So equally all Arts are vain,
If Fortune help them not again:
They've little lustre of their own,
If separate, and view'd alone;
But when together they unite,
They lend each other mutual light.-
But since all symphony seems long
To those impatient for the song,
And lest my apophthegms should fail,
I'll haste to enter on my tale.
Once on a time, (for time has been,
When men thought neither shame nor sin,
To keep, beside their lawful spouses,
A buxom filly in their houses,)
Once on a time then, as I said,
A hopeful youth, well-born, well-bred,
Seized by a flame he could not hinder,
Was scorch'd and roasted to a cinder.
For why the cause of all his pain
Was that he fear'd all hope was vain :
-In short, the youth must needs adore
The nymph his father loved before.
"His father's mistress ?"-even so,
And sure 'twas cause enough for woe.
In mere despair he kept his bed,
But feign'd some illness in its stead.
His father, grieved at his condition,
Sends post for an expert physician.
The doctor comes-consults his pulse-
No feverish quickness-no convulse;
Observes his looks, his skin, his eye—
No symptoms there of malady;
At least of none within the knowledge
Of all the pharmaceutic college.
Long did our Galen wond'ring stand,
Reflecting on the case in hand.-
Thus as he paused, came by the fair,
The cause of all his patient's care.—
princess of her time; and unhappily inspired her son-in-law with the most ardent passion. He fell sick, and Seleucus was in the greatest despair, when Erasistratus, one of his physicians, discovered the cause of the prince's malady, and, by his address, prevailed on the king to save his son's life, by resigning to him his wife, though he passionately loved her.
Then his pulse beat quick and high;
Glow'd his cheek, and roll'd his eye.
Alike his face and arm confest
The conflict lab'ring in his breast.
Thus chance reveal'd the hidden smart,
That baffled all the search of art.
Still paused the doctor to proclaim
The luckily-discover'd flame:
But made a second inquisition,
To satisfy his new suspicion.
From all the chambers, every woman,
Wives, maids, and widows, did he summon;
And one by one he had them led
In order by the patient's bed.
He the meanwhile stood watchful nigh,
And felt his pulse, and mark'd his eye;
(For by the pulse physicians find
The hidden motions of the mind ;)
While other girls walk'd by attractive,
The lover's art'ry lay inactive;
But when his charmer pass'd along,
His pulse beat doubly quick and strong.
Now all the malady appear'd;
Now all the doctor's doubts were clear'd;
Who feign'd occasion to depart,
To mix his drugs, consult his art :
He bid the father hope the best,
The lover set his heart at rest,
Then took his fee and went away,
But promised to return next day.
Day came-the family environ
With anxious eagerness our Chiron.
But he repulsed them rough, and cried,
"Ne'er can my remedy be tried."
The father humbly question'd, why
They might not use the remedy?
Th' enraged physican nought would say,
But earnest seem'd to haste away.
Th' afflicted sire more humble yet is,
Doubles his offers, prayers, entreaties-
While he, as if at last compell'd
To speak what better were withheld,
In anger cried, "Your son must perish-
My wife alone his life can cherish—
On her th' adult'rer dotes-and I
My rival's hated sight would fly."
The sire was now alike distrest,
To save his boy, or hurt his guest :
Long struggled he 'twixt love and shame;
At last parental love o'ercame.
And now he begs without remorse
His friend to grant this last resource;
Entreats him o'er and o'er t' apply
This hard, but only remedy.
"What, prostitute my wife!" exclaims
The doctor, "pimp for lawless flames?"—
Yet still the father teased and prest ;-
"Oh grant a doting sire's request !
The necessary cure permit,
And make my happiness complete."
Thus did the doctor's art and care
The anxious parent's heart prepare:
And found him trying long and often
The term adultery to soften.
-He own'd, "that custom, sure enough,
Had made it sound a little rough:
But then," said he, we ought to trace
The source and causes of the case.
All prejudice let's lay aside,
And taking Nature for our guide,
We'll try with candour to examine
On what pretence this fashion came in.”
Then much he talk'd of man's first state,
(A copious subject for debate!)
Of choice and instinct then disputes,
With many parallels to brutes;
All tending notably to prove
That instinct was the law of Love ;-
In short, that Nature gave us woman,
Like earth and air, to hold in common.
Then learned authors would he quote,
Philosophers of special note,
Who only thought their dames worth feeding,
As long as they held out for breeding,
And when employ'd in studious courses,
Would let them out, as we do horses.
Last follow'd a facetious query,
To rank the sex naturæ feræ.
The doctor, when the speech was closed,
Confess'd he was a little posed.
Then looking impudently grave,
"And how would you," said he, “behave?
Would you part freely with your wife,
To save a friend's expiring life ?”-
"By Jove, I'd act as I advise,"
The father eagerly replies.
"Then," cries the doctor, "I have done
Entreat yourself to save your son.
He loves your girl-can you endure
To work the necessary cure?
If it were just that I should give
My wife to cause a friend to live,
You surely may bestow with joy
Your mistress, to preserve your boy."
He spoke with sense, he spoke with art:
Conviction touch'd the father's heart :-
"Tis hard," he cried, "'tis passing hard,
To lose what I so much regard!
But when two dread misfortunes press,
'Tis wisdom sure to choose the less."
EPISTLE XIV.* THE PROVIDENT SHEPHERDESS.
PHILEMATIUM TO EUMUSUS.
HENCE! hence! ye songsters; hence! ye idle train!
Vain is the song, the pipe's soft warbling vain ;
In me nor joy thy strains inspire,
Nor passion can thy numbers move;
The thrills of the resounding lyre
To me are not the thrills of Love.
For I know well to value gold aright;
I scorn a passion-while its gifts are light.
Puff not your cheeks, fond youths! dismiss the flute;
Hush'd be the harp, the soft guitar be mute :
Or hie where pensive Echo sits
Moping the lonely rocks among;
She'll listen to your chanting fits,
Applaud, and pay you song for song.
Epistle XIV] This letter is from a girl to her lovers, who courted
her with music instead of money.
But I know well to value gold aright,
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light.
Do, good Charmides, stop thy tuneful tongue;
And friendly Lycias trust not to thy song.
There is a sound-and well you know
That sound I never heard from thee-
The smallest clink of which, I vow,
Is sweetest harmony to me.
For I've been taught to value gold aright,
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light.
Why do your vows in tuneful numbers flow?
Why urge the joys I do not wish to know?
Say, youth, can thy poetic fire
Make folly pleasant to the ear?
Can thy soft notes, and soothing lyre,
Make oaths, and lovers' oaths, sincere?
Go! go! I know to value gold aright,
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light.
Soft is thy note, my friend, I grant 'tis soft;
Sweet is thy lay-but I have heard it oft:
And will thy piping ne'er disgust,
When all the novelty is past?
Your stock will fail-you know it must;
And sweetest sounds will tire at last.
Then now's the time to value gold aright,
To scorn a passion while its gifts are light.
When the cold hand of age has damp'd thy fire,
Unstrung thy harp, and hush'd th' unheeded lyre;
Say, will thy tuneless, crazy voice
Keep chilling penury away?
Will mem'ry lead us to rejoice
Because, poor bard, thou once couldst play?
No! no! Then still I'll value gold aright,
And still the lover scorn whose gifts are light.
Then hence ye songsters; hence! ye idle train!
Vain is the song, the pipe's soft warbling vain:
No idle triflings captivate this breast ;-
Produce your money—I'll excuse the rest.
Puff not your cheeks, fond youths ! dismiss the flute, Hush'd be the harp, the soft guitar be mute;
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