They drive, row, run, with love of glory smit,
Leap, swim, shoot flying, and pronounce on wit.
O'er the beile-letter lovely Daphne reigns;
Again the god Apollo wears her chains:
With legs toss'd high, on her sophee she sits,
Vouchsafing audience to contending wits:
Of each performance she's the final test;
One act read o'er, she prophesies the rest ;
And then, pronouncing with décisive air,
Fully convinces all the Town---she's fair.
Had lovely Daphne Hecatessa's face,
How would her elegance of taste decrease!
Some ladies' judgment in their features lies,
And all their genius sparkles from their eyes.
But hold, she cries, Lampooner! have a care;
Must I want common sense because I'm fair!
O no; see Stella; her eyes shine as bright
As if her tongue was never in the right:
And yet what real learning, judgment, fire!
She seems inspir'd, and can herself inspire:
How then (if malice rul'd not all the fair)
Could Daphne publish, and could she forbear?
We grant that beauty is no bar to sense,
No is 't a sanction for impertinence.
Sempronia lik'd her man, and weil she might;
The youth in person and in parts was bright;
Possess'd of ev'ry virtue, grace, and art,
That claims just empire o'er the female heart:
He met her passion, all her sighs return'd,
And in full rage of youthful ardour burn'd;
Large his possessions, and beyond her own,
Their bliss the theme and envy of the Town,
The day was fix'd, when, with one acre more,
In stepp'd deform'd, debauch'd, diseas'd Threescore.
The fatal sequel I, thro' shame forbear.
Of pride and av'rice who can cure the fair!
Man's rich with little, were his judgment true; Nature is frugal, and her wants are few; Those few wants answer'd bring sincere delights, But fools create themselves new appetites. Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, Which relish not to reason, nor to sense, When surfeit or unthankfulness destroys, In Nature's narrow sphere, cur solid joys, In Fancy's airy land of noise and show, Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures, grow, Like cats in air-pumps, to subsist we strive On joys too thin to keep the soul alive.
Lemira's sick, make haste; the doctor call:
He comes; but where 's his patient? at the ball. 180 The doctor stares; her woman curt'sies low,
And cries, "My lady, Sir, is always so:
"Diversions put her maladies to flight;
"True, she cann't stand, but she can dance all nighte "I've known my Lady (for she loves a tune)
"For fevers take an opera in June:
"And tho', perhaps, you'll think the practice bold, "A midnight Park is sov'reign for a cold:
With cholies breakfasts of green fruit agree,
"With indigestions supper just at three."
A strange alternative, replies Sir Hans,
Must women have a doctor or a dance?
Tho' sick to death, abroad they safely roam,
But droop and die, in perfect health at home,
For want---but not of health, are ladies ill,
And tickets cure beyond the doctor's bill.
Alas, my Heart! how languishingly fair
Yon' lady lolls? with what a tender air?
Pale as a young dramatic author, when
O'er darling lines fell Cibber waves his pen.
Is her lord angry, or has Viny* chid ?
Dead is her father, or the mask forbid?
"Late sitting up has turn'd her roses white."
Why went she not to bed? "Because 'twas night.” Did she then dance or play? "Nor this nor that." Well, night soon steals away in pleasing chat. "No, all alone her pray'rs she rather chose, "Than be that wretch to sleep till morning rose." Then Lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, Goes with the fashionable owls to bed:
This her pride covets, this her health denies;
Her soul is silly, but her body's wise.
Others, with curious arts, dim charms revive, And triumph in the bloom of fifty-five.
You, in the morning, a fair nymph invite,
To keep her word a brown one comes at night;
Next day she shines in glossy black, and then
Revolves into her native red agen:
Like a dove's neck she shifts her transient charms,
And is her own dear rival in your arms.
But one admirer has the painted lass,
Nor finds that one but in her looking-glass:
Yet Laura's beautiful to such excese,
That all her art scarce makes her please us less.
To deck the female cheek he only knows,
Who paints less fair the lily and the rose.
How gay they smile? such blessings Nature pours, O'erstock'd mankind enjoy but half her stores: In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen,
She rears her flow'rs, and spreads her velvet green:"
Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace,
And waste their music on the savage race.
Is Nature then a niggard of her bliss?
Repine we guiltless in a world like this?
But our lewd tastes her lawful charms refuse,
And painted Art's depray'd allurements chuse.
Such Fulvia's passion for the Town: fresh air
(An odd effect!) gives vapours to the fair;
Green fields, and shady groves, and crystal springs,
And larks, and nightingales, are odious things; 240
But smoke, and dust, and noise, and crowds, delight,
And to be press'd to death transports her quite :
Where silver riv'lets play thro' flow'ry meads,
And woodbines give their sweets, and limes their
Black kennels' absent odours she regrets,
And stops her nose at beds of violets.
Is stormy life preferr'd to the serene ?
Or is the public to the private scene?
Retir'd, we tread a smooth and open way,
Thro' briers and brambles in the world we stray; 250
Stiff opposition, and perplex'd debate,
And thorny care, and rank and stinging hate,
Which choke our passage our career control,
And wound the firmest temper of our soul.
O sacred Solitude! divine retreat!
Choice of the prudent! envy of the great!
By the pure stream, or in thy waving shade,
We court fair Wisdom, that celestial maid;
The genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace,
(Strangers on earth!) are Innocents and Peace: 260
There from the ways of men laid safe ashore,
We smile to hear the distant tempest roar;
There bless'd with health, with bus'ness unperplex'd,
This life we relish, and ensure the next:
There. too, the Muses sport: these numbers free,
Pierian Eastbury! I owe to thee.
There sport the Muses, but not there alone;
Their sacred force Amelia feels in Town.
Nought but a genius can a genius fit;
A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit:
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