd him beft,
Prepare and light his fun'ral fire,
And cheerful on the pile expire.
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