Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

Romulus bade his varlets go Invite the Sabines to his show.

Unto this opera no rate is :

They all were free to come in gratis:
And they, as girls will seldom miss
A merry meeting, came to this.
There was much wishing, sighing, thinking,
Not without whispering, and winking.
Their pipes had then no shaking touch:
Their song and dance were like the Dutch:
The whole performance was by men,
Because they had no eunuchs then.
But, whilst the music briskly play'd,
Romulus at his cue display'd

The sign for each man to his maid.
"Huzza!" they cry; then seize: some tremble
In real fact, though most dissemble.
Some are attempting an escape,
And others softly cry,

"A rape!"

Whilst some bawl out, "That they had rather Than twenty pound lose an old father." Some look extremely pale, and others red, Some wish they'd ne'er been born, or now were dead, And others fairly wish themselves a-bed.

Some rant, tear, run; whilst some sit still,
To show they're ravish'd much against their will.
Thus Ronie began; and now at last,
After so many ages past,

Their rapes and lewdness without shame;
Their vice and villany's the same.

Ill be their fate who would corrupt the stage,
And spoil the true corrector of the age!

PART III.

Now learn those arts which teach you to obtain Those beauties which you see divinely reign.

Though they by Nature are transcendent bright, And would be seen ev'n through the gloom of night; Yet they their greatest lustre still display, In the meridian pitch of calmest day. 'Tis then we purple view, and costly gem, And with more admiration gaze on them.

Faults seek the dark; they who by moon-light woo, May find their fair-one as inconstant too.

When Modesty supported is by Truth, There is a boldness that becomes your youth. In gentle sounds disclose a lover's care, 'Tis better than your sighing and despair. Birds may abhor their groves, the flocks the plain, The hare, grown bold, may face the dogs again, When Beauty don't in Virtue's arms rejoice, Since harmony in love is Nature's voice, But harden'd Impudence sometimes will try At things which Justice cannot but deny. Then, what that says is insolence and pride, Is Prudence, with firm Honour for its guide. The lady's counsels often are betray'd By trusting s crets to a servile maid, The whole intrigues of whose insidious brain Are base, and only terminate in gain. Let them take care of too diffusive mirth; Suspicions thence, and thence attempts, take Had lium been with gravity employ'd, By Sinon's craft it had not been destroy'd. A vulgar air, mean songs, and free discourse, With sly insinuations, may prove worse To tender females than the Trojan horse.

[birth.

Take care how you from virtue stray;
For scandal follows the same way,
And more than truth it will devise.
Old poets did delight in lies,
Which modern ones now call surprise.
Some say that Myrrha lov'd her father,
That Byblis lik'd her brother rather.
And in such tales old Greece did glory:
Amongst the which, pray take this story.

Crete was an isle, whose fruitful nations
Swarm'd with an hundred corporations,
And there upon Mount Ida stood
A venerable spacious wood,
Within whose centre was a grove
Immortaliz'd by birth of Jove:
In vales below a bull was fed,

Whom all the kine obey'd as head;
Betwixt his horns a tuft of black did grow,
But all the rest of him was driven snow.
(Our tale to truth does not confine us.)
At the same time one justice Minos,
That liv'd hard-by, was married lately;
And, that his bride might show more stately,
When through her pedigree he run,
Found she was daughter to the Sun.
Her name Pasiphae was hight,
And, as her father, she was bright.
This lady took up an odd fancy,

That with his bull she fain would dance ye.
She'd mow him grass, and cut down boughs,
On which his stateliness might browse.
Whilst thus she hedges breaks and climbs,
Sure Minos must have happy times!

She never car'd for going fine,
She'd rather trudge among the kine.
Then at her toilet she would say,

"Methinks I look bizarre to day.
Sure my glass lies, I'm not so fair:
Oh, were this face o'ergrown with hair!
I never was for top-knots born;
My favourites should each be horn.
But now I'm liker to a sow

Than, what I wish to be, a cow-
What would I give that I could lough!
My bull-y cares for none of those
That are afraid to spoil their clothes:
Did he but love me, he'd not fail
To take me with my draggle-tail."

Then tears would fall, and then she'd

run,

As would the Devil upon Dun.
When she some handsome cow did spy,
She'd scan her form with jealous eye;
Say, "How she frisks it o'er the plain,
Runs on, and then turns back again!
She seems a bear resolv'd to prance,
Or a she-ass that tries to dance.
In vain she thinks hers If so fine:
She can't please bull-y, for he's mine.
But 'tis revenge alone assuages
My envy when the passion rages.
Here, rascal, quickly yoke that cow,
And see the shrivel'd carrion plough.
But second counsel's best: she dies:
I'll make immediate sacrifice,

And with the victim feast my eyes.
'Tis thus my rivals I'll remove
Who interpose 'twixt me and what I love.
Io in Egypt's worship'd now,

Since Jove transform'd her to a cow,

[blocks in formation]

LET youth avoid the noxious heat of wine:
Bacchus to Cupid bears an ill design.

The grape, when scattered on the wings of Love,
So clogs the down, the feathers cannot move.
The boy, who otherwise would fleeting stray,
Reels, tumbles, lies, and is enforc'd to stay.
Then courage rises, when the spirit's fir'd,
And rages to possess the thing desir'd:
Care vanishes through the exalted blood,
And sorrow passes in the purple flood;
Laughter proceeds; nor can he want a soul,
Whose thoughts in fancied heaps of plenty roll.
Uncommon freedom lets the lips impart
Plain simple truth from a dissembling heart.
Then to some wanton passion he must run,
Which his discreeter hours would gladly shun;
Where he the time in thoughtless ease may pass,
And write his billet-doux upon the glass;
Whilst sinking eyes with languishment profess
Follies his tongue refuses to confess.
Then his good-nature will take t'other sup,
If she'll first kiss, that he may kiss the cup.
Then something nice and costly he could eat,
Supposing still that she will carve the meat.
But, if a brother or a husband's by,

Whom the ill-natur'd world may call a spy,
He thinks it not below him to pretend
The open-heartedness of a true friend;
Gives him respect surpassing his degree:
The person that is meant by all is she.

'Tis thought the safest way to hide a passion,

And therefore call'd the friendship now in fashion.
By secret signs and enigmatic stealth,
She is the toast belongs to every health:
And all the lover's business is to keep

His thoughts from anger, and his eyes from sleep :
He'll laugh ye, dance ye, sing ye, vault, look gay,
And ruffle all the ladies in his play.
But still the gentleman's extremely fine;
There's nothing apish in him but the wine.

Many a mortal has been bit
By marrying in the drunken fit.
To lay the matter plain before ye,
Pray hearken whilst I tell my story.
It happen'd about break of day
Gnossis a girl, had lost her way,
And wander'd up and down the Strand,
Whereabouts now York Buildings stand:
And half-awak'd she roar'd as bad
As if she really had been mad;
Unlac'd her boddice, and her gown
And petticoats hung dangling down :
Her shoes were slipt, her ancles bare,
And all around her flew her yellow hair.
"Oh, cruel Theseus! can you go,
And leave your little Gnossis so?

You in your scull' did promise carriage,
And gave me proofs of future marriage;
But then last night away did creep,
And basely left me fast asleep."
Then she is falling in a fit:
But don't grow uglier one bit.
The flood of tears rather supplies
The native rheum about her eyes.
The bubbies then are beat again:
Women in passion feel no pain.
"What will become of me? oh, what
Will come of me? oh, tell me that!"
Bacco was drawer at the Sun,
And had his belly like his tun:
For blubber-lips and checks all bloated,
And frizzied pate, the youth was note.
He, as his custom was, got drunk,
And then went strolling for a punk.
Six links and lanterns, 'cause 'twas dark yet,
He press'd from Covent-Garden market:
Then his next captives were the waits,
Who play'd lest he should break their pates.
But, as along in state he passes,
He met a fellow driving asses:
For there are several folks, whose trade is
To milk them for consumptive ladies.
Nothing would serve but get astride,
And the old bell-man too must ride.
What with their hooting shouting yell,
The scene had something in't of Hell.
And who should all this rabble meet,
But Gnossy, drabbling in the street?
The fright destroy'd her speech and colour,
And all remembrance of her sculler.
Her conduct thrice bade her be flying:
Her fears thrice hinder'd her from trying.
Like bullrushes on side of brook,
Or aspin leaves, her joints all shook.
Bacco cry'd out, "I'm come, my dear;
I'll soon disperse all thoughts of fear:
Nothing but joys shall revel here."
Then, hugging her in brawny arm,
Protested, "She should have no harm:
But rather would assure her, he
Rejoic'd in opportunity

Of meeting such a one as she:
And that, encircled all around
With glass and candies many a pound,
She should with bells command the bar,
And call her rooms Sun, Moon, and Star:
That the good company were met,
And should not want a wedding-treat."
In short, they married, and both made ye,
He a free landlord, she a kind landlady.
The Spartan lords their villains would invite
To an excess of drink in children's sight:
The parent thus their innocence would save,
And to the load of wine condemn the slave.

PART V.

THE season must be mark'd for nice address: A grant ill-tim'd will make the favour less. Not the wise gardener more discretion needs To manage tender plants and hopeful seeds, To know when rain, when warmth, must guard his flowers, [hours

Than lovers do to watch their most auspicious

As the judicious pilot views from far
The influences of each rising star,
Where signs of future calms or storms appear,
When fitting to be bold, and when to fear;
So Love's attendant by long art descries
The rise of growing passion from the eyes.
Love has its festival as well as last,
Nor does its carnival for ever last.
What was a visit, now is to intrude;
What's civil now, to-morrow will be rude.
Small signs denote great things: the happy man
That can retrieve a glove, or falling fan,
With grateful joy the benefit receives,
Whilst with desponding care his rival grieves.

Whene'er it may seem proper you should write, Let Ovid the prevailing words indite :

By Scrope, by Duke, by Mulgrave, then be taught,
And Dryden's equal numbers tune your thought.
Submissive voice and words do best agree

To their hard fortune, who must suppliants be.
It was by speech like this great Priam won
Achilles' soul, and so obtain'd his son.

Hope is an useful goddess in your case,
And will increase your speed in Cupid's race.
Though in its promises it fail som times,
Yet with fresh resolution still it climbs.
Though much is lost at play; yet Hope at last
Drives on, and meets with some successful cast.
Why then make haste; on paper ting'd with gold,
By quill of dove, thy love-sick tale unfold.
Move sprightly, knowing 'tis for life you push :
Your letter will not, though yourself might blush.
'Tis no ignoble maxim 1 would teach
The British youth-to study rules of speech:
That governs cities, that enacts our laws,
Gives secret strength to justice in a cause.
To that the crowd, the judge, the senate, yield:
'Gainst that ev'n Beauty can't maintain the field.
Conceal your art, and let your words appear
Common, not vulgar; not too plain, though clear.
Show not your eloquence at the first sight;
But from your shade rise by degrees of light.
Dress thoughts as if Love's silence first were
broke,

And wounded heart with trembling passion spoke.
Suppose that your first letter is sent back;
Yet she may yield upon the next attack.
If not; by art a diamond rough in hue
Shall brighten up all-glorious to the view.
Soft water-drops the marble will destroy,
And ten years' siege prove conqueror of Troy.
Suppose sh' has read, but then no answer gave:
It is sufficient she admits her slave.
Write on; for Time the freedom may obtain
Of having mutual love sent back again.

Perhaps she writes, but 'tis to bid you cease,
And that your lines but discompose her peace.

7 Sir Car Scrope, one of those writers in the reign of king Charles the second, that Mr. Pope calls

This is a stratagem of Cupid's war:
She'd, like a Parthian, wound you from afar,
And by this art your constancy would try:
She's nearest much when seeming thus to fly.
Pursue the fair disdain through every place
That with her presence she vouchsafes to grace.
If to the play she goes, be there, and see
How love rewarded makes the comedy.
Fly to the park, if thither she'd retire;
Perhaps some gentle breeze may fan the fire.
But if to court, then follow, where you'll find
Majestic Truth with sacred Hymen join'd.
It is in vain some study to profess
Their inclination by too nice a dress,
As not content with manly cleanliness.
Mein, shape, or manner, no addition needs:
There's something careless that ail art exceeds.
Adonis from his lonely solitude s,

Rough Theseus landing from the briny floods,
Hippolitus fresh hunting from the woods,
O'er heroines of race divine prevail'd, [fail'd.
Where powder'd wig and snuff-box might have
No youth that's wise will to his figure trust,
As if so fine to be accosted first.

Distress must ask, and gratefully receive:
'Tis Heaven and Beauty's honour they can give.
There's some have thought that looking pale and

wan,

With a submission that is less than man,
Might gain their end; but sunk in the attempt,
And found, that which they merited, contempt.

Gain but admittance, half your story's told:
There's nothing then remains but to be bold.
Venus and Fortune will assist your claim;
And Cupid dart the breast at which you aim.
No need of studied speech, or skilful rules:
Love has an eloquence beyond the schools;
Where softest words and accents will be found
All flowing in, to form the charming sound.
Of her you love bright images you'll raise:
When just, they are not flattery, but praise.
What can be said too much of what is good,
Since an immortal fame is Virtue's food?

For nine years' space Egypt had fruitless stood,
Without the aid of Nile's prolific flood;
When Thrasius said, "That blessing to regain,
The gods require a stranger should be slain."
"Be thou the man," (the fierce Busiris cries:)
"I'll make th' adviser his own sacrifice;
Nor can he blame the voice by which he dies."
Perillus, first and last of's trade,

For Phalaris a bull had made:
With fire beneath, and water hot,
He put the brasier in the pot,

And gave him, like an honest fellow,
Precedence in his bull to bellow.

The tyrants both did right: no law more just
Than," He that thinks of ill, should feel it first."
Curst be their arts, unstudied be their trade,
Who female truth by falsehood would invade:
That can betray a friend or kinsman's names,
And by that covert hide unlawful flames:
Whose eager passion finds its sure relief,
When terminating in another's grief!
Careless hereafter what they promise now,
To the Eolian winds commit their vow;
Then cite th' example of the faithless Jove,

The mob of gentlemen who write with ease. He was created a baronet, January 16, 1666. The greater part of his writings consist of translations from Ovid, Virgil, and Horace, with some love songs and lampoons. Some specimens of them are to be found in the Select Collection of Miscel-Who laughs, they say, at perjury in love. lany Poems, 1780. He died some time in the year They think they have a thousand ways to please, 1680. N. Ten thousand more to rob the mind of ease,

For, as the Earth in various birth abounds,
Their humour dances in fantastic rounds;
Like Proteus, can be lion, river, bear,

A tree, or any thing that's fram'd of air.
Thus they lay snares, thus they set off their bait
With all the fine allurements of deceit.

But they, who through this course of mischief

run,

Will find that fraud is various, virtue one.

Achilles, a gigantic boy,

Was wanted at the siege of Troy:
His country's danger did require him,
And all the generals did desire him:

For Discord, you must know, had thrown
An apple where 'twas two to one;
But, if a stir was made about it,
Two of the three must go without it:
And so it was; for Paris gave it
To Venus, who resolv'd to have it.
(The story here would be too long:
But you may find it in the song.)
Venus, although not over-virtuous,
Yet still designing to be courteous,
Resolved to procure the varlet
A flaming and triumphant harlot;
First stol'n by one she would not stay with,
Then married to be run away with.
Her Paris carried to his mother;
And thence in Greece arose that pother,
Of which old Homer, Virgil, Dante,
And Chaucer, makes us such a cant.

It was a just and noble cause,
The breach of hospitable laws:
Though done to one, yet common grief
Made all unite to seck relief.

But, when they sought the country round,
There's no Achilles could be found.

His mother was afraid t' have lost him,
And therefore thus she did accost him:
"My pretty dear, let me persuade ye
This once for to become a lady.
This petticoat and mantua take,
And wear this nightrail for my sake.
I've made your knots all of the smallest,
Because you're something of the tallest.
I'd have you never go unlac'd,
For fear of spoiling of your waist.
Now languish ou me-scorn me now-
Smile-frown-run-laugh-l see 'twill do.
You'd perfect all you now begin,
Only for poking out your chin."

Him thus instructed soon she sends
To Lycomede, and there pretends
It was a daughter of a friend's,
Who, grown full large by country feeding,
Was sent to her, to mend her breeding,
Herself had now no child, nor no man
To trust but him, poor lonely woman!
That might reward him well hereafter,
If he would use her as his daughter.
In choice of names, as Iris, Chloe,
Psyche and Phillis, she took Zve.

Th' old man receiv'd her, and exprest
Much kindness for his topping guest:
Show'd her his girls; said, "Whilst she'd stay,
His Zoe should be us'd as they."

At first there much reserv'dness past:
But, when acquaintance grew at last,
They'd jest, and every one would show
Her works, which she could never do.

One said, her fingers were most fitting
For the most fiddling work of knitting.
Then one her wedding-bed would make,
And all must help her for love's sake.
Zoe, undrest in night-gown tawdry,
With clumsy fist must work embroidery;
Whilst others try her greasy clunches
With stoning currants in whole bunches.
But there was one, call'd Dedamy,
Mistrusted something by the by,
And, sighing, thus one night she said,

[ocr errors]

Why, Zoe may n't we go to bed?"
"Soon as you please, good mistress Ded."
The fleeting months soon roll about;
Time came when murder all must out.
Zoe, for fear of the old man,
Into the army quickly ran;
And sav'd the slitting of his nose,
By timely changing of her clothes.

Thus, whilst we Glory's dictates shun,
Into the snares of Vice we run;
And he that should his country serve,
And beauty by his worth deserve,
In female softness wanton stays,
And what he should adore betrays.

PART VI.

BUT now, O happy youth, thy prize is found,
And all thy wishes with success are crown'd,
Not Io Pæans, when Apollo's prais'd;
Not trophies to victorious Grecians rais'd;
Not acclamations of exalted Rome,

To welcome peace with her Augustus home;
Can more delight a brave and generous mind,
Than it must you to see a beauty kind:
The bays to me with gratitude you'll give,
Like Hesiod and like Homer make me live.
Thus Pelops on triumphant chariot brought
Hippodamy, with his life's danger bought.
Thus prosperous Jason, rich with golden fleece,
On Argo's vocal timber sail'd to Greece.

But stay, fond youth; the danger is not past:
You're not arriv'd in port, nor anchor cast.
From you my heart may still more bays deserve,
If what by me you gain'd, by me you shall pre-
Nor than the conquest is the glory less, [serve,
To fix the throne on that which you possess.
Now, Erato, divinest, softest Muse,
Whose name and office both do love infuse,
Assist my great design: if Venus' son,
That vagabond, would from his mother run,
And then, with soaring wings and body light,
Through the vast world's extent would take his

[blocks in formation]

Like to the house where we act plays,
He made a turning winding maze,
Fitting to harbour acts of sin,
And put a whore and bastard in.

"I've done your work; and now my
trust is,

Good sir, that you will do me justice.
'Tis true I hither fled for murther;
Let my misfortunes go no further;
Some end all punishments should have,
Birth to the wretch my country gave:
Let it afford me now a grave.
Dismiss my son; at least, if rather
You'd keep the boy, dismiss his father.'
This he might say, and more, or so;
But Minos would not let him go.
At this he was enrag'd, and cried,
"It is in danger wit is tried:
Minos possesses earth and sea;
The sky and fire are left for me.
Pardon my fond attempt, great Jove,
If I approach your seats above.

It is necessity that draws

A new-invented rule for Nature's laws.'
"Thus he began: Full many a feather
With twine of thread he stitch'd together:
(Abundance more than are enough
To make your wife and mine a muff.)
Thus he frames wings, and nothing lacks
To fix the whole, but melted wax:
That was the work of the young boy,
Pleas'd at the fancy of the toy;
Not guessing, ere he was much older,
He should have one upon each shoulder.
To whom his father: Here's the ship
By which we must from Minos slip.
Child, follow me, just as I fly on,
And keep your eye fix'd on Orion :
I'll be your guide; and never fear,
Conducted by a father's care.
The Virgin and Bootes shun:
Take heed lest you approach the Sun;
His faming influence will be felt,

And the diffusive wax will melt.
The sea by rising fogs discover;
O'er that, be sure, you never hover:
It would be difficult to drag
Your wetted pinions, should they flag.
Between them both the sky is fair,
No winds or hurricanes are there,
But you may fan the fleeting air.

"Thus speaking, he with whipcord-strings
Fastens, and then extends, the wings:
And, when the youth's completely drest,
Just as the eagle from her nest
By gentle flights her eaglet tries

To dare the Sun, and mount the skies;
The father so his boy prepares,
Not without kiss and falling tears.
In a large plain, a rising height
Gives some assistance to their flight.
With a quick spring and fluttering noise,
They in the sky their bodies poise.
Back on his son the father looks,
Praising his swift and even strokes.
Now dreadless, with bold art supplied,
He does on airy billows ride,
And soar with an ambitious pride.
Mortals, who by the limpid flood
With patieat angle long have stood,

On the smooth water's shining face
See the amazing creatures pass,
Look up astonish'd, whilst the reed
Drops from the hand whose sense is dead.
Roll'd by the wind's impetuous haste
They Samos now and Naxos past,
Paros, and Delos, blest abode
And parent of the Clarian god:
Lebinthus on their right hand lies,
And sweet Calydne's groves arise,
And fam'd Astypalea's fens

Breed shoals of fish in oozy dens:
When the unwary boy, whose growing years
Ne'er knew the worth of cautious fears,
Mounts an ethereal hill, whence he might spy
The lofty regions of a brighter sky;

Far from his father's call and aid
His wings in glittering fire display'd,
Whose ambient heat their plume involves,
And all their liquid bands dissolves.
He sees his loosen'd pinions drop;
On naked arms lies all his hope.
From the vast concave precipice he finds
A swift destruction, sinking with the winds.
Beneath him lies a gaping deep,

Whose womb is equally as steep.

[ocr errors]

Then, father! father!' he'd have cried:
Tempests the trembling sounds divide,
Whilst dismal fear contracts his breath,
And the rough wave completes his death.
My son! my son!' long might the father

cry:

There is no track to seek him in the sky.

By floating wings his body found

Is cover'd with the neighbouring ground.
His art, though not successful, has its fame,
And the Icarian seas preserve his name."
If men from Minos could escape,
And into birds transform their shape,
And there was nothing that could hold them,
Provided feathers might be sold them;
The thought from madness surely springs
To fix a god that's born with wings.

Quoth t'other man, "Sir, if you'll tarry,
I'll tell you a tale of my boy Harry,
Would make a man afraid to marry.
This boy does oft' from paper white
In miniature produce a kite.
With tender hands the wood he bends,
On which the body he extends:
Paste made of flour with water mix'd
Is the cement by which 'tis fix'd:
Then scissors from the maid he'll borrow,
With promise of return to-morrow.
With those he paper nicely cuts,
Which on the sides for wings he puts.
The tail, that's an essential part,
He manages with equal art;
With paper shreds at distance tied,
As not too near, nor yet too wide,
Which he to fitting length extends,
Till with a tuft the fabric ends.
Next packthread of the evenest twine,
Or sometimes silk, he'll to it join,
Which, by the guidance of his hand,
Its rise or downfall may command;
Or carry messengers to see

If all above in order be.

Then wanton zephyrs fan it till it rise, [skies.
And through ethereal rills plough up the azure

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »