The funeral of fome valiant knight May give this thing its proper light. View his two gauntlets; thefe declare That both his hands were us'd to war. And from his two gilt fpurs 'tis learn'd, His feet were equally concern'd.
But have you not with thought beheld
The fword hang dangling o'er the shield?
Which fhews the breast, that plate was us'd to, 180
Had an ally right arm to truft to:
And, by the peep-holes in his creft,
Is it not virtually confeft,
That there his eyes took diftant aim,
And glanc'd refpect to that bright dame,
In whofe delight his hope was center'd,
And for whose glove his life he ventur'd ?
Objections to my general fyftem
May rise 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 adhefion;
That Alma merely is a fcale;
And motives, like the weights, prevail.
If neither fide turn down nor up,
With lofs or gain, with fear or hope;
The balance always would hang even,
Like Mah'met's tomb, 'twixt earth and heaven.
This, Richard, is a curious cafe:
Suppose your eyes fent equal rays
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Upon two diftant pots of ale,
Not knowing which was mild or stale :
In this fad state your doubtful choice
Would never have the cafting voice;
Which best or worst you could not think;
And die you muft for want of drink ;
Unless fome chance inclines your fight,
Setting one pot in fairer light;
Then you prefer or A, or B,
As lines and angles best agree:
Your fenfe refoly'd impells your will:
She guides your hand-so drink your fill.
Have you not feen a baker's maid
Between two equal panniers sway'd?
Her tallies useless lie, and idle,
If plac'd exactly in the middle :
But, forc'd from this unactive state
By virtue of fome cafual weight,
On either fide you hear them clatter,
And judge of right and left hand matter.
Now, Richard, this coercive force,
Without your choice, must take its courfe;
Great kings to wars are pointed forth,
Let people call us cheats or fools,
Our cards and we are equal tools.
We fure in vain the cards condemn :
Ourselves both cut and fhuffled them.
In vain on Fortune's aid rely
She only is a stander-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 should 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 fquire 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 Nicolini's tongue,
When Pyrrhus chaunts the heavenly fong.
When Pedro does the lute command,
She guides the cunning artift's hand.
Through Macer's gullet the runs down,
When the vile glutton dines alone.
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 palfey bar the way.
But, if thofe images prevail
Which whilom did affect the tail,
She still renews the ancient feene,
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.
Talk most, who have the least to say.
Your dainty speakers have the curse,
To plead bad caufes down to worse :
As dames, who native beauty want,
Still uglier look, the more they paint.
Again: if in the female fex
Alma fhould on this member fix
(A cruel and a desperate case,
From which heaven fhield my lovely lafs !);
For evermore all care is vain,
That would bring Alma down again.
As, in habitual gout or ftone,
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 powers,
Severe though 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 powers;
Defcrib'd our pre-existing station
Before this vile terrene creation;
And, left I should 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 Babel:
Through Syria, Perfia, Greece, fhe goes
And takes the Romans in the close.
But we'll defcant on general nature:
This is a fyftem, not a fatire..
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