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That rob in clans, like men o' th' Highland ; The little pleasure of the game
Is from afar to view the flight.
Our anxious pains we, all the day,
In search of what we like, employ: And twenty other stranger matters ;
Scorping at night the worthless prey,
We find the labour gave the joy.
At distance through an artful glass
To the mind's eye things well appear : From whose remarks I give opinion
They lose their forms, and make a mass On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.
Confus'd and black if brought too near. Then all your wits that fleer and sham,
If we see right, we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes?
From ignorance our comfort flows:
The only wretched are the wise.
We wearied should lie down in death : Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her
This cheat of life would take no more ; To bottled ale, and neighbouring vicar;
If you thought fame but empty breath, Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,
I Phillis but a perjur'd whore. Squire Shephard's health-With all my heart.
Thus without much delight or grief, I fool away an idle life:
THE LADY’S LOOKING-GLASS. Till Shadwell from the town retires (Chok'd up with fame and sea-coal fires)
IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM. To bless the wood with peaceful lyric :
Celia and I the other day Then hey for praise and panegyric;
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea : Justice restor’d, and nations freed,
The setting sun adorn’d the coast,
And, on the surface of the deep,
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say, Howe'er, 'tis well, that while mankind
That she would never miss one day Through fate's perverse meander errs,
A walk so fine, a sight so gay. He can imagin'd pleasures find,
But, oh the change! the winds grow high; To combat against real cares.
Impending tempests charge the sky:
The lightning flies, the thunder roars ; Fancies and notions he pursues,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores. Which ne'er had being but in thought;
Struck with the horror of the sight, Each, like the Grecian artist, woos
She turns her head, and wings her flight: The image he himself has wrought.
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
, Against experience he believes;
Approach the shore, or view the main.
Once more at least look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good-humour drest; And sets his judgment by his passion.
When gentle reason rules thy breast; The hoary fool, who many days
The sun upon the calmest sea Has struggled with continued sorrow,
Appears not half so bright as thee : Renews his hope, and blindly lays
'Tis then that with delight I rove The desperate bet upon tomorrow.
Upon thy boundless depth of love :
I bless my chain; I hand my oar; Tomorrow comes ; 'tis noon, 'tis night;
Nor think on all I left on shore. This day like all the former flies:
But when vain doubt and groundless fear Yet on he rans, to seek delight
Do that dear foolish bosom tear ; Tomorrow, till to-night he dies.
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me, the rising storm is nigh ; Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim
Tis then, thou art yon angry main, At objects in an airy height:
Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain ;
AFTERWARDS EARL OF HALIFAX,
And the poor sailor, that must try
THE DOVE. Its fury, labours less than I.
"-Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ ?"
VIRG. Shipwreck’d, in vain to land I make, While love and fate still drive me back :
In Virgil's sacred verse we find, Forc'd to dote on thee thy own way,
That passion can depress or raise I chide thee first, and then obey.
The heavenly, as the human mind: Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,
Who dare deny what Virgil says ? I with thee, or without thee, die.
But, if they should, what our great master
Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove:
Fair Venus wept the sad disaster
Of having lost her favourite dove.
In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
His grief reliev'd his mother's pain; And in that heaven desir'd to rest :
He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd,
But she should have her dove again.
Though none, said he, shall yet be nam’d,
I know the felon well enough: Yet mistress of herself, devis'd
But be she not, mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal proof.
With that, his longest dart he took,
As constable would take his staff: The silken bond, and held him fast,
That gods desire like men to look,
Would make ev'n Heraclitus laugh.
Love's subalterns, a duteous band,
Like watchmen, round their chief appear: Fluttering the god, and weeping, said,
Each had his lantern in his hand;
And Venus mask'd brought up the rear.
Accoutred thus, their eager step
To Cloe's lodging they directed : He never there must hope to dwell :
(At once I write, alas! and weep, Set an unhappy prisoner free,
That Cloe is of theft suspected).
Late they set out, had far to go :
St. Dunstan's as they pass’d struck one. What are his haunts, or which his way;
Cloe, for reasons good, you know,
Lives at the sober end o' th' town.
With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting day. I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Folks at her house at such an hour !
Lord! what will all the neighbours say?
The door is open: up they run:
Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed: The chain I'll in return untie;
Thieves! thieves! cries Susan; we're undone ; And freely thou again shalt fly.
They'll kill my mistress in her bed.
In bed indeed the nymph had been
Three hours : for all historians say, Passes his life in harmless play;
She commonly went up at ten,
Unless piquet was in the way.
She wak’d, be sure, with strange surprise :
O Cupid, is this right or law, Directs his årrow as she wills;
Thus to disturb the brightest eyes Gives grief, or pleasure ; spares, or kills.
That ever slept, or ever saw ?
Have you observ'd a sitting hare,
But dove, depend on't, finds he none; Listening, and fearful of the storm
So to the bed returns again: Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,
And now the maiden, bolder grown, Afraid to keep, or leave her form?
Begins to treat him with disdain. Or have you mark'd a partridge quake,
I marvel much, she smiling said, Viewing the towering falcon nigh?
Your poultry cannot yet be found; She cuddles low behind the brake:
Lies he in yonder slipper, dead; Nor would she stay, nor dares she fly.
Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd? Then have you seen the beauteous maid;
No, traitor, angry Love replies, When gazing on her midnight foes,
He's hid somewhere about your breast; She turn'd each way her frighted head,
A place nor God nor man denies
For Venus' dove the proper nest.
Search then, she said, put in
And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me: It smelt so strong of myrrh and amberAnd Susan is no lying maid.
As guilty I, or free may stand,
Do thou or punish or reward me.
But ah! what maid to Love can trust; With Cupid let us e'en proceed;
He scorns, and breaks all legal power: And thus to Cloe spoke the god :
Into her breast his hand he thrust;
And in a moment forc'd it lower.
0, whither do those fingers rove, This cruel writ, wherein you stand
Cries Cloe, treacherous urchin, whither? Indicted by the name of Cloe !
O Venus ! I shall find the dove,
Says he; for sure I touch his feather. For that, by secret malice stirr'd,
Or by an emulous pride invited,
The pride of every grove I chose, Her blushing face the lovely maid
The violet sweet and lily fair, Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet ;
The dappled pink, and blushing rose, A rose-tree in a lily bed
To deck my charming Cloe's hair. Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet.
At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Are you not he whom virgins fear,
Upon her brow the various wreath ; And widows court? Is not your name
The flowers less blooming than her face, Cupid? If so, pray come not near
The scent less fragrant than her breath. Fair maiden, I'm the very same. Then what have I, good Sir, to say,
The flowers she wore along the day: Or do with her you
And every nymph and shepherd said, call your
mother ; If I should meet her in my way,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.
Undrest at evening, when she found
Their odours lost, their colours past; I would not give my paroquet
She chang'd her look, and on the ground For all the doves that ever flew.
Her garland and her eye she cast. Yet, to compose this midnight noise,
That eye dropt sense distinct and clear, Go freely search where'er you please
As any Muse's tongue could speak, (The rage that rais'd, adorn'd her voice)
When from its lid a pearly tear Upon yon toilet lie my keys.
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks:
Dissembling what I knew too well, Through wardrobe, and through closet bounces ; My love, my life, said I, explain Peeps into every chest and box;
This change of humour: pr’ythee tell: Turns all her furbelows and flounces.
That falling tear-what does it mean?
She sigh’d; she smil'd: and to the flowers
Easy with him, ill us'd by thee, Pointing, the lovely moralist said;
Allow this logic to be good ? See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
Sir, will your questions never end? See yonder, what a change is made.
I trust to neither spy nor friend.
In short, I keep her from the sight Ah me! the blooming pride of May,
Of every human face.-She'll write. And that of Beauty, are but one :
she's debarr'd.At morn both flourish bright and gay;
Has she a bodkin and a card ? Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.
She'll prick her mind. She will, you say :
But how shall she that mind convey? At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung ;
I keep her in one room: I lock it: The amorous youth around her bow'd:
The key (look here) is in this pocket. At night her fatal knell was rung ;
The key-hole, is that left? Most certain. I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.
She'll thrust her letter through.—Sir Martin. Such as she is, who died today;
Dear angry friend, what must be done? Such I, alas ! may be tomorrow:
Is there no way ?- There is but one. Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display
Send her abroad : and let her see,
That all this mingled mass, which she,
Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau ;
A staple of romance and lies,
False tears and real perjuries : (As Horace has divinely sung)
Where sighs and looks are bought and sold, Could not be kept from Jove's embrace
And love is made but to be told; By doors of steel, and walls of brass.
Where the fat bawd and lavish heir The reason of the thing is clear,
The spoils of ruin'd beauty share; Would Jove the naked truth aver.
And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame, Cupid was with him of the party;
Must give up age to want and shame. And show'd himself sincere and hearty;
Let her behold the frantic scene, For, give that whipster but his errand,
The women wretched, false the men : He takes my lord chief justice' warrant;
And when, these certain ills to shun, Dauntless as death away he walks:
She would to thy embraces run; Breaks the doors open, snaps the locks;
Receive her with extended arms, Searches the parlour, chamber, study;
Seem more delighted with her charms; Nor stops till he has culprit's body.
Wait on her to the park and play, Since this has been authentic truth,
Put on good-humour; make her gay; deliver'd down to youth ;
Be to her virtues very kind; Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,
Be to her faults a little blind; Why so mysterious, why so jealous ?
Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
And clap your padlock-on her mind.
Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Or have not gold and flattery power
Married a lass of London mould: To purchase one unguarded hour ?
Handsome ? enough ; extremely gay: Your care does further yet extend :
Lov'd music, company, and play: That spy is guarded by your friend.
High flights she had, and wit at will; But has this friend nor eye nor heart?
And so her tongue lay seldom still: May he not feel the cruel dart,
For in all visits who but she, Which, soon or late, all mortals feel ?
To argue or to repartee? May he not, with too tender zeal,
She made it plain, that human passion Give the fair prisoner cause to see
Was order'd by predestination ; How much he wishes she were free?
That, if weak women went astray, May he not craftily infer
Their stars were more in fault than they : The rules of friendship too severe,
Whole tragedies she had by heart; Which chain him to a hated trust;
Enter'd into Roxana's part: Which make him wretched, to be just?
To triumph in her rival's blood, And may not she, this darling she,
The action certainly was good. Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,
How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!
Oh that dear conqueror of the world!
The devil says ; I bring relief. She pitied Betterton in age,
Relief! says Hans: pray, let me crave That ridicul'd the god-like rage.
Your name, Sir?--Satan—Sir, your slave; She, first of all the town, was told,
I did not look upon your feet : Where newest India things were sold:
You'll pardon me:-Ay, now I see't: So in a morning, without bodice,
And pray, Sir, when came you from hell? Slipt sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's;
Our friends there, did you leave them well ? To cheapen tea, to buy a screen :
All well; but pr’ythee, honest Hans, What else could so much virtue mean?
(Says Satan) leave your complaisance : For, to prevent the least reproach,
The truth is this; I cannot stay Betty went with her in the coach.
Flaring in sunshine all the day : But, when no very great affair
For, entre nous, we hellish sprites Excited her peculiar care,
Love more the fresco of the nights; She without fail was wak'd at ten;
And oftener our receipts convey Drank chocolate, then slept again :
In dreams, than any other way. At twelve she rose; with much ado
I tell you therefore as a friend, Her clothes were huddled on by two;
Ere morning dawns, your fears shall end : Then, does my lady dine at home?
Go then this evening, master Carvel, Yes, sure !-But is the colonel come?
Lay down your fowls, and broach your barrel; Next, how to spend the afternoon,
Let friends and wine dissolve your care; And not come home again too soon ;
Whilst I the great receipt prepare : The Change, the city, or the play,
To-night I'll bring it, by my faith ! As each was proper for the day:
Believe for once what Satan saith. A turn in summer to Hyde-park,
Away went Hans; glad? not a little; When it grew tolerably dark.
Obey'd the devil to a tittle; Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain :
Invited friends some half a dozen, Strange fancies come in Haus's brain :
The colonel and my lady's cousin. He thought of what he did not name;
The meat was serv'd; the bowls were crown'd; And would reform, but durst not blame.
Catches were sung: and healths went round; At first he therefore preach'd his wife
Barbadoes waters for the close; The comforts of a pious life :
Till Hans had fairly got his dose : Told her, how transient beauty was ;
The colonel toasted “ to the best :" That all must die, and flesh was grass :
The dame mov'd off, to be undrest: He bought her sermons, psalms, and graces ;
The chimes went twelve: the guests withdrew: And doubled down the useful places.
But, when, or how, Hans hardly knew. But still the weight of worldly care
Some modern anecdotes aver, Allow'd her little time for prayer:
He nodded in his elbow chair; And Cleopatra was read o'er;
From thence was carried off to bed, While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more,
John held his heels, and Nan his head. That teach one to deny one's self,
My lady was disturb'd: new sorrow! Stood unmolested on the shelf.
Which Hans must answer for tomorrow. An untouch'd Bible grac'd her toilet;
In bed then view this happy pair; No fear that thumb of her's should spoil it.
And think how Hymen triumph'd there. In short, the trade was still the same:
Hans fast asleep as soon as laid; The dame went out: the colonel came.
The duty of the night unpaid : What's to be done ? poor Carvel cry’d:
The waking dame, with thoughts opprest, Another battery must be try'd:
That made her hate both him and rest : What if to spells I had recourse?
By such a husband, such a wife! 'Tis but to hinder something worse.
'Twas Acme's and Septimius' life: The end must justify the means;
The lady sigh’d: the lover snor'd: He only sins who ill intends :
The punctual devil kept his word: Since therefore 'tis to combat evil;
Appear'd to honest Hans again ; 'Tis lawful to employ the devil.
But not at all by madam seen : Forthwith the devil did appear
And giving him a magic ring, (For name him and he's always near):
Fit for the finger of a king; Not in the shape in which he plies
Dear Hans, said he, this jewel take, At miss's elbow when she lies;
And wear it long for Satan's sake: Or stands before the nursery doors,
'Twill do your business to a hair : To take the naughty boy that roars:
For, long as you this ring shall wear, But, without saucer-eye or claw,
As sure as I look over Lincoln, Like a grave barrister at law.
That ne'er shall happen which you think on. Hans Carvel, lay aside your grief,
Hans took the ring with joy extreme