Here the lewd punk, with crowns and sceptres
Teaches her eyes a more majestic cast; [grac'd,
And hungry monarchs, with a numerous train
Of suppliant slaves, like Sancho, starve and reign.
But enter in, my Muse; the stage survey,
And all its pomp and pageantry display;
Trap-doors and pit-falls, from the' unfaithful
And magic walls encompass it around: [ground,
On either side maim'd temples fill our eyes,
And, intermix'd with brothel-houses, rise;
Disjointed palaces in order stand,
And groves, obedient to the mover's hand,
O'ershade the stage, and flourish at command.
A stamp makes broken towns and trees entire
So when Amphion struck the vocal lyre,
He saw the spacious circuit all around
With crowding woods and rising cities crown'd,
But next the tiring-room survey, and see
False titles, and promiscuous quality,
Confus'dly swarm, from heroes and from queens,
To those that swing in clouds and fill machines.
Their various characters they choose with art,
The frowning bully fits the tyrant's part:
Swoln cheeks and swaggering belly make an host;
Pale meagre looks and hollow-voice, a ghost!
From careful brows and heavy downcast eyes,
Dull cits and thick-skull'd aldermen arise;
The comic tone, inspired by Congreve, draws
At every word, loud laughter and applause:
The whining dame continues as before,
Her character unchanged, and acts a whore.
Above the rest, the prince with haughty stalks
Magnificent in purple buskins walks:
The royal robes his awful shoulders grace;
Profuse of spangles and of copper-lace:
Officious rascals to his mighty thigh,
Guiltless of blood, the' unpointed weapon tie:
Then the gay glittering diadem put on,
Ponderous with brass, and starr'd with Bristol
His royal consort next consults her glass, [stone.
And out of twenty boxes culls a face;
The whitening first her ghastly looks besmears,
All pale and wan the' unfinish'd form appears;
Till on her cheeks the blushing purple glows,
And a false virgin-modesty bestows.
Her ruddy lips the deep vermilion dyes;
Length to her brows the pencil's art supplies,
And with black bending arches shades her eyes.
Well pleased at length, the picture she beholds,
And spots it o'er with artificial molds;
Her countenance complete, the beaux she warms
With looks not hers; and, spite of nature, charms,
Thus artfully their persons they disguise,
Till the last flourish bids the curtain rise.
The prince then enters on the stage in state;
Behind, a guard of candle-snuffers wait:
There, swoln with empire, terrible and fierce,
He shakes the dome, and tears his lungs with verse:
His subjects tremble; the submissive pit,
Wrapp'd up in silence and attention, sit:
Till, freed at length, he lays aside the weight
Of public business and affairs of state;
Forgets his pomp, dead to ambition's fires,
And to some peaceful brandy-shop retires;
Where, in full gills, his anxious thoughts he drowns,
And quaffs away the care that waits on crowns.
The princess next her painted charms displays,
Where every look the pencil's art betrays;
The callow squire at distance feeds his eyes,
And silently, for paint and washes, dies.
But if the youth behind the scenes retreat,
He sees the blended colours melt with heat,
And all the trickling beauty run in sweat.
The borrow'd visage he admires no more,
And nauseates every charm he loved before:
So the famed spear, for double force renown'd,
Applied the remedy that gave the wound.
In tedious lists 'twere endless to engage, And draw at length the rabble of the stage Where one for twenty years has given alarms, And call'd contending monarchs to their arms; Another fills a more important post,
And rises, every other night, a ghost;
Through the cleft stage his mealy face he rears, Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears; Others, with swords and shields, the soldier's pride, More than a thousand times have changed their side, And in a thousand fatal battles died.
Thus several persons, several parts perform; Soft lovers whine, and blustering heroes storm: The stern exasperated tyrants rage,
Till the kind bowl of poison clears the stage.
Then honours vanish, and distinctions cease,
Then, with reluctance, haughty queens undress;
Heroes no more their fading laurels boast,
And mighty kings in private men are lost.
He, whom such titles swell'd, such power made
[bow'd,
To whom whole realms and vanquish'd nations
Throws off the gaudy plume, the purple train,
And in his own vile tatters stinks again.
WRITTEN ON THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE
KIT-KAT CLUB.
WHILE haughty Gallia's dames, that spread
O'er their pale cheeks an artful red,
Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
In native charms divinely fair;
Confusion in their looks they show'd;
And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd.
FROM PART OF THE XIXTH PSALM.
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled Heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes, to every land,
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And, nightly, to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball:
What though, no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found:
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."
WHEN all thy mercies, O my God!
My rising soul surveys;
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
O how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart!-
But thou canst read it there.
Thy Providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redress'd;
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries
Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd
To form themselves in prayer.
Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whence those comforts flow'd.
|