"I've heard them praise his arched nose,
And praise his auburn air,
That spreading o'er his forehead grows,
To make his face more fair.
"I've heard them praise his stature high,
And praise his manly sense;
I've heard them praise !—and sure, thought I
'Tis Love gives eloquence.
"His very dress has merit too,
Where taste with art agrees:
For though it is not always new,
It never fails to please:—
"Blest,' will they say, 'thrice blest the fair
For whom his heart shall burn :*
Who shall a mutual ardour share,
And all his love return.
"On her the Graces sure have smiled
With most propitious eye.'
Thus the whole sex with passion wild
For the same object sigh."
But while the crafty maid arranged
His charms in fairest light,
Full oft the lady's colour changed
With raptures exquisite.
Convinced his grace was not ideal,
Which all her sex could fire,
For women know that beauty real,
When all who see, admire.
EPISTLE XII. THE ENRAPTURED LOVER.
EUHEMERUS TO LEUCIPPUS.
HITHER, ye travellers, who've known
The beauties of the Eastern zone,
Or those who sparkle in the West:
Blest, &c.] Ergo mecastor, pulcher est, inquit mihi,
Et liberalis. Vide cæsaries quam decet:
Ne illæ sunt fortunatæ quæ cum illo, &c.
+ Epistle XII.] A lover here summons all the judges of beauty to decide in favour of his mistress. The libertine digression with which it concludes must be morally interpreted, as meant to show into what extravagance a man may be led by an attachment whose foundation is in vice.
Hither-oh tell, and truly tell,
That few can equal, none excel,
The fair who captivates my breast.
Survey her in whatever light-
New beauties still engage your sight:
Nor does a single fault appear.
Momus might search, and search again,
But all his searches would be vain,
To find occasion for a sneer.
Her height, her shape-'tis all complete;
And e'en remarkable her feet
For taper size, genteelly slim.-
And little feet, each lover knows,
Impart a striking charm to those
Who boast no other graceful limb.
But not her beauties only strike-
Her pleasing manners too I like:
From these new strength my passion gains.
For though her chastity be gone,
She deals deceitfully by none;
And still some modesty remains.
And still may Pythias make pretence
To something much like innocence,
Which forges all my chains to last:
Whate'er you give, she turns to praise ;
Unlike the harlot's odious ways,
Who sneers at presents e'er so vast.
We, like two thrushes on a spray,
Together sit, together play ;
But telling would our pleasures wrong.
Suffice it, Pythias will oppose
My wanton passion, till it grows
By opposition doubly strong.*
Her neck ambrosial sweets exhales;
Her kisses, like Arabian gales,
The scent of musky flowers impart.
And I, reclining on her breast,
In slumbers, happy slumbers, rest,
Rock'd by the beating of her heart!
Quæ cum ita pugnaret tanquam quæ vincere nollet,
Victa est non ægre proditione suâ.
Oft have I heard the vulgar say,
That absence makes our love decay,
And friends are friends but while in view: But absence kindles my desire;
It adds fresh fuel to the fire
Which keeps my heart for ever true.
And oh may faith my thanks receive,
In that it forced me not to leave
The fair in whom my soul is placed.
With truth my case did Homer write ;*
For every time with new delight
My oft-repeated joys I taste.
Sure this is joy-true native joy
Which malice never can destroy,
Nor holy shackled fools receive.
Free joys! which from ourselves must flow,
Such as free souls alone can know,
And unchain'd Love alone can give.
But say, ye prudes! ye worthless tribe!
Who swear no gifts could ever bribe
Your hearts sweet virtue to forsake-
What is this treasure which ye boast?
Ye vaunt because you have not lost
-What none had charity to take.
Myrina carries on her back
An antidote to Love's attack;"
Yet still at Pythias will she sneer.
And as my love is passing by,
Chrysis distorts her single eye,
With looks of scorn and virtuous fear.
Philinna scoffs at Pythias too,
-Yet she is handsome, it is true;
But then her heart's a heart of steel:
Incapable of all desire,
She ridicules Love's sacred fire,
And mocks the joys she cannot feel.
Yet this is virtue! woman's pride!
From which if once she step aside,
Her peace, her fame's for ever gone!
Ασπάσιον λέκτροιο παλαιου θεσμὸν ἵκοντο. HOM. IL
-Away; 'tis impious satire says,
That woman's good, and woman's praise,
Consist in chastity alone.
Can one short hour of native joy
Nature's inherent good destroy?
And pluck all feeling from within ?
Shall shame ne'er strike the base deceiver,
But follow still the poor believer,
And make all confidence a sin?
Did gentle Pity never move
The heart once led astray by Love?
Was Poverty ne'er made its care?
Did Gratitude ne'er warm the breast
Where guilty joy was held a guest?
Was Charity ne'er harbour'd there?
Does coy Sincerity disclaim.
The neighb'rhood of a lawless flame?
Does Truth with fame and fortune fall
Does every tim'rous virtue fly
With that cold thing, call'd Chastity?
-And has my Pythias lost them all?
No! no!-In thee, my life, my soul,
I swear I can comprise the whole
Of all that's good as well as fair:
And though thou'st lost what fools call fame,
Though branded with a harlot's name,
To me thou shalt be double dear.
Then whence these fetters for desire?
Who made these laws for Cupid's fire?
Why is their rigour so uncommon?
Why is this honour-giving plan
So much extoll'd by tyrant man,
Yet binding only to poor woman?
Search not in Nature for the cause;
Nature disclaims such partial laws;
'Tis all a creature of th' imagination:
By frozen prudes invented first,
Or hags with ugliness accurst—
A phantom of our own creation!
Two classes thus, my Pythias, show
Their insolence to scoff at you:
First, they who've passions given by Nature,
But as the task of fame is hard,
They've blest Deformity to guard
Grim virtue in each rugged feature.
And second, they who neither know
What passion means, nor love can do:
Yet still for abstinence they preach;
Whilst Envy, rankling in the breast,
Inflames them, seeing others blest,
To curse the joys they cannot reach.
Not but there are-though but a few!
With charms, with love-and virtue too:
But malice never comes from them!
With charity they judge of all,
They weep to see a woman fall,
And pity where they most condemn.
If, Pythias, then, thou'st done amiss,
This is thy crime, and only this:
That Nature gave thee charms to move,
Gave thee a heart to joy inclined,
Gave thee a sympathetic mind,
And gave a soul attuned to love.
When Malice scoffs, then, Pythias, why
Glistens abash'd thy tearful eye?
Why glows thy cheek that should be gay?
For though from shame hy sorrows gush,
Though conscious guilt imprints the blush,
By heavens, thou'rt modester than they.
But let them scoff, and let them sneer-
I heed them not, my love, I swear :
Nor shall they triumph in thy fall.
I'll kiss away each tear of woe,
Hid by my breast thy cheek shall glow,
And Love shall make amends for all.
EPISTLE XIII.* THE SAGACIOUS DOCTOR.
EUTYCHOBULUS TO ACESTODORUS.
FORTUNE, my friend, I've often thought,
Is weak, if Art assist her not :
* Epistle XIII.] This is the story of Antiochus and Seleucus; but related in Aristænetus under different names. Seleucus was one of Alexander's successors in Asia, having Syria for his kingdom: he married Stratonice, daughter to Demetrius, having had, by a former marriage, a son named Antiochus. Stratonice was the most beautiful and accomplished
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