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POEMS AND PLAYS.

VOL. V.

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POEMS AND PLAYS, By WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

IN SIX VOLUMES.

VOL. V.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, IN THE STRAND. M.DCC.LXXXV.

THE TRIUMPHS OF TEMPER; A POEM. IN SIX CANTOS.

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O VOP CH' AVETE GL' INTELLETTI SANI
MIRATE LA DOTTRINA, CHE SI ASCONDE
SOTTO' IL VELAME DEGLI VERSI STRANT.
DANTE, Inferno, Canto 9.

PREFACE.

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IT ſeems to be a kind of duty incumbent on thoſe who devote themſelves to Poetry, to raiſe, if poſſible, the dignity of a declining Art, by making it as beneficial to Life and Manners as the limits of Compoſition, and the character of modern Times will allow: The ages, indeed, are paſt, in which the ſong of the Poet was idolized for its miraculous effects; yet a Poem, intended to promote the cultivation of good-humour, may ſtill perhaps be fortunate enough to prove of ſome little ſervice to ſociety in general; or, if this idea may be thought too chimerical and romantic by ſober Reaſon, it is at leaſt one of thoſe pleaſing and innocent deluſions, in which a poetical Enthuſiaſt may be ſafely indulged.

The following production owes its exiſtence to an incident in real life, very ſimilar to the principal action of [iv] the laſt Canto; but in forming the general plan of the work, it ſeemed to me abſolutely neceſſary to introduce both the agency and the abode of SPLEEN, notwithſtanding the difficulty and the hazard of attempting a ſubject ſo happily executed by the maſterly pencil of Pope. I conſidered his Cave of Spleen as a moſt exquiſite cabinet picture; and, to avoid the ſervility of imitation, I determined to ſketch the manſion of this gloomy Power on a much wider canvaſs: Happy, indeed, if the judgment of the Public may enable me to exclaim, with the honeſt vanity of the Painter, who compared his own works to the divine productions of Raphael, ‘"E ſon Pittore anch' Io!"’

The celebrated Aleſſandro Taſſoni, who is generally conſidered as the inventor of the modern Heroi-comic Poetry, was ſo proud of having extended the limits of his art by a new kind of compoſition, that he not only ſpoke of it with infinite exultation in one of his private letters, but even gave a MS. copy of his work to his native city of Modena, with an inſcription, in which he ſtiled it a new ſpecies of Poetry, invented by himſelf.

[v] A few partial friends have aſſerted, that the preſent performance has ſome degree of ſimilar merit; but as I apprehend all the novelty it poſſeſſes, may rather require an apology, than entitle its Author to challenge commendation, I ſhall explain how far the conduct of the Poem differs from the moſt approved models in this mode of writing, and ſlightly mention the poetical effects, which ſuch a variation appeared likely to produce.

It is well known, that the favourite Poems, which blend the ſerious and the comic, repreſent their principal characters in a ſatirical point of view: It was the intention of Taſſoni (though prudence made him attempt to conceal it) to ſatirize a particular Italian Nobleman, who happened to be the object of his reſentment. Boileau openly ridicules the French Eccleſiaſtics in his Lutrin; Garth, our Engliſh Phyſicians, in his Diſpenſary; and the Rape of the Lock itſelf, that moſt excellent and enchanting Poem, which I never contemplate but with new idolatry, is denominated the beſt Satire extant, by the learned Dr. Warton, in his very clegant and ingenious, but ſevere Eſſay on Pope: A ſentence which ſeems to be confirmed by the Poet himſelf, in his letter to Mrs. Fermor, where he ſays, ‘"the character [vi] of Belinda, as it is now managed, reſembles you in nothing but in beauty."’ Though I think, that no compoſition can ſurpaſs, or perhaps ever equal this moſt happy effort of Genius, as a ſportive Satire, I imagined it might be poſſible to give a new Character to this mixed ſpecies of Poetry, and to render it by its Object, though not in its Execution, more noble than the moſt beautiful and refined Satire can be. We have ſeen it carried to inimitable perfection, in the moſt delicate raillery on Female Foibles:—It remained to be tried, if it might not alſo aſpire to delineate the more engaging features of Female Excellence. The idea appeared to me worth the experiment; for, if it ſucceeded, it ſeemed to promiſe a double advantage; firſt, it would give an air of novelty to the Poem; and, ſecondly, what I thought of much greater importance, it would render it more intereſting to the heart. On theſe principles, I have endeavoured to paint SERENA as a moſt lovely, engaging, and accompliſhed character; yet I hope the colouring is ſo faithfully copied from general Nature, that every man, who reads the Poem, may be happy enough to know many Fair ones, who reſemble my Heroine.

[vii] There is another point, in which I have alſo attempted to give this Poem an air of novelty: I mean, the manner of connecting the real and the viſionary ſcenes, which compoſe it; by ſhifting theſe in alternate Cantos, I hoped to make familiar Incident and allegorical Picture afford a ſtrong relief to each other, and keep the attention of the Reader alive, by an appearance particularly diverſified. I wiſhed, indeed (but I fear moſt ineffectually) for powers to unite ſome touches of the ſportive wildneſs of Arioſto, and the more ſerious ſublime painting of Dante, with ſome portion of the enchanting elegance, the refined imagination, and the moral graces of Pope; and to do this, if poſſible, without violating thoſe rules of propriety, which Mr. Cambridge has illuſtrated, by example as well as precept, in The Scribleriad, and in his ſenſible Preface to that elegant and learned Poem.

I have now very frankly informed my Reader of the extent, or rather of the extravagance of my deſire; for I will not give it the ſerious name of deſign: They, whom an enlightened taſte has rendered thoroughly ſenſible how very difficult it muſt be to accompliſh ſuch an idea, will not only be the firſt to diſcern, but the moſt [viii] ready to pardon thoſe errors, into which ſo hazardous an attempt may perhaps have betrayed me. I had thoughts of introducing this performance to the Public, by a Diſſertation of conſiderable length on this ſpecies of Poetry; but I forbear to indulge myſelf any farther in ſuch preliminary remarks, as the anxiety of authors is ſo apt to produce, from the reflection, that, however ingeniouſly written, they add little or nothing to the ſucceſs of a good Poem, and are utterly inſufficient to prevent that neglect, or oblivion, which is the inevitable fate of a bad one.

In diſmiſſing a work to my Fair Readers, which is intended principally for their peruſal, I ſhall only recommend it to their attention; and bid them farewell, in the words of the pleaſant and courteous Taſſoni—

"Vaglia il buon voler, s' altro non lice,
"E chi la leggera, viva felice!"

THE TRIUMPHS OF TEMPER.

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CANTO I.

THE Mind's ſoft Guardian, who, tho' yet unſung,
Inſpires with harmony the Female tongue,
And gives, improving every tender grace,
The ſmile of angels to a mortal face;
Her powers I ſing; and ſcenes of mental ſtrife,
Which form the maiden for th' accompliſh'd wife;
Where the ſweet victor ſees, with ſparkling eyes,
Love her reward, and Happineſs her prize.
[10] Daughters of Beauty, who the ſong inſpire,
To your enchanting notes attune my lyre!
And O! if haply your ſoft hearts may gain
Or uſe, or pleaſure from the motley ſtrain,
Tho' formal critics, with a ſurly frown,
Deny your artleſs Bard the laurel crown,
He ſtill ſhall triumph, if ye deign to ſpread
Your ſweeter myrtle round his honour'd head.
In your bright circle young SERENA grew;
A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;
For the fond Graces form'd her eaſy mien,
And Heaven's ſoft azure in her eye was ſeen.
She ſeem'd a roſe-bud, when it firſt receives
The genial ſun in its expanding leaves:
For now ſhe enter'd thoſe important years,
When the full boſom ſwells with hopes and fears;
When conſcious Nature prompts the ſecret ſigh,
And ſheds ſweet languor o'er the melting eye;
When nobler toys the female heart trepan,
And Dolls rejected, yield their place to Man.
Beneath a Father's care SERENA grew;
The good SIR GILBERT, to his country true,
[11] A faithful Whig, who, zealous for the ſtate,
In Freedom's ſervice led the loud debate;
Yet every day, by tranſmutation rare,
Turn'd to a Tory in his elbow-chair,
And made his daughter pay, howe'er abſurd,
Paſſive obedience to his ſovereign word.
In his domeſtic ſway he borrow'd aid
From prim PENELOPE, an ancient maid,
His upright Siſter, conſcious of her worth,
Who valued ſtill her beauty, and her birth;
Tho' from her birth no envied rank ſhe gain'd,
And of her beauty but the ghoſt remain'd;
A reſtleſs ghoſt! that with remembrance keen
Proclaim'd inceſſant what it once had been;
Delighted ſtill the ſteps of youth to haunt,
To watch the tender nymph, and warm gallant;
And, with an eye that petrified purſuit,
Hang like the dragon o'er th' Heſperian fruit.
Tho' ſtrictly guarded by this jealous power,
The mild SERENA no reſtraint could ſour:
Pure was her boſom, as the ſilver lake,
Ere riſing winds the ruffled water ſhake,
[12] When the bright pageants of the morning ſky,
Acroſs th' expanſive mirror lightly fly,
By vernal gales in quick ſucceſſion driven,
While the clear glaſs reflects the ſmile of heaven.
In gay content a ſportive life ſhe led,
The child of Modeſty, by Virtue bred:
Her light companions Innocence and Eaſe:
Her hope was Pleaſure, and her wiſh to pleaſe:
For this to Faſhion early rites ſhe paid:
For this to Venus ſecret vows ſhe made;
Nor held it ſin to caſt a private glance
O'er the dear pages of a new romance,
Eager in Fiction's touching ſcenes to find
A field, to exerciſe her youthful mind:
The touching ſcenes new energy impreſt
On all the virtues of her feeling breaſt.
Sweet Evelina's faſcinating power
Had firſt beguil'd of ſleep her midnight hour:
Poſſeſt by Sympathy's enchanting ſway,
She read, unconſcious of the dawning day.
The Modern Anecdote was next convey'd
Beneath her pillow by her faithful maid.
[13] The nymph, attentive as the brooding dove,
Pored o'er the tender ſcenes of Franzel's love:
The ſinking taper now grew weak and pale;
SERENA ſigh'd, and dropt th' unfiniſh'd tale;
But, as warm clouds in vernal aether roll,
The ſoft ideas floated in her ſoul:
Free from ambitious pride, and envious care,
To love, and to be lov'd, was all her prayer:
While theſe fond thoughts her gentle mind poſſeſs'd,
Soft ſlumber ſettled on her ſnowy breaſt.
Scarce had her radiant eyes began to cloſe,
When to her view a friendly viſion roſe:
A fairy Phantom ſtruck her mental ſight,
Light as the goſſamer, as aether bright;
Array'd like Pallas was the pigmy form,
When the ſage Goddeſs ſtills the martial ſtorm.
Her caſque was amber, richly grac'd above
With down, collected from the callow dove:
Her burniſh'd breaſt-plate, of a deeper dye,
Was once the armour of a golden fly:
A lynx's eye her little aegis ſhone,
By fairy ſpells converted into ſtone,
[14] And worn of old, as elfin poets ſing,
By Aegypt's lovely queen, a favourite ring:
Myſterious power was in the magic toy,
To turn the frowns of care to ſmiles of joy.
Her tiny lance, whoſe radiance ſtream'd afar,
Was one bright ſparkle from the bridal ſtar.
A filmy mantle round her figure play'd,
Fine as the texture, by Arachne laid
O'er ſome young plant, when glittering to the view
With many an orient pearl of morning dew.
The Phantom hover'd o'er the conſcious Fair
With ſuch a lively ſmile of tender care,
As on her elfin lord Titania caſt,
When firſt ſhe found his angry ſpell was paſt.
Round her rich locks SERENA chanc'd to tie
An ample ribband of caerulean dye:
High o'er her forehead roſe the graceful bow,
Whoſe arch commanded the ſweet ſcene below:
The hovering Spirit view'd the tempting ſpot,
And lightly perch'd on this unbending knot;
As the fair flutterer, of Pſyche's race,
Is ſeen to terminate her airy chace,
[15] When, pleas'd at length her quivering wings to cloſe,
Fondly ſhe ſettles on the fragrant roſe.
Now in ſoft notes, more muſically clear
Than ever Fairy breath'd in mortal ear,
Theſe words the viſionary voice convey'd
To the charm'd ſpirit of the ſleeping maid:
"Thou darling of my care, whoſe ripen'd worth
Shall ſpread my empire o'er the ſmiling earth;
Whom Nature bleſt, forbidding modiſh Art
To cramp thy ſpirit, or contract thy heart;
Screen'd from thy thought, nor in thy viſions felt,
Long on thy opening mind I've fondly dwelt;
In childhood's ſorrows brought thee quick relief,
And dry'd thy April ſhowers of infant grief;
Taught thee to laugh at the malicious boy,
Who broke thy playthings with a barbarous joy,
To bear what ills the little Female haunt,
The teſty Nurſe, the imperious Governante,
And that tyrannic peſt, the prying maiden Aunt.
Now ripening years a nobler ſcene ſupply;
For life now opens on thy ſparkling eye:
Thy riſing boſom ſwells with juſt deſire
Rapture to feel, and rapture to inſpire:
[16] Not the vain bliſs, the tranſitory joys,
That childiſh Woman feels, in radiant toys;
The coſtly Diamond, or the lighter Pearl,
The maſſive Nabob, or the tinſel Earl.
Thy heart demands, each meaner aim above,
Th' imperiſhable wealth of ſterling love;
Thy wiſh, to pleaſe by ev'ry ſofter grace
Of elegance and eaſe, of form and face!
By lively fancy and by ſenſe refin'd,
The ſtronger magic of the cultur'd mind!
Thy pure ambition, and thy virtuous plan,
To fix the variable heart of Man!
Short is the worſhip paid at Beauty's ſhrine;
But laſting Love and Happineſs are mine:
Mine, tho' the earth's miſtaken, blinded race
Deſpiſe my influence, and my name debaſe;
Nor breathe one vow to that aetherial friend,
On whom the colours of their life depend.
But to thy innocence I'll now diſplay
The myſtic marvels of my ſecret ſway;
And tell, in this thy fate-deciding hour,
My race, my name, my office, and my power.
[17]
Firſt, hear what wonders human forms contain!
And learn the texture of the Female brain!
By Nature's care in curious order ſpread,
This living net is fram'd of tender thread;
Fine, as thy hand, ſome favour'd youth to grace,
Knits with nice art to form the mimic lace.
Within the center of this fretted dome,
Her ſecret tower, her heaven-conſtructed home,
Soft Senſibility, ſweet Beauty's ſoul!
Keeps her coy ſtate, and animates the whole,
Inviſible as Harmony, who ſprings,
Wak'd by young Zephyr, from Aeolian ſtrings:
Her ſubtle power, more delicately fine,
Dwells in each thread, and lives in every line,
Whoſe quick vibrations, without end, impart
Pleaſure and pain to the reſponſive heart.
As Zephyr's breath the willing chord inſpires,
Whiſpering ſoft muſic to the trembling wires,
So with fond care I regulate, unſeen,
The ſofter movements of this nice machine;
TEMPER my earthly name, the nurſe of Love!
But call'd SOPHROSYNE in realms above!
[18] When lovely Woman, perfect at her birth,
Bleſt with her early charms the wond'ring earth,
Her ſoul, in ſweet ſimplicity array'd,
Nor ſhar'd my guidance, nor requir'd my aid.
Her tender frame, nor confident nor coy,
Had every fibre tun'd to gentle joy:
No vain caprices ſwell'd her pouting lip;
No gold produc'd a mercenary trip;
Soft innocence inſpir'd her willing kiſs,
Her love was nature, and her life was bliſs.
Guide of his reaſon, not his paſſion's prey,
She tamed the ſavage, Man, who bleſs'd her ſway.
No jarring wiſhes fill'd the world with woes,
But youth was ecſtacy, and age repoſe.
The Powers of Miſchief met, in dark Divan,
To blaſt theſe mighty joys of envied Man:
The Fiends, at their infernal Leader's call,
Fram'd their baſe wiles in Demogorgon's hall.
In the deep center of that dreadful dome,
An helliſh cauldron boil'd with fiery foam:
In this wide urn the circling ſpirits threw
Ingredients harſh, and hideous to the view;
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Page 22.

Stothard del. Sharp ſculpt.

London. Publiſhed Sept. 1st. 1788. by T. Cadell. Strand.

[19] While the terrific maſter of the ſpell
With adjurations ſhook the depths of hell,
And in dark words, unmeet for mortal ear,
Bade the dire offspring of his art appear.
Forth from the vaſe, with ſullen murmurs, broke
A towering maſs of peſtilential ſmoke:
Emerging from this fog of thickeſt night,
A Phantom ſwells, by ſlow degrees, to ſight;
But ere the view can ſeize the forming ſhape,
From the mock'd eye its lineaments eſcape:
It ſeem'd all paſſions melted into one,
Aſſum'd the face of all, and yet was none:
Hell ſtood aghaſt at its portentous mien,
And ſhuddering Demons call'd the ſpectre Spleen.
Hie thee to earth! its mighty maſter cried,
O'er the vex'd globe in heavy vapours ride!
Within its center fix thy ſhadowy throne!
With ſhades thy ſubjects, and that hell thy own!
Reign there unſeen! but let thy ſtrong controul
Be hourly felt in Woman's wayward ſoul!
With darkeſt poiſons from our deep abyſs,
Taint that pure fountain of terreſtrial bliſs!
[20] Th' enormous Phantom, at this potent ſound,
Roll'd forth obedient from the vaſt profound:
The quaking Fiends recover'd from their dread,
And Hell grew lighter, as the monſter fled.
But now round earth the gliding vapours run,
Blot the rich aether, and eclipſe the ſun;
All Nature ſickens; and her faireſt flower,
Enchanting Woman, feels the baneful power:
As in her ſoul the clouds of Spleen ariſe,
The ſprightly eſſence of her beauty flies:
In youth's gay prime, in hours with rapture warm,
Love looks aſtoniſh'd on her altering form:
To pleaſing frolics, and enchanting wiles,
Life-darting looks, and ſoul-ſubduing ſmiles,
Dark whims ſucceed: thick-coming fancies fret;
The ſullen paſſion, and the haſty pet;
The ſwelling lip, the tear-diſtended eye,
The peeviſh queſtion, the perverſe reply;
The moody humour, that, like rain and fire,
Blends cold diſguſt with unſubdu'd deſire,
Flies what it loves, and, petulantly coy,
Feigns proud abhorrence of the proffer'd joy:
[21] For Nature's artleſs aim, the wiſh to pleaſe
By genuine modeſty and ſimple eaſe,
Faſhion's pert tricks the crowded brain oppreſs
With all the poor parade of tawdry dreſs:
The ſickly boſom pants for noiſe and ſhew,
For every bauble, and for every beau;
The voice, that Health made harmony, diſowns
That native charm for Languor's mimic tones;
And feigns diſeaſe, till, feeling what it feigns,
Its fancied maladies are real pains.
Such, and a thouſand ſtill ſuperior woes,
From Spleen's new empire o'er the earth aroſe:
Each ſimple dictate of the ſoul forgot,
Then firſt was form'd the mercenary plot;
And-Beauty practis'd that pernicious art,
The art of angling for an old man's heart;
Tho' crawling to his bride with tottering knees,
His words were dotage, and his love diſeaſe.
From ſex to ſex this baſe contagion ran,
And Gold grew Beauty in the eyes of Man:
Courtſhip was traffic: and the married life
But one loud jangle of inceſſant ſtrife.
[22]
The gentle Sprite, who, on his radiant car,
Shines the mild regent of the evening-ſtar,
And joys from thence thoſe genial rays to ſhed,
That lead the bridegroom to the nuptial bed,
While earth's new ills his friendly ſoul abſorb,
From Cynthia call'd me to his kindred orb;
And, eager to redreſs the woes of Man,
The brilliant Son of Veſper thus began:
"Thou ſofteſt Being of the aetherial kind,
Be thy benignant cares no more confin'd
To ſmooth the ruffled plume of Zephyr's wing,
To guard from cruel froſt the infant ſpring,
To drive groſs atoms from the rays of noon,
Or chaſe the halo from the vapouriſh moon!
Thy friendly nature will not now deny
To quit for nobler toils thy native ſky;
Thou ſeeſt how Spleen's infernal vapours roll
Acroſs the ſweet ſerene of Woman's ſoul;
And earth, which darkens as her beauties fade,
Muſt grow a ſecond hell without thy aid:
Take then thy ſtation! fix thy nobler reign
O'er thoſe fine chords, that form the Female brain,
[23] That us'd, ere injur'd by the ruſt of Spleen,
To fill with harmony the human ſcene!
Go! leſt her touch their tender tones deſtroy,
Teach them to vibrate to thy notes of joy!
Go! and reſtore, by ſtilling mental ſtrife,
Health to faint Love, and happineſs to Life!"
So ſpake that friend of Man, who lights above
His heavenly lamp of Hymenaeal love:
In his juſt aim my kindred ſpirit join'd,
And flew obedient to the charge aſſign'd.
Hence, as the biaſs ſways the unconſcious bowl,
I long unſeen have ſway'd the careleſs ſoul;
Tho' oft I feel my power by Spleen ſubdu'd,
In the ſhrill Vixen, and the ſullen Prude,
In ſome fair forms my ſoft dominion grows,
Like fragance, riſing from the opening roſe:
Still I preſerve, in many a lovely face,
That gay good-humour, and that conſtant grace,
Which heavenly Powers united to infold
In perfect Woman's new-created mould;
When Nature, in her infant beauty bleſt,
The laſt and lovelieſt of her works careſt.
[24] But of thoſe Nymphs, who, delicately fair,
Draw their ſoft graces from my forming care,
My young SERENA ſhines her peers above,
Pride of my hopes, and darling of my love.
Hence I to thee ſuch myſteries unfold,
As Man's pedantic eye ſhall ne'er behold;
Whoſe narrow ſcience, tho' it proudly boaſt
To pierce the ſky, and count the ſtarry hoſt,
Sees not the lucid band of airy Powers,
Who flutter round him in his ſecret hours:
But if to me, thy guardian now diſplay'd,
Thy duteous oriſons are juſtly paid,
Thou to thoſe realms ſhalt paſs, with me thy guide,
Where Spleen's pale victims, after death, reſide;
Then to that orb, in viſion ſhalt thou riſe,
Unſeen by mortal aſtronomic eyes,
Where I—but firſt let me thy ſoul prepare
To meet our ſecret foe's inſidious ſnare!
'Tis my fond purpoſe in thy form to ſhew
The ſweeteſt model of my ſkill below:
A Youth I deſtine to thy dear embrace,
Crown'd with each mental charm, and manly grace,
[25] With whom thy innocence, ſecure from ſtrife,
Shall reap the beauteous joys of blameleſs life.
Pleas'd I obſerve thy little heart begin
To aſk, what charms the mighty prize may win:
But know, tho' Elegance herſelf be ſeen
To guide thy motion, and to form thy mien;
Tho' Beauty o'er thy filial cheek diffuſe
The ſoft enchantment of her roſeate hues,
Not from their favour ſhall this glory riſe!
TEMPER ſhall ſingly gain the ſplendid prize:
The ſudden conqueſt ſhall be mine alone,
And Love with tranſport ſhall my triumph own.
Such are my hopes; but I with pain relate
What hard conditions are annex'd by Fate:
As chemic fires, that patient labour blows,
Draw the rich perfume from the Perſian roſe,
So muſt thou form, by fiery toils refin'd,
The living eſſence of thy ſweeter mind.
Dimly I ſee, on Deſtiny's dull glaſs,
Three dangerous trials 'tis thy doom to paſs;
And oh! if once forgetful of my power,
Good-humour fail thee in the fatal hour,
[26] Farewell thoſe joys, that wait the happy wife!
Farewell the viſion of unclouded life!
Fain would my love thy ſecret perils ſhew,
Which Fate allows not even me to know:
In Spleen's dark court a thouſand agents dwell,
Who bind her victims in the wayward ſpell;
Perchance three prime ſupporters of her ſway,
The buſieſt of her Fiends, may croſs thy way:
Stern Contradiction, her ill-favour'd child,
Of fierce demeanor, and of ſpirit wild,
Bane of delight! and horror of the ſex!
His plan to puzzle, and his pride to vex!—
Or Scandal, filthy hag! who blindly limps
Round the wide earth, ſupported by her Imps,
Her inky Demons, who delight to print
Her baſe ſuggeſtion, and her envious hint:—
Or groundleſs Jealouſy, pert changeling! born
Of amorous Vanity, and angry Scorn,
Whoſe bitter taunts with public inſult dare
Baſely to wound the unoffending Fair,
Proud the ſweet joys of Innocence to cruſh,
And ſpread o'er Beauty's cheek the burning bluſh.
[27] Whether theſe kindred Fiends, or one or all,
Shall aim thy airy ſpirit to enthrall,
Are points, my fondneſs tries in vain to reach;
But truſt my caution! and beware of each!
Leſt to thy lively mind my words may ſeem
The vain chimera of a common dream,
By one unqueſtionable ſign be taught
To prize my preſence in thy waking thought!
An azure ribband, on thy toilet thrown,
Shall make the magic of my empire known:
On this thy ſportive needle tried its powers,
And ſilver ſpangles form'd the mimic flowers;
On theſe my love ſhall breathe a ſecret charm;
With this, my Caeſtus, thy ſoft boſom arm;
Above it let the decent tucker riſe,
To hide the myſtic band from mortal eyes!
When Spleen's dark Powers would teach that breaſt to ſwell,
This guardian Cincture ſhall thoſe Powers repel:
As the touch'd taliſman, more ſwift than thought,
To ſave her charge, th' Arabian Fairy brought;
So ſhall this Zone, if juſtly I'm obey'd,
Bring my ſoft ſpirit to thy certain aid.
[28] In Love's great name obſerve this high beheſt!
Revere my power—Be gentle, and be bleſt!"
Here the kind Sprite her friendly counſel clos'd,
And lightly vaniſh'd—Still SERENA doz'd;
Still in ſweet trance ſhe fondly ſeem'd to hear
The ſoft perſuaſion vibrate in her ear.
But waking now far different notes ſhe found;
Leſs pleaſing echoes in her chamber ſound:
For now the heralds of the London day
Sing their loud mattins in th' uncrowded way;
Th' impatient Milkmaid now, with early din,
Screams to the rattle of her pail of tin;
With Sweep's faint cry, and, lateſt of the crew,
The deep-ton'd muſic of the murmuring Jew.
END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

CANTO II.

[29]
YE radiant Nymphs! whoſe opening eyes convey
Warmth to the world, and luſtre to the day!
Think what o'erſhadowing clouds may croſs your brain,
Before thoſe lovely lids ſhall cloſe again!
What funds of Patience twelve long hours may aſk,
When cold Diſcretion claims her daily taſk!
Ah think betimes! and, while your morning care
Sheds foreign odors o'er your fragrant hair,
Tinge your ſoft ſpirit with that mental ſweet,
Which may not be exhal'd by Paſſion's heat;
But charm the ſenſe, with undecaying power,
Thro' every chance of each diurnal hour!
O! might you all perceive your toilets crown'd
With ſuch coſmetics as SERENA found!
For, to the warning Viſion fondly true,
Now the quick Fair-one to the toilet flew:
[30] With keen delight her raviſh'd eye ſurvey'd
The myſtic ribband on her mirror laid:
Bright ſhone the azure, as Aurora's car,
And every ſpangle ſeem'd a living ſtar.
With ſportive grace the ſmiling damſel preſt
The guardian Cincture to her ſnowy breaſt,
More lovely far than Juno, when ſhe ſtrove
To look moſt lovely in the eyes of Jove;
And willing Venus lent her every power,
That ſheds enchantment o'er the amorous hour:
For ſpells more potent on this band were thrown,
Than Venus boaſted in her beauteous zone.
Her dazzling Caeſtus could alone inſpire
The ſudden impulſe of ſhort-liv'd deſire:
Theſe finer threads with laſting charms are fraught,
Here lies the tender, but unchanging thought,
Silence, that wins, where eloquence is vain,
And Tones, that harmonize the mad'ning brain,
Soft Sighs, that Anger cannot hear, and live,
And Smiles, that tell, how truly they forgive;
And lively Grace, whoſe gay diffuſive light
Puts the black phantoms of the brain to flight,
[31] Whoſe cheering powers thro' every period laſt,
And make the preſent happy as the paſt.
Such ſecret charms this richer Zone poſſeſt,
Whoſe flowers, now ſparkling on SERENA's breaſt,
Give, tho' unſeen thoſe ſwelling orbs they bind,
Smiles to her face, and beauty to her mind:
For now, obſervant of the Sprite's beheſt,
The Nymph conceals them by her upper veſt:
Safe lies the ſpell, no mortal may deſcry,
Not keen PENELOPE's all-piercing eye;
Who conſtant, as the ſteps of morn advance,
Surveys the houſhold with a ſearching glance,
And entering now, with all her uſual care,
Reviews the chamber of the youthful Fair.
Beneath the pillow, not compleatly hid,
The Novel lay—She ſaw—ſhe ſeiz'd—ſhe chid:
With rage and glee her glaring eye-balls flaſh,
Ah wicked age! ſhe cries, ah filthy traſh!
From the firſt page my juſt abhorrence ſprings;
For modern anecdotes are monſtrous things:
Yet will I ſee what dangerous poiſons lurk,
To taint thy youth, in this licentious work.
[32] She ſaid: and rudely from the chamber ruſh'd,
Her pallid cheek with expectation fluſh'd,
With ardent hope her eager ſpirit ſhook,
Vain hope! to banquet on a luſcious book.
So if a Prieſt, of the Arabian ſect,
In Turkiſh hands forbidden wine detect,
The ſacred Muſſulman, with pious din,
Arraigns the culprit, and proclaims the ſin,
Curſes with holy zeal th' inflaming juice,
But curſing takes it for his ſecret uſe.
The gay SERENA, with unruffled mind,
The pleaſing Novel, thus unread, reſign'd.
The Viſion on her ſoul ſuch virtue left,
She only ſmil'd at the provoking theft;
The teazing incident ſhe deem'd a jeſt,
Nor felt the Zone grow tighter on her breaſt.
Now in full charms deſcends the finiſh'd Fair,
For now the morning banquet claims her care;
Already at the board, with viands pil'd,
Her Sire impatient ſits, and chides his tardy child.
On his imperial lips rude Hunger reigns,
And keener Politics uſurp his brains:
[33] But when her love-inſpiring voice he hears,
When the ſoft magic of her ſmile appears,
In that glad moment he at once forgets
His empty ſtomach, and the nation's debts:
He bends to Nature's more divine controul,
And only feels the Father in his ſoul.
Quick to his hand behold her now preſent
The Indian liquor of celeſtial ſcent!
Not with more grace the nectar'd cup is given
By roſe-lip'd Hebe to the Lord of Heaven.
While her fair hands a freſh libation pour,
Faſhion's loud thunder wakes the ſounding door.
The light SERENA to the window ſprings,
On Curioſity's amuſive wings:
Her quick eyes ſparkle with ſurpriſe, to ſee
The glories of a golden vis-à-vis:
Its glittering tablet gleam'd with mimic pearl,
And the rich coronet announc'd an Earl.
The good old Knight grew ſomewhat proud to hear
Of this new viſit from the early Peer:
SERENA recollects the Viſion's truth,
And fluttering, hopes it is the promis'd Youth:
[34] PENELOPE from her high chamber peeps;
There her unfiniſh'd charms ſhe coyly keeps;
With ſage reſerve her modeſty abhorr'd
To ſhew her morning face before a Lord.
The Peer alights: the well-rang'd vaſſals bawl
His ſounding title thro' the ſpacious hall,
Till in the deep ſaloon's extremeſt bound
Th' ear-tickling words, "LORD FILLIGREE," reſound!
As when great Hector, ſetting war apart,
Advanc'd to parley, with his ſpear athwart,
The Greeks beheld him with a ſtill delight;
And ſilent reverence ſtopt the riſing fight;
With ſuch reſpect, but unchaſtis'd by fear,
Sir GILBERT and the Nymph firſt meet the Peer;
And, while his morning compliments commence,
The ſlighted breakfaſt ſtands in cold ſuſpence.
But far unlike to Hector's ruder grace
His modern ſtature, and his modiſh face!
Nor leſs he differs from thoſe Barons old,
Whoſe arms are blazon'd on his car of gold;
Whoſe proſtrate caſtle guarded once the lands,
Where, ſpruce in motley pride, his villa ſtands,
[35] By Taſte erected, in her trimmeſt mode,
Her muſhroom ſtructure, and her quaint abode.
As the neat Daiſy to the Sun's broad flower,
As the French Boudoir to the Gothic Tower,
Such is the Peer, whom Faſhion much admires,
Compar'd in perſon to his ancient ſires:
For their broad ſhoulder, and their brawny calf,
Their coarſe, loud language, and their coarſer laugh,
His finer form, more elegantly ſlim,
Diſplays the faſionable length of limb:
With foreign ſhrugs his country he regards,
And her lean tongue with foreign words he lards;
While Gallic Graces, who correct his ſtyle,
Forbid his mirth to paſs beyond a ſmile.
As the nice workman in the wooden trade,
Hides his coarſe ground, with fineſt woods o'erlaid,
Thus our young Lord, with Faſhion's phraſe refin'd,
Fineer'd the mean interior of his mind:
And hence, in Courteſy's ſoft luſtre ſeen,
His ſpirit ſhone, as graceful as his mien.
The artleſs Fair, on Faſhion's kind report,
Thought him the mirror of a matchleſs Court:
[36] Much ſhe his dreſs, his language much obſerves,
Whoſe finer accents prove his feeling nerves.
Her fancy now the deſtin'd Lover ſpies,
But her free heart abjures the quick ſurmiſe;
Yet as he ſpoke, at every flattering word
The Viſion's promiſe to her thought recurr'd.
Far more parental pride contrives to blind
The good Sir GILBERT's more-experienc'd mind,
Who fondly ſaw, and at the proſpect ſmil'd,
A future Counteſs in his favourite child.
But what new flutterings ſhook SERENA's breaſt,
What hopes and fears the modeſt Nymph oppreſt,
When with a ſimpering ſmile, and ſoft regard,
The Peer diſplay'd a mirth-expreſſive card,
Where the gay Graces, in a ſportive band,
Shew the ſweet art of Cipriani's hand;
Where, in their train, his airy Cupids throng,
And laughing drag a comic maſk along!
"We," cries my Lord, with ſelf-ſufficient joy,
Twirling, with lordly airs, the graceful toy,
[37] "We, who poſſeſs true ſcience, we, who give
The world a leſſon in the art to live,
We for the the Fair a ſplendid Fête deſign,
And pay our homage thus at Beauty's ſhrine."
He ſpoke; and ſpeaking, to the bluſhing Maid,
With modiſh eaſe, th' inviting card convey'd,
Where Mirth announc'd her maſque-devoted hour
In characters intwin'd with many a flower:
The bluſhing Maid, with eyes of quick deſire,
View'd it, and felt her little ſoul on fire;
For of all ſcenes ſhe had not yet ſurvey'd,
Her heart moſt panted for a Maſquerade:
But her gay hopes increaſing terrors drown,
And dread forebodings of her Father's frown.
In mute ſuſpence to read his thought ſhe tries,
And ſtrongly pleads with her prevailing eyes,
Her eyes, for doubt enchain'd her modeſt tongue,
While on his ſovereign word her pleaſure hung.
With ſuch a tender, and perſuaſive air
Of ſoft endearment, and of anxious care,
Thetis attended from th' almighty Sire
His fateful anſwer to her fond deſire:
[38] The good old Knight, like the Olympian God,
Bleſt the fair Suppliant with his gracious nod;
Her lively ſpirit the kind ſignal took,
And her glad heart, in every fibre, ſhook.
The party ſettled, it imports not how,
The Peer politely made his parting bow:
The Nymph, with eyes that ſparkled joyous fire,
Kiſs'd the round cheek of her complying Sire,
Then ſwiftly flew, and ſummon'd to her aid
Th' important counſel of her favourite maid,
To vent her joy, and, as the moments preſs,
To fix that firſt of points, a Fancy-dreſs.
Quick as the Poet's eyes o'er Nature fly,
Piercing the deep, or traverſing the ſky,
With ſuch light ſpeed her fond ideas glance
O'er play and poem, ſtory and romance,
While all the Characters, ſhe e'er has read,
Flaſh on her brain, and fill her buſy head.
Now in Diana's form ſhe hopes to meet
A fond Endymion ſighing at her feet;
Now her proud thought terreſtrial pomp aſſumes,
And Dian's creſcent yields to Indian plumes;
[39] Now, in the habit of the Grecian Iſles,
She hears ſome Oſman ſuing for her ſmiles,
And ſees his ſoul that blaze of dreſs outſhine,
Whoſe wealth impoveriſh'd a diamond-mine;
Now ſimpler charms her quick attention draw,
The roſe-crown'd bonnet, and the hat of ſtraw,
A Village-maid ſhe ſeems, in neat attire,
A faithful Shepherd now her ſole deſire.
Thus, as new figures in her fancy throng,
"She's every thing by ſtarts, and nothing long;"
But, in the ſpace of one revolving hour,
Flies thro' all ſtates of Poverty and Power,
All forms, on whom her veering mind can pitch,
Sultana, Gipſy, Goddeſs, Nymph, and Witch.
At length, her ſoul with Shakeſpeare's magic fraught,
The wand of Ariel fixt her roving thought;
Ariel's light graces all her heart poſſeſs,
And Jenny's order'd to prepare the dreſs.
It ſeems already bought, with fond applauſe;
An azure tiſſue, and a ſilver gauze;
Too ſoon, alas! that garb of heavenly hue
The ready Mercer flaſhes to her view.
[40] *Ah blind to Fate! how oft the youthful belle
Feels her gay heart at ſight of tiſſue ſwell!
And thinks the faſhionable ſilk muſt prove
Her robe of triumph, and a ſpell to Love!
To thee, ſweet Maid, whoſe pleaſure-darting eyes
Joy in this favourite veſt, an hour ſhall riſe,
When thou ſhalt hate the ſilk ſo fondly ſought,
And wiſh thy ſilver-ſpotted gauze unbought:
For buſy Spleen thy trial now prepares;
Darkly ſhe forms her unſuſpected ſnares,
And, keen to raiſe her pleaſure-killing ſtorm,
Aſſumes PENELOPE's congenial form.
In that prim ſhape, which all the Graces ſhun,
See the ſour Fiend to good Sir GILBERT run!
Where, deeply pondering the Public Debt,
Silent he muſes o'er a new Gazette!
[41] Ent'ring, ſhe view'd, with eyes of envious ſpite,
The card, that ſpoke the maſque-devoted night:
Eager ſhe darted on the graceful toy,
And, fiercely pointing to each naked boy,
"Canſt thou," ſhe cried, in a diſcordant ſcream,
That rous'd the Politician from his dream,
While with her voice the echoing chamber rings,
"*Say! canſt thou ſuffer theſe flagitious things?
"Are theſe devices to thy daughter brought,
"That wake ſuch groſs impurity of thought?
"In vain are all the prudent words I preach,
"The modeſt maxims that I ſtrive to teach,
"By fooliſh fondneſs of your ſenſe beguil'd,
"You ſtill indulge, and ſpoil the flippant child:
"For me, whate'er I ſay is deem'd abſurd;
"She ſcorns my ſage advice:—but mark my word,
"If to this ball you let the Hoyden run,
"Your power is ended, and the Girl undone."
The patriot Knight, by interruption vext,
In his political purſuits perplext,
[42] While he with wrath th' intruding Miſchief eyed,
Stern to the falſe PENELOPE replied:
"Go! teazing Prude, ceaſe in my ears to vent
"Thy envious pride, and peeviſh diſcontent!
"To me of prudence canſt thou vainly boaſt?
"Of all my houſhold, thou haſt plagu'd me moſt:
"The joys thou blameſt are thy dear delight,
"By day the Viſit, and the Ball by night:
"And, tho' too old a Lover to trepan,
"Thy midnight dream, thy morning thought, is Man.
"Wert thou leſs cloſely to my blood allied,
"Thou ſhould'ſt, to cure thee of thy canting pride,
"Be ſent to ſigh alone o'er purling brooks,
"Scold village maids, and croak to croaking rooks."
He ſpoke indignant: the ſly Fiend withdrew,
Nor inly griev'd; for well her force ſhe knew.
As Indian females, in a jealous hour,
Of ſecret poiſon try the ſubtleſt power,
Which ſure, tho' ſlow, corrodes th' unconſcious prey,
And ends its triumph on a diſtant day:
[]

Page 42.

Stothard del. Heath ſculp.

Publiſhed July. 1st. 1788. by T. Cadell. Strand.

[43] Thus the departing Fury left behind
Her venom, latent in Sir GILBERT's mind.
The hidden miſchief tho' no eye obſerves,
He feels it fretting on his alter'd nerves;
But the kind habit of his healthy ſoul
Still ſtruggled hard againſt its baſe controul.
Now Spleen's dark vapours, in his boſom hid,
Prompt him the promis'd pleaſure to forbid;
Now Love's ſoft pleadings that dire thought deſtroy,
And ſave the bloſſom of his daughter's joy;
Her envious Aunt now ſerves him for a jeſt,
And gay good-humour reaſſumes his breaſt.
While Spleen's dark power now ſinks and now revives,
At length the day, th' important day, arrives,
Which in his breaſt muſt end the cloſe debate,
And fix the colour of SERENA's fate.
Now comes the hour, when the convivial Knight
Waits to begin the dinner's chearful rite:
His fond heart ever, with a Father's pride,
Joys to behold his darling at his ſide;
But moſt the abſence of her ſmile he feels
In the gay ſeaſon of his ſocial meals:
[44] Hence, while for her the rich repaſt attends,
His haſty ſummons to the Nymph he ſends:
The happy Nymph ſuperior cares induce
To riſk his anger by a raſh excuſe:
She craves his pardon; but, for time diſtreſt,
She ſtill is buſy on her magic veſt;
To range her diamonds in a ſparkling zone,
She begs to ſnatch her ſcanty meal alone.
The Knight in ſullen ſtate begins to dine:
Spleen, like a Harpy, flutters o'er his wine:
Inviſible ſhe poiſons every diſh,
Tinging with gall his mutton, fowl, and fiſh.
The more he eats, the more perverſe he grows;
For as his hunger ſunk, his choler roſe.
The cloth remov'd, he cries, with vapours ſick,
The Pears are mellow, and the Port is thick;
Tho' nicer fruit Pomona never knew,
And his rich wine ſurpaſs'd the ruby's hue!
A thouſand times his dizzy brain revolves
A ſtern command: now doubts, and now reſolves
To bid the Nymph deſcend, and, diſarray'd,
Quit her dear project of the Maſquerade:
[45] As oft kind Nature to his heart recurr'd,
And Love parental ſtopt the cruel word.
Mean time, unconſcious of the brooding ſtorm,
The Nymph exults in her improving form:
Gay is her ſmile, as thoſe the Queen of Love
Darts on the Graces in her court above,
While they contrive, with love-inſpiring cares,
New modes of beauty for the robe ſhe wears.
At length, each duty of the toilet paſt,
The glance of triumph on the mirror caſt,
Now the light wand our finiſh'd Ariel arms;
Glad Jenny glories in her Lady's charms;
And gives full utterance, as ſhe ſmooths her veſt,
To the ſweet bodings of SERENA's breaſt.
O! lovely biaſs of the Female ſoul!
Which trembling points to Pleaſure's diſtant pole;
Which with fond truſt on flattering Hope relies,
O'erleaps each peril, that in proſpect lies,
And ſpringing to the goal, anticipates the prize!
Such was SERENA's fear-diſcarding ſtate;
Her eye beheld not the dark frowns of Fate:
She only ſaw, the combat all forgot,
The triumph promis'd as her glorious lot.
[46]
Now, eager to diſplay her light attire,
The ſprightly Damſel ſeeks her ſullen Sire;
His gloomy brow with ſportive air ſhe kiſt:
Ah! how could Spleen that magic lip reſiſt?
That voice, whoſe melting muſic might aſſuage
The ſcorpion Anger's ſelf-tormenting rage?
For ne'er did Nature to a Sire's embrace
Preſent a filial form of ſofter grace;
Or Fancy view a ſhape of lovelier kind
In the bright mirror of her Shakeſpeare's mind.
The ſulky Fiend, in ſpite of all her art,
Had now been baniſh'd from the Father's heart,
But that, reſolv'd her utmoſt force to try,
She ſummon'd to her aid her old ally,
The fiery Demon, temper-troubling Gout,
Who ſinks the lively, and appalls the ſtout;
Who now, aſſiſting Spleen's malignant aim,
Shoots in quick throbbings through Sir GILBERT's frame.
Thus ſorely peſter'd by a double foe,
Galling his giddy brain, and burning toe,
The teſty Knight, with ſtern and ſullen air,
Denounc'd his humour to the ſhudd'ring Fair:
[47] "Go change your dreſs! give up this vain delight!
"I will not hear of Maſquerades to-night:
"Your Chaperone's inform'd, ſhe need not wait,
"So change your dreſs! and ſit with me ſedate."
As the proud dame, whoſe avaricious glee
Built golden caſtles in the rich South Sea,
Gaz'd on her Broker, when he told her firſt
Her wealth was vaniſh'd, and the bubble burſt:
So gaz'd the Nymph, hearing her Sire deſtroy
Her airy palace of ideal joy.
Firſt her fond thoughts to flattering doubt incline,
And deem the harſh command no fix'd deſign,
But the quick ſally of a peeviſh word,
That Love revokes, the moment it is heard:
Or haply mirth, in mimic wrath expreſt,
A feign'd forbiddance utter'd but in jeſt:
To this ſhort hope her ſinking ſpirit clung,
To ſee his ſoftening eyes refute his tongue.
Ah fruitleſs hope! for there ſhe cannot find
The well-known ſignals of the friendly mind.
Stern Contradiction, with the frown of Fate,
On his dark viſage reign'd in ſullen ſtate;
[48] Felt in each feature, in each accent ſhewn,
Lower'd in his look, and thunder'd in his tone.
Hence the warm boſom of the lively Fair
Now ſhivers with the chill of blank deſpair:
Now Diſappointment's thick'ning ſhadows roll
A cloud of horror o'er the darken'd ſoul;
And Fancy, in a ſick delirium toſt,
Gives double value to each pleaſure loſt.
The blaſted joys, ſhe labours to forget,
Ruſh on her mind, and waken keen regret:
Her cheek turns pale—the tear prepares to ſtart,
And palpitation heaves her ſwelling heart.
But here, SOPHROSYNE! thy guardian aid
Saves from her potent foe the ſinking Maid.
Her boſom, into ſtrong emotions thrown,
Now feels the preſſure of thy friendly Zone.
Swift thy kind cautions to her ſoul recur,
More quick to cancel faults, than prone to err.
As the rough ſwell of the inſurgent tides
By the mild impulſe of the Moon ſubſides:
So, by her myſtic Monitor repreſt,
The flood of paſſion leaves her lighten'd breaſt,
[49] From her clear brain each cloudy vapour flies,
And Joy's bright ray rekindles in her eyes.
Reviving Gaiety full luſtre ſpread
O'er all her features, and with ſmiles ſhe ſaid:
"Let others drive to Pleaſure's diſtant dome!
"Be mine the dearer joy to pleaſe at home!"
Scarce had ſhe ſpoke, when ſhe with ſportive eaſe
Preſt her Piano-forte's fav'rite keys,
O'er ſofteſt notes her rapid fingers ran,
Sweet prelude to the Air ſhe thus began!
SOPHROSYNE! thou Guard unſeen!
Whoſe delicate controul
Can turn the diſcord of Chagrin
To Harmony of Soul!
Above the lyre, the lute above,
Be mine thy melting tone,
Which makes the peace of all we love
The baſis of our own!
So ſung the Nymph, not uninſpir'd: the Sprite
Invok'd ſo fondly in the myſtic rite,
[50] With richeſt muſic ſwell'd her warbling throat,
And gave new ſweetneſs to her ſweeteſt note.
As when the ſeraph Uriel firſt begun
His carol to the new-created Sun,
The ſacred echo ſhook the vaſt profound,
And Chaos periſh'd at the potent ſound:
So, at the magic of SERENA's ſtrain,
Spleen vaniſh'd from her Sire's chaotic brain;
Whoſe fibres, lighten'd of that load, rejoice
In the dear accents of her dulcet voice.
Much he inclines his mandate to recall,
And ſend the Fair-one to the promis'd Ball;
But ſtubborn Pride forbids him to revoke
The ſolemn ſentence, which Ill-humour ſpoke.
Still, conſcious of her power, the Nymph prolongs
The ſoft enchantment of her ſoothing ſongs;
Which his fond mind in firm attention keep,
To his fixt hour of ſupper and of ſleep:
This now arriv'd, the Knight retiring, ſhed
A double bleſſing on his Darling's head;
And with unuſual exultation preſt
His lovely Child to his parental breaſt.
[51]
Thus while to reſt the happy Sire withdrew,
The Nymph, more happy, to her chamber flew;
And, Jenny now diſmiſs'd, the grateful Fair
Breathes to her guardian Sprite this tender prayer:
"Thou kind Preſerver! whoſe attentive zeal
"Gives me in this contented hour to feel
"That deareſt pleaſure of a ſoul refin'd,
"The triumph of the ſelf-corrected mind;
"If happy in the ſtrength thy ſmiles impart,
"I own thy favour in no thankleſs heart,
"Still let me view thy form, ſo juſtly dear!
"Still in kind Viſions to theſe eyes appear!
"Thy friendly dictates teach me to fulfil!
"And let thy aid avert each future ill!"
While fond Devotion taught her thus to ſpeak,
The ſoft Down ſinks beneath her lovely cheek,
And ſettling on her lips, that ſweetly cloſe,
Silence, enamour'd, lulls her to repoſe.
END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

CANTO III.

[52]
YE kind Tranſporters of the excurſive ſoul!
Ye Viſions! that, when Night enwraps the Pole,
The lively wanderer to new worlds convey,
Eſcaping from her heavy houſe of clay,
How could the gentle ſpirit, foe to ſtrife,
Bear without you this coil of waking life?
Its grief-embitter'd cares, its joyleſs mirth,
And all the flat realities of earth?
'Tis you, ſweet Phantoms, who new powers inſpire,
Who give to Beauty charms, to Fancy fire,
When, ſoaring like the eagle's kindred frame,
The Poet dreams of everlaſting Fame;
Or, tickled by the feather of the dove,
The ſofter Virgin dreams of endleſs Love.
There was a time, when Fortune's bright decrees
Were ſeen to realize ſuch dreams as theſe:
Now dangerous viſions the fond mind decoy
Vainly to hope for unexiſting joy,
[53] While Belles and Bards with mournful ſighs exclaim,
Mortality has ſeiz'd both Love and Fame.
Ah fair SERENA, might the boaſt be ours
To clear from ſuch a charge theſe heavenly Powers!
Bleſt! might thy Bard deſerve in Fame to ſee
A guard as faithful, as Love proves to thee!
Bleſt! if that airy Being gild his life,
Who ſav'd thee trembling on the brink of ſtrife,
And now, kind prompter of thy nightly dream,
Fill'd thy rapt ſpirit with her ſacred beam!
For ſoon as Slumber ſet thy ſoul at large,
Thy Guardian Power reviſited her charge;
And, lightly hovering o'er th' illumin'd bed,
Thus with fond ſmiles of approbation ſaid:
"Well haſt thou paſt, ſweet Maid, one trying ſcene,
"One fiery ordeal of the tyrant Spleen:
"Thus, my SERENA, may thy force ſuſtain
"Each harder trial, that may yet remain!
"Againſt the Fiend to fortify thy ſoul,
"By uſeful knowledge of her dark controul,
"I come to ſhew thee, what no mortal eye,
"Save thine, was e'er permitted to deſcry;
[54] "The realms, where Spleen's infernal agents goad
"The ghoſtly tenants of her drear abode.
"Now ſummon all thy ſtrength! throw fear aſide,
"And firmly truſt in thy aetherial Guide!"
She ſpoke: and thro' the Night's ſurrounding ſhade
The obedient Nymph, not unappall'd, convey'd;
Thro' long, long tracts of darkneſs, on they paſt
With ſpeed, that ſtruck the trembling Maid aghaſt,
Till now, recovering by degrees, ſhe found
Her ſoft foot preſs upon the ſolid ground.
Encourag'd by her Guide, at length ſhe tries
To ſearch the gloomy ſcene, with anxious eyes.
*"Thro' me ye paſs to Spleen's terrific dome,
Thro' me, to Diſcontent's eternal home:
Thro' me, to thoſe, who ſadden'd human life,
By ſullen humour, or vexatious ſtrife;
[55] And here, thro' ſcenes of endleſs vapours hurl'd,
Are puniſh'd in the forms they plagued the world;
Juſtly they feel no joy, who none beſtow,
All ye who enter, every hope forego!"
O'er an arch'd cavern, rough with horrid ſtone,
On which a feeble light, by flaſhes, ſhone,
Theſe characters, that chill'd her ſoul with dread,
SERENA, fixt in ſilent wonder, read.
As ſhe began to ſpeak, her voice was drown'd
By the ſhrill echo of far other ſound:
Forth from the portal lamentable cries
Of wailing Infants, without number, riſe.
Compaſſion to this poor and piteous flock
Led the ſoft Maid ſtill nearer to the rock.
The pining band within ſhe now eſpied,
And, touch'd with tender indignation, cried,
"How could theſe little forms, of life ſo brief,
"Deſerve this dire abode of laſting grief?"
"—Well may thy gentle heart be ſore concern'd
"At ſight ſo moving," the mild Sprite return'd:
"Thou ſeeſt in thoſe, whoſe wailings wound thy ears,
"The puny progeny of modern Peers:
[56] "Their Sires, by Avarice or Ambition led,
"Aliens to Love, approach'd the nuptial bed;
"With proud indifference, and with cold diſtaſte,
"Their homely brides reluctantly embrac'd,
"And by ſuch union gave diſaſtrous birth
"To theſe poor pale incumbrances of earth,
"Who, bred in Vanity, with Pride their dower,
"Were Spleen's ſure victims from their natal hour,
"And in their ſplendid cradles pul'd and pin'd,
"Till Fate their ill-ſpun thread of life untwin'd,
"And to this veſtibule convey'd their ghoſts,
"To form the van-guard of th' infernal hoſts.
"But let not Pity's ineffectual charm
"Impede thy progreſs, or thy ſtrength diſarm!
"Follow and fear not! guarded by my care,
"From all the phantoms, that around thee glare."
She ſpoke; and enter'd, ere the Nymph replied,
A paſs, that open'd in the cavern's ſide,
Low, dark, and rocky—with her body bent,
SERENA follow'd down the dire deſcent.
A ſudden light ſoon ſtruck her dazzled view;
But 'twas a light of ſuch infernal hue,
[57] As double horror to the darkneſs gave,
With dread reflection from a duſky wave.
Round a black water tatter'd ſpectres ſtand,
With each a tiny taper in its hand;
Fierce Mendicants! who ſtrive ſome alms to win
From the fair Wanderer, with inceſſant din.
The Guardian Spirit ſaw SERENA grieve,
To hear of wants ſhe knew not to relieve;
And to the generous Nymph in pity cries:
"The gulph of Indolence before us lies,
"O'er whoſe dull flood, to which no bank is ſeen,
"A boat muſt waft thee to the dome of Spleen.
"Theſe pallid figures, that around thee preſs,
"And haunt thee with importunate diſtreſs,
"On earth were Beggars of each different claſs,
"Tho' blended here in one promiſcuous maſs.
"The Poor, who ſpurn'd kind Induſtry's controul,
"The Rich, who begg'd from penury of ſoul:
"Both, by their abject pride alike debas'd,
"Blaſphem'd that nature, which they both diſgrac'd,
"And, hither by the ſullen Fiend convey'd,
"Here ſtill they ply their ineffectual trade;
[58] "In chaſe of each new paſſenger they run,
"Condemn'd to beg from all, to gain by-none.
"But from theſe wretches turn thy fruitleſs care!
"Behold the gulph before thee, and beware!
"Nor touch the ſtream, which mortal ſenſe o'ercomes,
"And by its baleful charm the ſoul benumbs!"
—"Can mortal paſs!" the ſhudd'ring Nymph replied,
"This ſullen, ſlow, unnavigable tide,
"In whoſe black current this enormous mound
"Of ſhapeleſs ſtone appears, this horrid bound,
"That ſeems an everlaſting guard to keep
"O'er the dull waters, that beneath it creep?"
While yet ſhe ſpoke, with a reſounding ſhock,
Forth from the arch of the impending rock,
Which o'er the murmuring eddy hung ſo low,
The lazy river ſcarce had room to flow,
Of rude conſtruction, and in rougheſt plight,
A boat now iſſued to SERENA's ſight;
An empty boat, that ſlowly to the ſhore
Advanc'd, without the aid of ſail or oar;
[59] Self-mov'd it ſeem'd, but ſoon the Nymph beheld
A grifly figure, who the ſtern impell'd.
Wading behind, the horrid Form appear'd;
Above the water his ſtrong arm he rear'd,
And croſs the creeping flood the crazy veſſel ſteer'd.
The heavenly Sprite obſerv'd her trembling Ward,
Whoſe growing fears the hideous paſs abhorr'd,
And cheering thus ſhe ſpake: "This Spectre boaſts
"The chief dominion of theſe dreary coaſts:
"To him, thy Pilot, without dread conſign,
"And place thy body in his bark ſupine!
"So thro' this arching rock thou'lt paſs alone,
"Safe from the perils of th' incumbent ſtone:
"Embark undaunted!—on the farther ſide
"Thou'lt ſurely find me thy unfailing Guide.
"Nor let this Pilot raiſe thy groundleſs dread,
"This ſullen Charon of the froward dead,
"A Phantom, never bleſt with human life,
"Tho' oft on earth his noxious power is rife;
"And in that region, ne'er from error free,
"The words he dictates are aſſign'd to me.
[60] "Obſerve this Fiend, that Nature ſcorn'd to frame,
"Offspring of Pride, and Apathy his name!
"Paſſions he ne'er can feel, and ne'er impart,
"A miſcreated Imp, without a heart;
"In place of which, his ſubtle parent pinn'd
"A bladder, fill'd with circulating wind,
"Which ſeems with mimic life the maſs to warm,
"And gives falſe vigour to his bloated form.
"But place thee in the boat, his arms direct,
"My love ſhall watch thee, and my power protect."
So ſpake the friendly Sprite; th' obedient Maid
Her form along the narrow veſſel laid:
But oh! what terrors ſhake her tender ſoul,
As from the ſhore the bark begins to roll;
And, ſever'd from her Friend, her eyes diſcern
The ſteering Spectre wading at the ſtern!
Far ſtronger fears her reſolution melt,
Than thoſe, which erſt the Bard of Florence felt,
When, by the honour'd ſhade of Virgil led
Thro' all the dreary circles of the dead,
Hell's fierceſt Demons threaten'd to divide
The living Poet from his ſhadowy Guide;
[]

Page 57.

Stothard del. Heath ſculpt.

London. Publiſhed Septr 1st. 1788. by T. Cadell. Strand.

[61] And bade him, friendleſs, and alone, return
Thro' the dire horrors of the dark ſojourn.
Not long the lovely Fair-one's terrors laſt;
For ſafely thro' th' impending rock ſhe paſt:
And ſlow advancing to the gloomy ſtrand,
The ſullen Pilot brings her ſafe to land.
There fondly hovering on her guardian plumes,
The heavenly Monitor her charge reſumes;
And ſmiling, leads along the rocky road,
Whoſe windings open into Spleen's abode.
Thou Queen of Shades! whoſe ſpirit-damping ſpell
Too oft is ſeen the Poet's pride to quell,
When the ſharp workings of unreliſh'd wit
Plunge thy pale victim in a bilious fit;
May I, unpuniſh'd by thy ſubtle power,
Dare to diſplay thy ſubterranean bower,
And to this wond'ring upper world explain
The ſhadowy horrors of thy ſecret reign?
Entering beneath a wide fantaſtic arch,
Round the drear circuit of the dome they march;
Which a pale flaſh from many a fiery Sprite
Frequent illumes with intermitting light;
[62] Such, as on earth, to Superſtition's eye,
Denounces ruin from the northern ſky,
While ſhe diſcerns, amid the nightly glare,
Armies embattled in the blazing air.
Around the Nymph unnumber'd phantoms glide;
Here ſwell the bloated race of bulky Pride:
In cloſe and horrid union, there appear
The wilder progeny of frantic Fear;
Miſ-ſhapen monſters! whoſe ſtupendous frame
Abhorrent Nature has refus'd to name.
Here, in Cameleon colours, lightly flit
The motley offspring of diſorder'd Wit.
All things prodigious the wide cave contain'd,
And forms, beyond what Fable ever feign'd:
But, as the worm, that on the dewy green
Springs half to view, and half remains unſeen,
Perceiving near its cell a human tread,
Slinks back to earth, and hides its timid head:
So, where the heavenly Spirit deign'd to lead,
The ſtartled ſpectres from her ſtep recede;
And, as abaſh'd they from her eye retire,
Sink into miſt, or melt in fluid fire.
[63]
High on an ebon throne, ſuperbly wrought
With each fierce figure of fantaſtic thought,
In a deep cove, where no bright beam intrudes,
O'er her black ſchemes the ſullen Empreſs broods.
The Shriek-Owl's mingled with the Raven's plume
Shed o'er her furrow'd brows an aweful gloom;
A garb, that glares with ſtripes of lurid flame,
Wraps in terrific pomp her haggard frame;
Round her a Serpent, as her zone, is roll'd,
Which writhing, ſtings itſelf in every fold.
Near her pavilion, in barbaric ſtate,
Four Mutes the mandates of their Queen await.
From ſickly Fancy bred, by ſullen Sloth,
Both parents' curſe, yet pamper'd ſtill by both,
Firſt ſtands Diſeaſe; an hag of magic power,
Varying her frightful viſage every hour,
Her horrors heightening, as thoſe changes laſt,
And each new form more hideous than the paſt.
Detraction next, a ſhapeleſs Fiend, appears,
Whoſe ſhrivell'd hand a miſty mirror rears;
Fram'd by malignant Art, th' infernal toy
Inverts the lovely mien of ſmiling Joy,
[64] Robs roſeate Beauty of attractive Grace,
And gives a ſtepdame's frown to Nature's face.
The third in place, but with a fiercer air,
See the true Gorgon Diſappointment glare!
By whoſe petrific power Delight's o'erthrown;
And Hope's warm heart becomes an icy ſtone.
Laſt, in a gorgeous robe, that, ill beſtow'd,
Bows her mean body by its cumbrous load,
Stands fretful Diſcontent, of Fiends the worſt,
By dignity debas'd, by bleſſings curſt,
Who poiſons Pleaſure with the ſoureſt leaven,
And makes a Hell of Love's extatic Heaven.
The Guide celeſtial, near this ghaſtly group,
Perceiv'd her tender Charge with terror droop:
"Fear not, ſweet Maid," ſhe cries, "my ſteps purſue!
"Nor gaze too long on this infernal crew!
"Turn from Detraction's faſcinating glaſs!
"In ſilence croſs the throne! obſerve, and paſs!
"Beyond this dome, the palace of the Queen,
"Her empire winds thro' many a dreary ſcene,
"Where ſhe torments, as their deſerts require,
"Her various victims, that on earth expire;
[65] "Each claſs apart: for in a different cell
"The Fierce, the Fretful, and the Sullen dwell:
"Theſe ſhalt thou ſlightly view, in vapqurs hurl'd,
"And ſwiftly then regain thy native world.
"But firſt remark, within that ample nich,
"With every quaint device of ſplendor rich,
"Yon Phantom, who, from vulgar eyes withdrawn,
"Appears to ſtretch in one eternal yawn:
"Of empire here he holds the tottering helm,
"Prime Miniſter in Spleen's diſcordant realm,
"The pillar of her ſpreading ſtate, and more,
"Her darling offspring, whom on earth ſhe bore;
"For, as on earth his wayward mother ſtray'd,
"Grandeur, with eyes of fire, her form ſurvey'd,
"And with ſtrong paſſion ſtarting from his throne,
"Unloos'd the ſullen Queen's reluctant zone.
"From his embrace, conceiv'd in moody joy,
"Roſe the round image of a bloated boy:
"His nurſe was Indolence; his tutor Pomp,
"Who kept the child from every childiſh romp;
"They rear'd their nurſling to the bulk you ſee,
"And his proud parents call'd their imp ENNUI.
[66] "This realm he rules, and in ſuperb attire
"Viſits each earthly palace of his Sire:
"A thouſand ſhapes he wears, now pert, now prim,
"Purſues each grave conceit, or idle whim;
"In arms, in arts, in government engages,
"With Monarchs, Poets, Politicians, Sages;
"But drops each work, the moment it's begun,
"And, trying all things, can accompliſh none:
"Yet o'er each rank, and age, and ſex, his ſway
"Spreads undiſcern'd, and makes the world his prey.
"The light Coquet, amid flirtation, ſighs,
"To find him lurk in Pleaſure's vain diſguiſe;
"And the grave Nun diſcovers, in her cell,
"That holy water but augments his ſpell.
"As the ſtrange monſter of the ſerpent breed,
"That haunts, as travellers tell, the marſhy mead,
"Devours each nobler beaſt, tho' firmly grown
"To ſize and ſtrength ſuperior to his own;—
"For on the grazing Horſe, or larger Bull,
"Subtly he ſprings, of dark ſaliva full;
"With ſwiftly-darting tongue his prey anoints
"With venom, potent to diſſolve its joints,
[67] "And, while its bulk in liquid poiſon ſwims,
"Swallows its melting bone, and fluid limbs:—
"So this Ennui, this wonder-working Elf,
"Can vanquiſh powers far mightier than himſelf:
"Nor Wit nor Science ſoar his reach above,
"And oft he ſeizes on ſucceſsful Love.
"Of all the radiant hoſt who lend their aid
"To light mankind thro' life's bewildering ſhade,
"Bright Charity alone, with cloudleſs ray,
"May boaſt exemption from his baleful ſway:
"Haſte then, ſweet Nymph, nor let us longer roam
"Round the drear circle of this dangerous dome!
"Leſt e'en thy Guide, entangled in his ſpell,
"Should fail to guard thee from a Fiend ſo fell!"
So ſpeaking, the kind Spirit's anxious care
Led from the palace the attentive Fair,
And, winding through a paſſage dark and rude,
Thus the mild Monitor her ſpeech renew'd:
"'Gainſt Fear and Pity now thy boſom ſteel,
"For ſights more horrible I now reveal!
"Spleen's tortur'd victims view with dauntleſs eyes;
"For lo! her penal realms before thee riſe!"
[68] The Nymph advancing ſaw, with mute amaze,
A diſmal, deep, enormous dungeon blaze.
Stones of red fire the hideous wall compos'd;
And maſſive gates the horrid confine clos'd.
Th' infernal Portreſs of this doleful dome,
With fiery lips, that ſwell'd with poiſonous foam,
Pale Diſcord, rag'd; with whoſe tormenting tongue,
Thro' all its caves th' extenſive region rung:
A living Vulture was the Fury's creſt;
And in her hand a Rattleſnake ſhe preſt,
Whoſe angry joints inceſſantly were heard
To found defiance to the ſcreaming Bird.
"The boundleſs depth of this dire priſon holds
"The untam'd ſpirits of imperious Scolds:
"Nor think that Females only fill the cave!
"Male Termagants have liv'd, and here they rave.
"All of each ſex are pent within this pale,
"Who knew no uſe of language, but to rail."
Thus to her Charge exclaim'd the heavenly Guide,
And, as ſhe ſpoke, the portals open'd wide,
And to th' obſervance of the ſhuddering Maid,
Th' immeaſurable den was all diſplay'd.
[69] But oh! what various noiſes from within
Fill the vext air with one ſtupendous din!
Mourning's deep groan, and Anger's furious call,
Terror's loud cry, and Affectation's ſquall,
The ſob of Paſſion, the Hyſteric ſcream,
And ſhrieks of Frenzy, in its fierce extreme!
In this wild uproar every ſound's combin'd,
That ſtuns the ſenſes, and diſtracts the mind.
"Mark," (to the Nymph SOPHROSYNE began)
"The fierce Xantippe flaming in the van,
"The vaſe, ſhe emptied on the Sage's head,
"Hangs o'er her own, a different ſhower to ſhed;
"For, drop by drop, diſtilling liquid fire,
"It fills the Vixen with new tropes of ire.
"Beyond the Grecian dame extend your view,
"And mark the ſpectre of a modern Shrew!
"She, who whene'er ſhe din'd, with furious look,
"Spurn'd her nice food, and bellow'd at her cook,
"Here juſtly feels a culinary rack,
"Bound like lxion, to a whirling jack.
"But lo the Tityus of this realm! whoſe hulk
"Is ſtretch'd ſupine, and whoſe enormous bulk
[70] "To ſuch extent in this wide ſcene is ſpread,
"Nine acres ſeem too narrow for his bed!
"This form was once (but many years are paſt,
"Since in his Civic furs he breath'd his laſt)
"Lord Mayor of London; his whole life one treat,
"And all his buſineſs but to rail and eat.
"The circling group of Fiſh, and Fowl, and Beaſts,
"Once crown'd his table, and compos'd his feaſts;
"For all the creatures (mark this ſtrange event!)
"Which he devour'd with growling diſcontent,
"O'er him their reunited limbs diſplay,
"The grumbling Glutton's fleſh they rend away,
"And find his ſwelling form a never-failing prey.
"See! where nine Bucks have gor'd his monſtrous haunch,
"See! fifty Turkies gobble on his paunch!
"O'er his broad ſide twelve creeping Turtles ſpread,
"And Fowls unnumber'd flutter round his head."
SERENA gaz'd, but ſoon ſhe turn'd away,
Sick with diſguſt, and ſhuddering with diſmay.
[71] "To ſcenes leſs hideous let us now repair!"
(Said the kind Guard of the dejected Fair)
And, cheering her faint Charge, her ſtep ſhe led
To the near dwelling of the fretful dead.
Of duſky adamant the dungeon roſe;
A dingy mirror its dark ſides compoſe,
Reflecting, with a thouſand quaint grimaces,
The pale inhabitants' diſtorted faces.
"Here, like a Dame of Quality array'd,
"Sits Peeviſhneſs, preſiding o'er the ſhade,
"And frowning at her own uncomely mien,
"Whoſe coarſe reflection on the wall is ſeen.
"A ſnarling Lap-dog her right-hand reſtrains,
"Her lap an infant Porcupine contains,
"Which, while her fondneſs tries its wrath to ſtill,
"Wounds her each moment with a pointed quill.
"The froward Spirits here in durance fret,
"Whoſe teſty life was one continued pet;
"Here they in trifles that vexation find,
"Which teaz'd on earth their irritated mind.
"Obſerve the Phantom, who with eyes aſkance
"Still to the mirror turns her eager glance!
[72] "See! to her cheek, inceſſant as ſhe turns,
"Her vex'd blood ruſhes, and her viſage burns.
"Beauty for laſting bliſs had form'd the Maid;
"Love to her charms his faithful homage paid;
"But, all this ſwelling tide of joy to check,
"A fatal Freckle riſes on her neck:
"Her ſoft coſmetics the griev'd Nymph applies,
"Succeſs attends her, and the Freckle dies:
"But ah! this victory avails her not;
"She finds an Hydra in the teazing ſpot:
"Faſt as one flies, another ſtill ſucceeds,
"And with eternal food her fretful humour feeds.
"Near to the Nymph, in a more moody fit,
"See the pale Phantom of a peeviſh Wit!
"Mark with what frowns his eager eyes peruſe,
"Wet from the preſs, three Critical Reviews!
"With wounded Vanity's diſtracting rage
"How rapidly he runs thro' every page!
"He finds ſome honours laviſh'd on his Verſe,
"And Joy's faint gleams his gloomy ſpirit pierce.
"But oh! too ſoon theſe feeble ſparks decay;
"And keen Vexation reaſſumes her prey.
[73] "Hating reproof, in every fibre ſore,
"One cenſur'd particle torments him more,
"More than a hundred happier lines delight,
"Which liberal favour condeſcends to cite.
"But time will fail us, if we pauſe to view
"The various torments of the teſty crew;
"Theſe wretched chymiſts, whoſe o'erheated brain
"Extracts from nothing a ſubſtantial pain.
"Yet, ere to different diſtricts we advance,
"Take of one fretful tribe a tranſient glance!
"Their unſuſpected puniſhments ſupply
"A leſſon, uſeful to the Female eye.
"Spleen's livelieſt agent here beguiles the gay,
"Fair to attract, and flattering to betray."
As thus the kind aetherial Guardian ſpoke,
Within a rock, whence plaintive murmurs broke,
She touch'd a ſecret ſpring, whoſe power was ſuch
Two jarring doors unfolded at the touch,
And, with the charms of regal ſplendor bright,
A chearful banquet ſparkles to the ſight.
Viands ſo light, ſo elegantly grac'd,
Might tempt e'en Temperance herſelf to taſte;
[74] For Fruits alone compos'd th' inticing treat,
Fair to the eye, and to the palate ſweet.
In ſuch bright juice the Peach and Cherry ſwim,
As make the Topaz and the Ruby dim.
Here crown'd with every flower, and gaily dreſt
In all the glitter of a Gallic veſt,
Whoſe ample folds her loathſome body ſcreen'd,
A child of Luxury reigns, a ſubtle Fiend!
Who, with a grace that every heart allures,
Smiles on the luſtre of her rich liqueurs.
Her fatal ſmiles their utmoſt power exert
To poiſon Beauty at her dire deſſert;
To blaſt the roſe that Health's bright cheek adorns,
And fill each feſtive heart with latent thorns:
For the fly Fiend, of every art poſſeſt,
Steals on th' affection of her Female gueſt;
And, by her ſoft addreſs ſeducing each,
Eager ſhe plies them with a Brandy Peach:
They with keen lip the luſcious fruit devour;
But ſwiftly feel its peace-deſtroying power.
Quick thro' each vein new tides of frenzy roll:
All evil paſſions kindle in the ſoul,
[75] Drive from each feature every chearful grace,
And glare ferocious in the ſallow face;
The wounded nerves in furious conflict tear,
Then ſink, in blank dejection and deſpair.
Effects more dire, thus tempting to deceive,
The Apple wrought not in the ſoul of Eve;
Howe'er diſguis'd, in Jelly or in Jam,
Spleen has no poiſon ſurer than a Dram.
"But haſte we now," (the heavenly Leader cries)
"To where this penal world's laſt wonder lies!"
She ſpoke; and led the Nymph thro' deeper dells,
Low-murmuring vaults, and horror-breathing cells.
And now they paſs a perforated cage,
Where rancorous Spectres without number rage.
"Avert thine eye!" (the heavenly Spirit ſaid)
"Nor view theſe abject tribes of envious dead!
"Who pin'd to hear the voice of Truth proclaim
"A Siſter's beauty, or a Brother's fame!
"Tho' crown'd with all Proſperity imparts,
"High in their various ranks, and ſeveral arts;
"Yet, meanly ſunk by Envy's baſe controul,
"They died in that conſumption of the ſoul;
[76] "And here, thro' bars that twiſted Adders make,
"And the long volumes of th' envenom'd Snake,
"O'er this dark road they dart an anxious eye,
"Still envying every Fiend, that flutters by.
"Paſs! and regard them not!"—Th' attentive Maid
In ſilent tremor the beheſt obey'd.
This dungeon croſt, her weary feet ſhe drags
Thro' winding caverns, and o'er icy crags:
Soul-chilling damps in the dark paſſage reign,
Which iſſues on a vaſt and dreary plain,
Fann'd by no breezes, with no verdure crown'd;
The black horizon is its only bound.
And now advancing, in a drizzly miſt,
Thro' ſullen Phantoms, hating to exiſt,
SERENA ſpies, high o'er his ſubjects plac'd,
The ghaſtly Tyrant of the gloomy waſte.
Murmuring he ſits upon a rocking ſtone,
Th' unſtable baſe of his ill-founded throne:
Hideous his face, and horrible his frame,
Miſanthropy the griſly Monſter's name!
Him to fierce Pride, with raging paſſion ſore,
The frowning Gorgon, Diſappointment, bore;
[77] On earth deteſted, and by heaven abhorr'd,
Of this drear wild he reigns the moody lord.
Few are the ſubjects of his waſte domain,
And ſcarce a Female in his frightful train,
Except one changing corps of ancient Prudes:
Reluctant here the prying band intrudes.
Each, who on earth, behind her artful fan,
Feign'd coarſe averſion to the creature Man,
Is doom'd, in this dark region, to abide
Some tranſient pains for hypocritic pride.
Here ever-during chains thoſe Scoffers bind,
Whoſe writings deaden and debaſe the mind;
Who mock Creation with injurious ſcorn,
And feel a fancied void in Plenty's horn.
In his right-hand, an emblem of his cares,
A branch of Aconite the Monarch bears;
And thoſe ſour Phantoms, who this region haunt,
He feeds with berries from this deadly plant;
For, ſtrange to tell! tho' ſever'd from its root,
The bough ſtill blackens with ſucceſſive fruit.
The tribes, who taſte it, burſt into a fit
Of raving mockery and rancorous wit;
[78] And, pleas'd their Tyrant's ghaſtly ſmile to court,
By vile diſtortions make him various ſport.
The frantic rabble, who his ſway confeſs;
Before his throne an hideous Puppet dreſs;
When in unſeemly rags they have array'd
The image, from their own dark ſemblance made,
In horrid gambols round their work they throng,
With antic dance and rude diſcordant ſong;
Satire's rank offals on the block they fling,
And call it Nature, to delight their King:
While in their features he exults to ſee
The frowns of Torture, mixt with grins of Glee.
For, as theſe abject toils engage the crew,
Their own grim idol darkens to their view;
Wide and more wide its horrid ſtature ſpreads,
And o'er the tribe new conſternation ſheds:
For each forgets, in his bewilder'd gaze,
'Tis but a Monſter, which he help'd to raiſe.
As o'er its form their dizzy glances roll,
It ſtrikes a chearleſs damp thro' all the ſoul.
Vainly to ſhun the baleful ſight they try,
It draws for ever the reluctant eye:
[79] At each review with deeper dread they ſtart;
A colder chaos numbs each freezing heart.
No mutual confidence, no friendly care,
Relieves the panic they are doom'd to bear;
For as they ſhrink abſorb'd in wild affright,
When each to each inclines his wounded ſight,
They feel, for ſocial comfort, ſour diſguſt,
And all the ſullen anguiſh of diſtruſt.
"Now mark, SERENA! (the mild Guide began)
"The proudeſt Phantom of the gloomy clan,
"Appointed, by this ſurly Monarch's grace,
"High-prieſt of all his Miſanthropic race!
"See o'er the crowd a throne of vapours lift
"That ſtrange and motley form, the ſhade of SWIFT!
"Now ſhalt thou view" (the guardian Sprite purſues)
"His horrid pennance, that each day renews:
"Perchance its terrors may o'erwhelm thy ſenſe,
"But truſt my care to bear thee ſafely hence!"
As thus ſhe ſpoke, above the gazing throng,
High in a ſailing cloud the Spectre ſwept along.
[80] Vain of his power, of elocution proud,
In myſtic language he harangu'd the crowd;
The bounds he mark'd, with meaſure ſo preciſe,
Of Equine virtue, and of Human vice,
That, curſing Nature's gifts, without remorſe,
Each ſullen hearer wiſh'd himſelf a Horſe.
Pleas'd with the pure effect his ſermon wrought,
Th' ambitious Prieſt a rich Tiara caught,
Which, hovering o'er his high-aſpiring head,
Sarcaſtic Humour dangled by a thread.
The rich Tiara, for his temples fit,
Blaz'd with each poliſh'd gem of brilliant wit;
And ſharp-fac'd Irony, his darling Sprite,
Who rais'd her patron to this giddy height,
Faſt on his brow the dangerous honour bound,
But, in the moment that her Prieſt was crown'd,
His airy throne diſſolv'd, and thunder rent the ground.
Forth from the yawning earth, with lightning's ſpeed,
Sprang the fierce phantom of a fiery Steed,
Spurring his ſides, whence bloody poiſon flow'd,
The ghaſtly-grinning Fiend, Deriſion, rode.
[81] In her right-hand a horrid whip ſhe ſhakes,
Whoſe ſounding laſh was form'd of knotted ſnakes:
An uncouth bugle her left-hand diſplay'd,
From a grey monkey's ſkull by Malice made;
As her diſtorted lips this whiſtle blew,
Forth ruſh'd the Spectre of a wild Yahoo.
See the poor Wit in haſty terror ſpring,
And fly for ſuccour to his griſly King!
In vain his piercing cries that ſuccour court:
The griſly King enjoys the cruel ſport.
Behold the fierce Yahoo, her victim caught,
Drive her ſharp talons thro' the ſeat of thought!
That copious fountain, which too well ſupplied
Perverted Ridicule's malignant tide.
Quick from her ſteed the grinning Fiend deſcends,
From the pierc'd ſkull the ſpleenful brain ſhe rends,
To black Miſanthropy, her ghaſtly King,
See the keen Hag this horrid preſent bring!
Her daily gift! for, as each day arrives,
Her deſtin'd victim for new death revives.
The Huntreſs now, this direſt pageant paſt,
On her wild bugle blew ſo dread a blaſt,
[82] [83] The ſharp ſound pierc'd thro' all the depths of Hell;
The Fiends all anſwer'd in one hideous yell,
And in a fearful trance the ſoft SERENA fell.
Hence from the lovely Nymph her ſenſes fled,
Till, thro' the parted curtains of her bed;
The amorous Sun, who now began to riſe,
Kiſt, with a ſportive beam, her opening eyes*
END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

CANTO IV.

[84]
HAIL, thou enlighten'd Globe of human joy!
Where ſocial cares the ſoften'd heart employ:
What cheering rays of vital comfort roll
In thy bright regions o'er the reſcued ſoul,
Which, 'ſcaping from the dark domain of Spleen,
Springs with new warmth to thy attractive ſcene!
Once more I bleſs thy pleaſure-breathing gale,
And gaze enchanted on thy flowery vale,
Where ſmiling Innocence, and ardent Youth,
Sport hand in hand with Beauty and with Truth.
Sport on, ſweet revellers! in roſy bowers,
Safe from th' intruſion of all evil Powers!
Ah fruitleſs wiſh of the benignant Muſe,
Which to this chequer'd world the Fates refuſe!
For round its precincts many an ugly Sprite
Speeds undiſcern'd to poiſon pure delight:
Amidſt the foremoſt of this haggard band,
Unwearied poſter of the ſea and land,
[85] Wrapt in dark miſts, malignant Scandal flies,
While Envy's poiſon'd breath the buoyant gale ſupplies.
Tho' SHERIDAN, with ſhafts of comic wit,
Pierc'd, and expos'd her to the laughing Pit,
Th' immortal Hag ſtill wears her paper crown,
The dreaded Empreſs of the idle Town:
O'erleaping her prerogative of old,
To ſink the noble, to defame the bold;—
In chace of Worth to ſlip the dogs of Strife,
Thro' all the ample range of public life;—
The Tyrant now, that ſanctuary burſt
Where Happineſs by Privacy is nurſt,
Her fury riſing as her powers encreaſe,
O'erturns the altars of domeſtic Peace.
Pleas'd in her dark and gall-diſtilling cloud
The ſportive form of Innocence to ſhroud,
Beauty's young train her baleful eyes ſurvey,
To mark the faireſt, as her favourite prey.
Hence, ſweet SERENA, while thy ſpirit ſtray'd
Round the deep realms of ſubterranean ſhade,
This keeneſt agent of th' infernal Powers
On earth was buſied, in thoſe tranquil hours,
[86] To blaſt thy peace, and poiſon'd darts to aim
Againſt the honour of thy ſpotleſs name:
For Scandal, reſtleſs Fiend, who never knows
The balmy bleſſing of an hour's repoſe,
Worn, yet unſated with her daily toil,
In her baſe work conſumes the midnight oil.
O'er fiercer Fiends when heavy ſlumbers creep,
When wearied Avarice and Ambition ſleep,
Scandal is vigilant, and keen to ſpread
The plagues that ſpring from her prolific head.
On Truth's fair baſis ſhe her falſehood builds,
With tinſel ſentiment its ſurface gilds;
To nightly labour from their dark abodes
The Demons of the groaning Preſs ſhe goads,
And ſmiles to ſee their rapid art ſupply
Ten thouſand wings to every infant lye.
In triumph now behold the Hag applaud
He keen and fav'rite Imp, ingenious Fraud,
Her quick Compoſitor, whoſe flying hand
Has clos'd the paragraph ſhe keenly plann'd.
No Nymph ſhe nam'd, yet mark'd her vile intent,
That Dullneſs could not miſs the name ſhe meant:
[87] In Satire's tints the injur'd Fair ſhe drew,
In form an Angel, but in ſoul a Jew.
It chanc'd her Sire among his friends inroll'd
A wealthy Senator, infirm and old;
Who, dup'd too early by a generous heart,
Raſhly aſſum'd a Miſanthropic part:
Tho' peeviſh fancies would his mind incruſt,
Good-nature's image lurk'd beneath their ruſt;
And gay SERENA, with that ſportive wit
Which heals the folly that it deigns to hit,
Would oft the ſickneſs of his ſoul beguile,
And teach the ſullen humoriſt to ſmile;
Pleas'd by her virtuous frolics to aſſuage
The mental anguiſh of diſtemper'd age.
This ancient friend, in a ſarcaſtic ſketch,
Was mark'd by Scandal as a monied wretch,
For whom the young, yet mercenary Fair
Had ſubtly ſpread a matrimonial ſnare.
With ſuch baſe matter, more diffuſely wrought,
The ſpirit-piercing paragraph was fraught,
O'er which with glee the eye of Scandal glar'd,
Which for the opening Preſs herſelf prepar'd;
[88] She on the types her inky wad let fall,
And ſmear'd each letter with her bittereſt gall;
The Preſs, whoſe ready gripe the charge receives,
Stamps it ſucceſſive on ten thouſand leaves,
Which pil'd in heaps impatient ſeem to lie,
They only wait the dawn of day to fly.
Now, as the trembling child, which long has laid
Mute in the dark, and of itſelf afraid,
When, haply conſcious of the pain it feels,
The watchful mother to its pillow ſteals,
Springs to her breaſt, and ſhakes off all alarms,
Feeling its ſafety in her foſtering arms:
With ſuch quick joy, in innocence as young,
The ſoft SERENA from her pillow ſprung,
Pleas'd to awake from her [...]ific dream,
And feel the chearful Sun's returning beam.
Eager ſhe roſe, in buſy thought, nor ſtaid
The wonted ſummons of her punctual Maid,
And as her own fair hands adjuſt her veſt,
The guardian Cincture flutters on her breaſt;
For fondly, when ſhe wak'd, or when ſhe ſlept,
Still round her heart th' important Zone ſhe kept.
[89] Thou happy Girdle! to thy charge be juſt!
Firm be thy threads, and faithful to their truſt;
For hours approach, when all the ſtores they hide
Of magic virtue, muſt be ſtrongly tried!—
Now, while her kind domeſtic heart intends
To pleaſe her early Sire, the Nymph deſcends;
But Sleep, who left the Fair with ſudden flight,
With late wings hover'd o'er the good old Knight;
And the chill circle of the lone ſaloon
Informs the ſhiv'ring Maid ſhe roſe too ſoon.
'Tis true, attentive John's unfailing care
Began the rites of breakfaſt to prepare;
But yet no fires on the cold altar burn,
No ſmoke ariſes from the ſilver urn,
And the blank tea-board, where no viands lay,
Only ſupplied the Paper of the day.
Tho' mild SERENA's peace-devoted mind
The keen debate of politics declin'd,
And heard with cold contempt, or generous hate,
The frauds of Party and the lies of State;
Nor car'd much more for Faſhion's looſe intrigues,
Than factious bickerings, or foreign leagues;
[90] Yet, while ſhe ſaunters idle and alone,
Her careleſs eyes are on the Paper thrown.
As ſome gay Youth, whom ſportive friends engage
To view the furious Ourang in his cage,
If while amus'd he ſees the monſter grin,
And truſts too careleſs to the bolts within,
If the ſly Beaſt, as near the grate he draws,
Tear him unguarded with projected paws,
Starts at the wound, and feels his boſom thrill
With pain and wonder at the ſudden ill:
So did SERENA ſtart, ſo wildly gaze,
In ſuch mixt pangs of anguiſh and amaze,
Feeling the wound which Scandal had deſign'd
To lacerate her mild and modeſt mind.
Startled, as one who from electric wire
Unheeding catches unſuſpected fire,
She reads, then almoſt doubts that ſhe has read,
And thinks ſome viſion hovers round her head.
Now, her fixt eye ſome ſtriking words confine,
And now ſhe darts it thrice thro' every line;
Nor could Amazement more her ſenſes ſhake,
Had every letter been a Gorgon's ſnake.
[91] Now riſing Indignation takes its turn,
And her fluſh'd cheeks with tingling bluſhes burn,
With reſtleſs motion and with many a frown,
Thro' the wide room ſhe paces up and down:
Now, muſing, makes a momentary ſtand,
The fatal Paper fluttering in her hand.
So the ſhy Bird, by cruel ſportſmen ſprung,
And by their random fire ſeverely ſtung,
Scar'd, not diſabled, by the diſtant wound,
Now trembling flies, now ſkims along the ground,
Now vainly tries, in ſome ſequeſter'd ſpot,
From her gor'd breaſt to ſhake the galling ſhot.
Ye tender Nymphs! whoſe kindling ſouls would flame,
Touch'd, like SERENA's, by injurious blame,
O let your quick and kindred ſpirits form
A vivid picture of the mental ſtorm
In which ſhe labour'd, and whoſe force to paint
The Muſe's ſtrongeſt tints appear too faint;
In ſympathetic thought her ſuffering ſee!
But O, for ever from ſuch wrongs be free!
Her faithful Girdle try'd its power to ſave,
And oft a monitory impulſe gave;
[92] Still unregarded, ſtill unfelt, it preſt
With uſeleſs energy her heaving breaſt;
Her mind, forgetful of the magic Zone,
Full of the burning ſhaft by Scandal thrown,
With blended notes of ſorrow and diſdain,
Thus in diſorder'd language vents its pain:—
"Had Malice dar'd my honour to defame,
"The ſelf-refuted lie had loſt its aim:
"But here the world, deceiv'd by ſland'rous art,
"Muſt think SERENA has a venal heart."
A venal heart! at that deteſted ſound,
In ſwelling anguiſh her ſunk voice was drown'd.
Now was a fearful criſis of her fate:
Diſtended now by Paſſion's growing weight,
And for its Miſtreſs fill'd with conſcious dread,
The magic Girdle crack'd thro' every thread,
And ſnapp'd perchance by Scandal's force accurſt,
From her full heart the guardian Zone had burſt,
And, ſpite of all the virtues of the Fair,
The ſpell of Happineſs had ſunk in air,
But that SOPHROSYNE, whoſe friendly fear
Timely foreſaw this trial too ſevere,
[93] An early ſuccour gain'd from ſecret Love,
From the fell Kite to ſnatch the falling Dove.
As Nature ſtudies, in her wide domain,
To blend ſome antidote with every bane;
Thus her kind aid the friendly Power contriv'd,
That, from the quarter whence the wound arriv'd,
There flow'd, the anguiſh of that wound to calm,
A ſoothing, ſoft, and medicinal balm.
As in her agitated hand the Fair
Wav'd the looſe Paper with diſorder'd air,
In capitals ſhe ſaw SERENA flame:
She bluſh'd, ſhe ſhudder'd, as ſhe view'd the name;
Her ready fears ſubſide in new ſurprize,
And eager thus ſhe reads with lighten'd eyes:
"Go, faithful Sonnet, to SERENA ſay
"What charmspeculiar in her features reign:
"A ſtranger, whom her glance may ne'er ſurvey,
"Pays her this tribute in no flattering ſtrain.
"Tell her, the Bard, in Beauty's ample reign,
"Has ſeen a virgin cheek as richly glow,
[94] "A boſom, where the blue meandring vein
"Sheds as ſoft luſtre thro' the lucid ſnow,
"Eyes, that as brightly flaſh with joy and youth,
"And locks, that like her own luxuriant flow:
"Then ſay, for then ſhe cannot doubt thy truth,
"That the wide earth no Female form can ſhew
"Where Nature's legend ſo diſtinctly tells,
"In this fair ſhrine a fairer ſpirit dwells."
With curious wonder the reviving Maid
View'd this fond homage to her beauty paid;
A ſecond glance o'er every line ſhe caſt,
And half pronounc'd and half ſuppreſs'd the laſt,
While modeſt Pleaſure, and ingenuous Pride,
Her burning cheek with deeper crimſon dy'd.
O Praiſe! thy language was by Heaven deſign'd
As manna to the faint bewilder'd mind:
Beauty and Diffidence, whoſe hearts rejoice
In the kind comfort of thy cheering voice,
In this wild wood of life, wert thou not nigh,
Muſt, like the wandering Babes, lie down and die:
[]

Page 90.

Stothard del. Sharp ſculpt.

London. Publiſhed Septr. 1st. 1788. by T. Cadell. Strand.

[95] But thy ſweet accents wake new vital powers,
And make this thorny path a path of flowers:
As oil on Ocean's troubled waters ſpread,
Smooths the rough billow to a level bed,
The ſoothing Rhyme thus ſoften'd into reſt
The painful tumult of SERENA's breaſt.
Now, to herſelf reſtor'd, the conſcious Maid
The lurking Fiend's inſidious ſnare ſurvey'd;
Her nerves, with grateful trepidation, own
A ſlighter preſſure from the faithful Zone;
And in fond thought ſhe breathes a thankful prayer
For her aetherial Guardian's conſtant care;
Yet with a keen deſire her boſom glow'd,
To hear from whom the gentle Sonnet flow'd;
But kind SOPHROSYNE, who watch'd unſeen,
To ſhield her votary from the wiles of Spleen,
As friendly Love had fixt a future time,
When to reveal the ſecret of the Rhyme,
Strove till that hour her fancy to reſtrain,
Nor let her anxious wiſhes riſe to pain.
As Gaiety's freſh tide began to roll,
Eaſt in the ſwelling channel of her ſoul,
[96] The good old Knight deſcends, tho' eager, ſlow,
The Gout ſtill tingling in his tender toe;
And now, paternal ſalutations paſt,
His eyes he keenly on the Paper caſt,
While his ſweet Daughter, with attentive grace,
Before him flies his ready cup to place;
For Tea and Politics alternate ſhare,
In friendly rivalſhip, his morning care.
Tho' ſmooth as oil the Knight's good-humour flows,
When the mild breeze of pleaſant fortune blows,
Yet, quick to catch the caſual ſparks of ire,
Like oil it kindles into mounting fire;
And fiercely now his flaming ſpirit blaz'd,
While on thoſe galling words he wildly gaz'd,
Whoſe force had almoſt work'd into a ſtorm
The gentler elements in Beauty's form.
As the ſarcaſtic ſentence caught his view,
Back from the board his elbow-chair he drew,
And, by ſharp ſtings of ſudden fury prick'd,
Far from his foot his gouty ſtool he kick'd.
Fierce as Achilles, by Atrides ſtung,
He pour'd the ſtream of vengeance from his tongue.
[97] But ah, thoſe angry threats he deign'd to ſpeak,
Had ſounds, alas! far differing from the Greek.
Rage from his lips in legal language broke;
Of Juries and of Damages he ſpoke,
And on the Printer's law-devoted head,
He threaten'd deep revenge in terms moſt dread;
Terms, that with pain the ear of Beauty pierce,
And oaths too rough to harmonize in verſe.
While thus the good old Knight, with paſſion hot,
His Toaſt neglected, and his Tea forgot,
The diſcord of the drama to increaſe,
Now prim PENELOPE aſſails her Niece;
For, as Sir GILBERT now, with choler dumb,
Points her the period with his angry thumb,
"Ah! Brother," cries the ſtiff, malignant crone,
(Her ſharp eye ſwiftly thro' the ſentence thrown)
"Scandal could never riſe to heights like this,
"But from the manners of each modern Miſs;
"Had but my Niece, leſs giddy and more grave,
"Obſerv'd the prudent hints I often gave—"
The honeſt Knight her vile concluſion ſaw,
And quick curtail'd it with a teſty "Pſhaw!"
[98] Mean while the gentle Maid, who heard the taunt,
Survey'd without a frown her prudiſh Aunt:
Far other thoughts employ'd her ſofter mind,
To one ſweet purpoſe all her ſoul inclin'd;
How ſhe might cloſe th' unpleaſant ſcene, how beſt
Reſtore good-humour to her Father's breaſt.
Her airy Guardian with delight ſurvey'd
Theſe tender wiſhes in the lovely Maid,
And, to accompliſh what her heart deſir'd,
Trains of new thought above her age inſpir'd.
As Venus on her ſon's enlighten'd face
Shed richer charms, and more attractive grace,
When, iſſuing forth from the diſſolving cloud,
His bright form burſt on the admiring croud:
So kind SOPHROSYNE, unſeen, ſupplies
A livelier radiance to SERENA's eyes;
And, ere ſhe ſpeaks, to captivate her Sire,
Touches her lips with patriotic fire.
It chanc'd, that, toſs'd upon a vacant chair,
A volume of that Wit lay near the Fair,
Whoſe value, try'd by Faſhion's varying touch,
Once roſe too high, and now is ſunk too much;
[99] The book, which Fortune plac'd within her reach,
Contain'd, O CHESTERFIELD, the liberal ſpeech
In which thy ſpirit, like an Attic Sage,
Strove to defend the violated Stage
From fetters baſely forg'd by Miniſterial rage.
From this the Nymph her uſeful leſſon took,
And thus began, reclining on the Book:—
"If on this noble Lord we may rely,
"Scandal is but a ſpeck on Freedom's eye;
"And Public Spirit, then, will rather bear
"The caſual pain it gives by growing there,
"Than, by a raſh attempt to move it thence,
"Hazard the ſafety of a precious Senſe,
"And, by the efforts of a vain deſire,
"Rob this life-darting eye of all its fire.
"Tho' the ſoft breaſt of Innocence may ſmart,
"By cruel Calumny's corroding dart,
"Yet would ſhe rather ache in every nerve,
"And bear thoſe pangs ſhe knows not to deſerve,
"Much rather than be made a ſenſeleſs tool,
"To aid the frenzy of tyrannic rule,
"Or forge one dangerous bolt for Power to aim
"At ſacred Liberty's ſuperior frame."—
[100]
As ancient Chiefs were wont of old to gaze,
With eyes of tender awe and fond amaze
On the fair Prieſteſs of the Delphic fane,
When firſt ſhe utter'd her prophetic ſtrain,
Entranc'd in wonder, thus Sir GILBERT view'd
His child, yet more inſpir'd, who thus purſu'd:
"For me, I own, theſe lines, with gall replete,
"Shot thro' my ſimple heart a ſudden heat;
"But happier thoughts my riſing rage repreſt,
"And turn'd the pointleſs inſult to a jeſt:
"And O! ſhould Slander ſtill new wrath awake,
"Still may my Father, for his Daughter's ſake,
"Diſdain the vengeance of litigious ſtrife,
"And let SERENA's anſwer be—her life!"
She ended with a ſmile, whoſe magic flame
Shot youthful vigour thro' her Father's frame:
His Age, his Anger, and his Gout, are fled;
"Enchanting Girl!" with tears of joy, he ſaid,
"Enchanting Girl!" twice echoed from his tongue,
As, ſpeaking, from his elbow-chair he ſprung,
"Come to thy Father's arms!—By Heaven, thou art
"His own true offspring, and a Whig in heart."
[101]
He ſpoke; and his fond arms around her curl'd
With proud graſp, ſeeming to infold the world.
Her conſcious heart ſhe feels with triumph beat,
And joys to find that triumph is compleat;
For ſtiff PENELOPE, who near them ſtood,
"Albeit unuſed to the melting mood,"
Squeez'd from her eye-lid one reluctant tear,
And ſoften'd with a ſmile her brow ſevere;
But 'twas a ſmile of ſuch a gloomy grace,
As lighten'd once upon Alecto's face,
When Orpheus paſt her, leading back to life,
From Pluto's regions, his recover'd wife,
When Love connubial, join'd to Muſic's ſpell,
Moiſten'd with tender joy the eyes of Hell.
Far other ſmiles, with Pleaſure's ſofteſt air,
Gild the gay features of the youthful Fair:
She looks like ſportive Spring, when her young charms
Wind round her hoary Sire's reluctant arms,
And, by a frolic infantine embrace,
Baniſh the rugged frown from Winter's face.
Thro' the long day ſhe felt the glowing tide
Of exultation thro' her boſom glide;
[102] And oft ſhe wiſh'd for ſlow-approaching Night,
To hold ſweet converſe with her guardian Sprite.
At length the hour approach'd her heart deſir'd,
And, in her lonely chamber now retir'd,
Her tender fancy gave the fondeſt ſcope
To ardent Gratitude and eager Hope.
"Dear airy Being!" (the ſoft Nymph exclaim'd)
"Whoſe power can break the ſpell that Spleen has fram'd,
"Can, by the waving of thy viewleſs wing,
"O'er darkeſt forms a golden radiance fling,
"And make, in minds by ſorrieſt thoughts perplext,
"This moment's grief the triumph of the next;
"I bleſs thy ſuccour in each trial paſt;
"Be preſent ſtill, and ſave me in the laſt!"
Thus, with her lovely eyes devoutly fixt,
Where rays of hope, and fear, and reverence mixt,
The tender Fair her faithful Guard addreſt,
Then with her cheek her downy pillow preſt;
But long her wakeful lids refuſe to cloſe,
For Curioſity diſpels repoſe.
Her buſy mind the myſtic veil would pierce,
That hides the Author of the pleaſing Verſe;
[103] Her lips involuntary catch the chime,
And half articulate the ſoothing Rhyme,
Till weary Thought no longer watch can keep,
But ſinks reluctant in the folds of Sleep.
END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.

CANTO V.

[104]
WHY art thou fled, O bleſt poetic time,
When Fancy wrought the miracles of Rhyme;
When, darting from her ſtar-encircled throne,
Her Poet's eye commanded worlds unknown;
When, by her fiat made a mimic God,
He ſaw Exiſtence waiting on his nod,
And at his pleaſure into being brought
New ſhadowy hoſts, the vaſſals of his thought,
In Joy's gay garb, in Terror's dread array,
Darker than night, and brighter than the day;
Who, at his bidding, thro' the wilds of air,
Rais'd willing mortals far from earthly care,
And led them wondering thro' his wide domain,
Beyond the bounds of Nature's narrow reign;
While their rapt ſpirits, in the various flight,
Shook with ſucceſſive thrills of new delight?
Return, ſweet ſeaſon, grac'd with Fiction's flowers,
Let not cold Syſtem cramp thy genial powers!
[105] Shall mild Morality, in gard uncouth,
The houſewife garb of plain and homely Truth,
Robb'd by ſtern Method of her roſy crown,
Chill her faint votaries by a wintry frown?
No; thou ſweet friend of Man, as ſuits thee beſt,
Shine forth in Fable's rich-embroider'd veſt!
O make my Verſe thy vehicle, thy arms,
To ſpread o'er ſocial life thy potent charms!
And thou, SOPHROSYNE, myſterious Sprite!
If haply I may trace thy ſteps aright,
Roving thro' paths untrod by mortal feet,
To paint for human eyes thy heavenly ſeat,
Shed on my ſoul ſome portion of that power,
Which ſav'd SERENA in the trying hour,
To bear thoſe trials, which, however hard,
As Bards all tell us, may befall the Bard;
The Fop's pert jeſt, the Critic's frown ſevere,
Learning's proud cant, with Envy's artful ſneer,
And, the vext Poet's laſt and worſt diſgrace,
His cold blank Bookſeller's rhyme-freezing face.
Hence! ye dark omens, that to Spleen belong,
Ye ſhall not check the current of my ſong,
[106] While Beauty's lovely race, for whom I ſing,
Fire my warm hand to ſtrike the ready ſtring.
As Quiet now her lighteſt mantle laid
O'er the ſtill ſenſes of the ſleeping Maid,
Her nightly Viſitant, her faithful Guide,
Deſcends in all her Empyrean pride;
That Fairy ſhape no more ſhe deigns to wear,
Whoſe light foot ſmooths the furrow plough'd by care
In mortal faces, while her tiny ſpear
Gives a kind tingle to the caution'd ear.
Now, in her nobler ſhape, of heavenly ſize,
She ſtrikes her votary's ſoul with new ſurprize.
Jove's favourite daughter, arm'd in all his powers,
Appear'd leſs brilliant to th' attending Hours,
When, on the golden car of Juno rais'd,
In heavenly pomp the Queen of Battles blaz'd:
With all her luſtre, but without the dread
Which from her arm the frowning Gorgon ſhed,
SOPHROSYNE deſcends, with guardian Love,
To waft her gentle Ward to worlds above.
From her fair brow a radiant diadem
Roſe in twelve ſtars, and every ſeparate gem
[107] Shot magic rays, of virtue to controul
Some paſſion hoſtile to the human ſoul.
Round her ſweet form a robe of aether flow'd,
And in a wonderous car the ſmiling Spirit rode;
Firm as pure ivory, it charm'd the ſight
With finer poliſh and a ſofter white.
The hand of Beauty, with an eaſy ſwell,
Scoop'd the free concave like a bending ſhell;
And on its rich exterior, Art diſplay'd
The triumphs of the Power the car convey'd.
Here, in celeſtial tints, ſurpaſſing life,
Sate lovely Gentleneſs, diſarming Strife;
There, young Affection, born of tender Thought,
In roſy chains the fiercer Paſſions caught;
Ambition, with his ſceptre ſnapt in twain,
And Avarice, ſcorning what his cheſts contain.
Round the tame Vulture flies the fearleſs Dove;
Soft Innocence embraces playful Love;
And laughing Sport, the frolic Child of Air,
Buries in flowers the ſinking form of Care.
Theſe figures, pencil'd with a touch ſo light,
That every image ſeem'd an heavenly Sprite,
[108] Breathe on the car; whoſe ſight-enchanting frame
Four wheels ſuſtain, of pale and purple flame;
For no fleet animals, to earth unknown,
Bear thro' aetherial fields this flying throne.
As by the ſubtle electrician's ſkill,
Globes ſeem to fly, obedient to his will;
So theſe four circles of inſtinctive fire
Move by the impulſe of their Queen's deſire,
Mount or deſcend by her directing care,
Or reſt, ſupported by the buoyant air.
Now, ſpringing from her car, that hovering ſtaid
High in the chamber of the ſleeping Maid,
The Goddeſs, with a voice divinely clear,
Breath'd theſe kind accents in her Votary's ear:—
"Come, my fair Champion, who ſo well haſt fought
"The uſeful battles of contentious Thought;
"To aid thy gentle ſpirit to ſuſtain
"The final conflict of thy deſtin'd pain,
"View the rewards that, in my realms of bliſs,
"Wait the ſweet Victor in ſuch war as this!
"So haply may thy mind, with ſtrength renew'd,
"The dark devices of the Fiend elude;
[109] "By one bleſt effort ſeal thy triumphs paſt,
"And gain thy promis'd guerdon in the laſt."
As thus ſhe ſpake, her heavenly arms embrac'd,
And in the car the conſcious Maiden plac'd.
Quick at her wiſh the flaming wheels aſcend,
No clouds impede them, whereſoe'er they bend.
As thro' the empire of the winds they ruſh'd,
The winds were all in mute ſubmiſſion huſh'd:
And now SERENA, from th' exalted car,
Look'd down, aſtoniſh'd, on each ſinking ſtar;
Flying o'er lucid orbs, whoſe diſtant light
Yet has not reach'd the ſcope of human ſight;
And now, not diſtant from the bounds of Space,
The guardian Sprite ſuſpends their rapid race;
And, while in deep amaze the Nymph admires
The circling meteor's inoffenſive fires,
Pleas'd at her wonder, the mild Power addreſt,
With kind intelligence, her earthly gueſt:—
"Of thoſe three Orbs, that in yon chryſtal ſphere
"A ſeparate ſyſtem in themſelves appear,
"The laſt, whoſe luminous and ſteady form
"Shines ſoftly bright, and moderately warm,
[110] "Contains my palace, and the gentle train
"Whom I have wafted to this pure domain.
"At equal diſtance my dominions lie
"From theſe two larger worlds, more near thine eye:
"Obſerve their difference as our wheels advance,
"And paſſing, take of each a tranſient glance."
So ſpeaking, to the groſſer globe ſhe ſprung,
Her car ſuſpended o'er its ſurface hung,
In heavy air; for round this orb was roll'd
A circling vapour, dull, and damp, and cold.
"Here," ſays SOPHROSYNE, "thoſe Beings dwell,
"Who wanted ſoul to act or ill or well;
"Who ſaunter'd thoughtleſs thro' their mortal time,
"Without a Care, a Virtue, or a Crime:
"Here ſtill they ſaunter, in this languid ſcene;
"But paſs the dozing crowd, and mark their Queen."
And now, ſlow riding on a Tortoiſe' back,
Her features lifeleſs, and each fibre ſlack,
Full in their view the Nymph Indifference came;
The quick SERENA ſoon perceiv'd her name;
For, as in ſolemn creeping ſtate ſhe rode,
In her lax hand ſhe held fair GREVILLE's Ode.
[111] Ne'er did the Muſe from her ſweet treaſure cull
Incenſe ſo precious for a Power ſo dull.
Still, as ſhe mov'd along her even way,
The heavy Goddeſs try'd to read the lay;
But at each pauſe her inattentive eye
Stray'd from the paper, which ſhe held awry;
Nor could her lips a ſingle line repeat,
Tho' the ſoft Verſe, moſt raviſhingly ſweet,
Thro' Time's dull ear will laſting pleaſure ſpread,
And charm the poppy from Oblivion's head.
Thus like a City Mayor, whoſe heavy barge
Steers its dull progreſs at the public charge,
This Power, ſo cumber'd by her empire's weight,
Makes her ſlow circuit round her ſluggiſh ſtate.
Around her, tribes of rambling Sceptics crawl,
Tho' moving, dubious if they move at all.
Before her, languid Pomp, her Marſhal, creeps,
Whoſe hand her banner half unfolded keeps:
Its quaint device her dull dominion ſpoke—
An Eagle, numb'd by the Torpedo's ſtroke.
"Enough of ſcenes ſo foreign to thy ſoul,"
SOPHROSYNE exclaim'd; "from this dark goal
[112] "Paſs we to regions oppoſite to this."
She ſpoke; and, darting o'er the wide abyſs,
Her car, like lightning in ſoft flaſhes hurl'd,
Shot to the confines of a clearer world.
Now lovelier views the Virgin's mind abſorb;
For now they hover'd o'er a lucid orb.
Here the ſoft air, luxuriouſly warm,
Imparts new luſtre to SERENA's form:
Her eyes with more expreſſive radiance ſpeak,
And richer roſes open on her cheek.
Here, as ſhe gaz'd, ſhe felt in every vein
A blended thrill of pleaſure and of pain;
Yet every object opening to her view,
Her quick regard with ſoft attraction drew.
SOPHROSYNE, who ſaw the gentle Fair
Lean o'er theſe confines with peculiar care,
Smil'd at the tender intereſt ſhe diſplay'd,
And ſpoke regardful of the penſive Maid:
"Well may'ſt thou bend o'er this congenial ſphere;
"For Senſibility is Sovereign here.
"Thou ſeeſt her train of ſprightly damſels ſport,
"Where the ſoft Spirit holds her rural court;
[113] "But fix thine eye attentive to the plain,
"And mark the varying wonders of her reign."
As thus ſhe ſpoke, ſhe pois'd her airy ſeat
High o'er a plain exhaling every ſweet;
For round its precincts all the flowers that bloom
Fill'd the delicious air with rich perfume;
And in the midſt a verdant throne appear'd,
In ſimpleſt form by graceful Fancy rear'd,
And deck'd with flowers; not ſuch whoſe flaunting dyes
Strike with the ſtrongeſt tint our dazzled eyes;
But thoſe wild herbs that tendereſt fibres bear,
And ſhun th' approaches of a damper air.
Here ſtood the lovely Ruler of the ſcene,
And Beauty, more than Pomp, announc'd the Queen.
The bending Snow-drop, and the Briar-roſe,
The ſimple circle of her crown compoſe;
Roſes of every hue her robe adorn,
Except th' inſipid Roſe without a thorn.
Thro' her thin veſt her heighten'd beauties ſhine;
For earthly gauze was never half ſo fine.
Of that enchanting age her figure ſeems,
When ſmiling Nature with the vital beams
[114] Of vivid Youth, and Pleaſure's purple flame,
Gilds her accompliſh'd work, the Female frame,
With rich luxuriance tender, ſweetly wild,
And juſt between the Woman and the Child.
Her fair left arm around a vaſe ſhe flings,
From which the tender plant Mimoſa ſprings:
Towards its leaves, o'er which ſhe fondly bends,
The youthful Fair her vacant hand extends
With gentle motion, anxious to ſurvey
How far the feeling fibres own her ſway:
The leaves, as conſcious of their Queen's command,
Succeſſive fall at her approaching hand;
While her ſoft breaſt with pity ſeems to pant,
And ſhrinks at every ſhrinking of the plant.
Around their Sovereign, on the verdant ground,
Sweet airy Forms in myſtic meaſures bound.
The mighty maſter of the revel, Love,
In notes more ſoothing than his mother's Dove,
Prompts the ſoft ſtrain that melting virgins ſing,
Or ſportive trips around the frolic ring,
Coupling, with radiant wreaths of lambent fire,
Fair fluttering Hope and rapturous Deſire.
[]

Page 112.

Stothard del. Neagle ſculp.

Published at the Act directs by T. Cadell, Strand, Feby. 1st 1788.

[115] Unnumber'd damſels different charms diſplay,
Penſive with bliſs, or in their pleaſures gay;
And the wide proſpect yields one touching ſight
Of tender, yet diverſified delight.
But, the bright triumphs of their joy to check,
In the clear air there hangs a duſky ſpeck;
It ſwells—it ſpreads—and rapid, as it grows,
O'er the gay ſcene a chilling ſhadow throws.
The ſoft SERENA, who beheld its flight,
Suſpects no evil from a cloud ſo light;
For harmleſs round her the thin vapours wreath,
Not hiding from her view the ſcene beneath;
But ah! too ſoon, with Pity's tender pain,
She ſaw its dire effect o'er all the plain:
Sudden from thence the ſounds of Anguiſh flow,
And Joy's ſweet carols end in ſhrieks of woe:
The wither'd flowers are fall'n, that bloom'd ſo fair,
And poiſon all the peſtilential air.
From the rent earth dark Demons force their way,
And make the ſportive revellers their prey.
Here gloomy Terror, with a ſhadowy rope,
Seems, like a Turkiſh Mute, to ſtrangle Hope;
[116] There jealous Fury drowns in blood the fire
That ſparkled in the eye of young Deſire;
And lifeleſs Love lets mercileſs Deſpair
From his cruſh'd frame his bleeding pinions tear.
But pangs more cruel, more intenſely keen,
Wound and diſtract their ſympathetic Queen:
With fruitleſs tears ſhe o'er their miſery bends;
From her ſweet brow the thorny Roſe ſhe rends,
And, bow'd by Grief's inſufferable weight,
Frantic ſhe curſes her immortal ſtate:
The ſoft SERENA, as this curſe ſhe hears,
Feels her bright eye ſuffus'd with kindred tears;
And her kind breaſt, where quick compaſſion ſwell'd,
Shar'd in each bitter ſuffering ſhe beheld.
The guardian Power ſurvey'd her lovely grief,
And ſpoke in gentle terms of mild relief:
"For this ſoft tribe thy heavieſt fear diſmiſs,
"And know their pains are tranſient as their bliſs:
"Rapture and Agony, in Nature's loom,
"Have form'd the changing tiſſue of their doom;
"Both interwoven with ſo nice an art,
"No power can tear the twiſted threads apart:
[117] "Yet happier theſe, to Nature's heart more dear,
"Than the dull offspring in the torpid ſphere,
"Where her warm wiſhes, and affections kind,
"Loſe their bright current in the ſtagnant mind.
"Here grief and joy ſo ſuddenly unite,
"That anguiſh ſerves to ſublimate delight."
She ſpoke; and, ere SERENA could reply,
The vapour vaniſh'd from the lucid ſky;
The Nymphs revive, the ſhadowy Fiends are fled,
The new-born flowers a richer fragrance ſhed;
The gentle Ruler of the changeful land,
Smiling, reſum'd her ſymbol of command;
Replac'd the roſes of her regal wreath,
Still trembling at the thorns that lurk beneath:
But, to her wounded ſubjects quick to pay
The tender duties of imperial ſway,
Their wants ſhe ſuccour'd, they her wiſh obey'd,
And all recover'd, by alternate aid;
While, on the lovely Queen's enchanting face,
Departed Sorrow's faint and fainter trace,
Gave to each charm a more attractive grace.
Now, laughing Sport, from the enlighten'd plain,
Clear'd with quick foot the veſtiges of Pain;
[118] The gay ſcene grows more beautifully bright,
Than when it firſt allur'd SERENA's ſight,
Still her fond eyes o'er all the proſpect range,
Flaſhing ſweet pleaſure at the bliſsful change:
Her curious thoughts with fond attachment burn,
Yet more of this engaging land to learn.
She finds the chief attendants of the Queen,
Sweet Females, wafted from our human ſcene;
But, as it chanc'd, while all the realm reviv'd,
A Spirit maſculine from earth arriv'd:
Two airy guides conduct the gentle Shade;
Genius, in robes of braided flames array'd,
And a fantaſtic Nymph, in manners nice,
Profuſely deck'd with many an odd device;
Siſter of him, whoſe luminous attire
Flaſhes with unextinguiſhable fire;
Like him in features, in her look as wild,
And Singularity by mortals ſtyl'd.
The eager Queen, and all her ſmiling Court,
Surround the welcome Shade in gentle ſport;
For in their new aſſociate all rejoice,
All pant to hear the accents of his voice.
[119] Tho' o'er his frame th' Armenian robe was flung,
The pleaſing ſtranger ſpoke the Gallic tongue;
But in that language his enchanting art
Inſpir'd new energy, that ſeiz'd the heart;
In terms ſo eloquent, ſo ſweetly bold,
A ſtory of diſaſtrous love he told,
Convuls'd with ſympathy, the liſt'ning train,
At every pauſe, with dear delicious pain,
Intreat him to renew the faſcinating ſtrain.
And now SERENA, with ſuſpended breath,
Liſten'd, and caught the tale of JULIA's death;
And quick ſhe cries, ere tears had time to flow,
"Bleſt be this hour! for now I ſee ROUSSEAU."
Fondly ſhe gaz'd, till the enchanting ſound
In ſuch a potent ſpell her ſpirit bound,
That, loſt in ſweet illuſion, ſhe forgot
The promis'd ſcenes of the ſublimer ſpot;
Till now, her mild Remembrancer, whoſe care
Stray'd not a moment from the mortal Fair,
Rous'd her rapt mind, preparing her to meet
The brighter wonders of her bliſsful ſeat;
While her inſtinctive car's obedient frame
Now upward roſe, like undulating flame.
[120]
As when ſome victor on the watery world,
Bright honour gilding all his ſails unfurl'd,
Steers into port, while to the laughing ſky
His ſtreamers tell his triumph as they fly;
Expecting thouſands line the crowded ſtrand,
Swell the glad voice, or wave the joyous hand,
Preſſing to view the ſight their vows implor'd,
And hail their glory and their ſtrength reſtor'd:
So the bleſt Beings of this ſmiling ſcene
Flock'd round the car of their returning Queen.
The radiant car, from which they now alight,
Careful ſhe gives to a ſelected Sprite,
A Nymph of ſnowy veſt and lovely frame,
Fidelity her fair and ſpotleſs name;
Then, happy to review her hallow'd home
Leads her ſweet Gueſt to her celeſtial dome.
Gentleſt of Powers! for every purpoſe fit,
To ſtrengthen Wiſdom, and embelliſh Wit;—
Thou whoſe ſoft arts, poſſeſs'd by thee alone,
Can give to Virtue's voice a ſweeter tone;
Allay the froſt of Age, or fire of Youth,
And lend attraction to ſevereſt Truth;
[121] Improve e'en Beauty by thy graceful eaſe,
Or teach Deformity herſelf to pleaſe;—
Inſpire the Bard, whoſe juſt ambition pants
To guide weak mortals to thy heavenly haunts!
Grant him, in notes that, like thy ſoft controul,
Allure attention, and poſſeſs the ſoul;
Grant him to ſhew, in luminous diſplay,
The myſtic wonders of thy ſecret ſway!
Now, at the ſight of the preſiding Power,
Wide ſpread the gates of a ſtupendous tower,
On whoſe firm height, commanding Nature's bound,
The faithful warder of the fort they found,
Wakeful Intelligence, a truſty Sprite,
Whoſe eyes are piercing as the ſolar light,
And ever on the watch to ſound alarm,
If aught of duſky hue, portending harm,
Should, in defiance of her mandate, dare
Approach the palace of th' imperial Fair.
Within his ward, magnificently great,
Lies the rich armoury that guards her ſtate.
Here ſtands Conviction's ſtrong and lucid ſpear,
Whoſe touch annihilates Suſpenſe and Fear;
[122] Here, Truth's unſullied adamantine ſhield,
Which, ſave SOPHROSYNE, no Power can wield;
And Reaſon's trenchant blade of blazing ſteel,
Its edge and poliſh form'd by friendly Zeal;
And, not leſs ſure their deſtin'd mark to hit,
Pointed by Virtue's hand, the ſhafts of Wit;
And Ridicule's ſtrong bolt, whoſe ſtunning blow
Lays towering Vice and fearleſs Folly low.
Here too the Goddeſs kept, in myſtic ſtate,
Thoſe ſweet rewards that on her champions wait,
Guerdons more precious than triumphant palms:—
The glance of Gratitude for mental alms,
Peace's ſoft kiſs, and Reconcilement's tear,
And ſmiles of Sympathy, are treaſur'd here.
Theſe precincts paſt, now hand in hand they came
To the rich fabric of majeſtic frame;
Inſtinct with joy their Sovereign to behold,
The gates of maſſive adamant unfold;
And, as the gently-moving valves uncloſe,
Myſterious muſic from their motion flows;
The airy notes thro' all the palace roam,
And dulcet echoes fill the feſtive dome:
[123] A gorgeous hall amaz'd SERENA's eyes,
Compar'd to which, in ſplendor, ſtrength, and ſize,
The nobleſt works of which Tradition ſings,
Judaic ſhrine, or ſeat of Memphian kings,
Would ſeem more humble than the waxen cell
In which the ſkilful Bee is proud to dwell.
Here ſits a Power, in whoſe angelic face
Beauty is ſweeten'd by maternal grace;
Her radiant ſeat, ſurpaſſing mortal art,
Supports an emblem of her liberal heart,
A Pelican, who rears her callow brood,
And from her vitals ſeems to draw their food.
Around this Spirit flock a filial hoſt,
Who bleſs her empire, and her guidance boaſt.
Here every Science, all the Arts attend,
In her they hail their parent and their friend;
Each to her preſence brings the happy few,
Whoſe deareſt glory from her favour grew.
Here, in her ſimple charms, with youthful fire,
Proud to diſplay the magic of her lyre,
Soul-ſoothing Harmony preſents her band:
Beſide her Orpheus and Amphion ſtand.
[124] Here, mild Philoſophys, whoſe thoughtful frown
Is ſweetly ſhaded by her olive crown,
(In all her attic elegance array'd,
Strong to convince, and gentle to perſuade)
To her, whoſe breath inſpir'd his every rule,
Leads the bleſt Sire of the Socratic ſchool.
Each animating Bard and moral Sage,
The heaven-taught minds of every clime and age,
Who ſoften'd manners, and refin'd the ſoul,
Flock to this preſence, as to Glory's goal;
And, as the mother's heart, that yearns to bleſs
The rival innocents that round her preſs,
Delights to ſee them, as her love they ſhare,
Sport in her ſight, and flouriſh by her care;
Fondly reſponſive to their every call,
Tender of each, and provident for all:
So this ſweet Image of Celeſtial Grace,
Who ſits encircled by her lovely race,
To every Science vital ſtrength imparts,
And rears the circle of the Social Arts;
With ſuch ſolicitude ſhe gives to each,
Pow'rs of ſublimer aim and wider reach.
[125] And now SOPHROSYNE, who near her preſt,
Thus ſpoke her title to her earthly gueſt:—
"Behold the honour'd Form, without whoſe aid
"My ſtrength muſt vaniſh, and my glory fade!
"Source of my being, and my life's ſupport!
"EUNOIA call'd in this celeſtial Court,
"BENEVOLENCE the name ſhe bears on earth,
"The guard of Weakneſs, and the friend of Worth."
She ended: and the mild maternal Form
Embrac'd SERENA with a ſmile as warm
As the gay ſpirit Vegetation wears,
When ſhe to crown her favourite Nymph prepares,
When, pleas'd her flowery treaſures to diſplay,
She pours them in the lap of youthful May.
But how, SERENA! how may human ſpeech
Thy heavenly raptures in this moment reach?
If aught of earthly ſentiment may vie
With the pure joy theſe happy ſcenes ſupply,
'Tis when, unmixt with trouble and with pain,
Love glides in ſecret thro' the glowing vein;
When ſome fond Youth, unconſcious of its fire,
Free from chill Fear and turbulent Deſire,
[126] With every thought abſorb'd in ſoft delight,
Sees all creation in his Fair one's ſight,
And feels a bliſsful ſtate without a name,
Repoſe of ſoul with harmony of frame.
So, plung'd in pleaſure of the pureſt kind,
SERENA gaz'd on the maternal Mind;
Gaz'd till SOPHROSYNE's directing aid
Thus ſummon'd to new ſights th' obedient Maid:—
"Haſte, my fair Charge, for of this ample ſtate,
"Tracts yet unſeen thy viſitation wait.
"The preſſing hours forbid me to unfold
"Each ſeparate province which theſe confines hold;
"But I will lead thee to that bliſsful crew,
"Whoſe kindred ſpirits beſt deſerve thy view."
So ſpeaking, her attentive Gueſt ſhe led
Thro' ſcenes, that ſtill increaſing wonder bred.
Where'er ſhe trod, thro' all her gorgeous ſeat,
Soft muſic echoed from beneath her feet:
Paſſing a portal, on whoſe lucid ſtone
Emblems of Innocence and Beauty ſhone,
They reach a lawn with verdant luſtre bright,
And view the bowers of permanent delight.
[127] No fiery Sun here forms a ſcorching noon,
No baleful Meteor gleams, no chilling Moon:
But, from a latent ſource, one ſoothing light,
Whoſe conſtant rays repel the miſt of night,
Tho' tender, chearful, and tho' warm, ſerene,
Gives laſting beauty to the lovely ſcene.
No ſenſual thought this paradiſe profanes;
For here tried Excellence in triumph reigns,
Benignant cares eternal joy ſupply,
And bliſs angelic beams in every eye.
"In yonder groups," the leading Spirit cried,
"My fav'rite Females ſee, my faireſt pride.
"The firſt in rank is that diſtinguiſh'd train,
"Whoſe ſtrength of ſoul was tried by Hymen's chain:
"Tho' Beauty bleſt their form, and Love their guide,
"Their nuptial band with happieſt omens tied,
"Beauty and Love, they felt, may loſe the art
"To fix inconſtant Man's eccentric heart;
"Yet, conſcious of their Lord's neglected vow,
"No Virtue frown'd outrageous on their brow,
"To keep returning Tenderneſs aloof,
"By coarſe upbraiding, and deſpis'd reproof:
[128] "With Sorrow ſmother'd in Attraction's ſmile,
"They ſtrove the ſenſe of miſery to beguile;
"And, from wild Paſſion's perilous abyſs,
"Lure the loſt wanderer back to faithful bliſs.
"See mild OCTAVIA o'er this band preſide,
"Voluptuous ANTONY's neglected bride,
"Whoſe feeling heart, with all a Mother's care,
"Rear'd the young offspring of a rival Fair.
"Far other trials rais'd yon lovely crew,
"Tho' in connubial ſcenes their merit grew:
"It was their chance, ere judgment was mature,
"When glittering toys the infant mind allure,
"Following their parents' avaricious rule,
"To wed, with hopes of bliſs, a wealthy fool.
"When Time remov'd Deluſion's veil by ſtealth,
"And ſhew'd the drear vacuity of wealth;
"When ſad Experience prov'd the bitter fate
"Of Beauty coupled to a ſenſeleſs Mate,
"Theſe gentle Wives ſtill gloried to ſubmit;
"Theſe, tho' invited by alluring Wit,
"Refus'd in paths of lawleſs joy to range,
"Nor murmur'd at the lot they could not change:
[129] "But, with a lively ſweetneſs, unoppreſt
"By a dull Huſband's lamentable jeſt,
"Their conſtant rays of gay good-humour ſpread
"A guardian glory round their idiot's head.
"The next in order are thoſe lovely Forms,
"Whoſe patience weather'd all paternal ſtorms;
"By filial cares, the mind's unfailing teſt,
"Well have they earn'd theſe ſeats of bliſsful reſt:
"They, unrepining at ſevere reſtraint,
"Peeviſh commands, and undeſerv'd complaint;
"Bent with unwearied kindneſs to appeaſe
"Each fancied want of querulous Diſeaſe;
"Gave up thoſe joys which youthful hearts engage,
"To watch the weakneſs of parental age.
"Turn to this chearful band; and mark in this,
"Spirits who juſtly claim my realms of bliſs!
"Moſt lovely theſe! when judg'd by generous Truth,
"Tho' Beauty is not their's, nor blooming Youth:
"For theſe are they, who, in Life's thorny ſhade,
"Repin'd not at the name of ancient Maid.
"No proud diſdain, no narrowneſs of heart,
"Held them from Hymen's tempting rites apart;
[130] "But fair Diſcretion led them to withdraw
"From the priz'd honour of his proffer'd law;
"To quit the object of no haſty choice,
"In mild ſubmiſſion to a Parent's voice;
"The valued Lover with a ſigh reſign,
"And ſacrifice Delight at Duty's ſhrine.
"With ſmiles they bore, from angry ſpleen exempt,
"Injurious mockery, and coarſe contempt:
"'Twas their's to claſp, each ſelfiſh care above,
"A ſiſter's orphans with parental love,
"And all her tender offices ſupply,
"Tho' bound not by the ſtrong maternal tie:
"'Twas their's to bid inteſtine quarrels ceaſe,
"And form the cement of domeſtic peace.
"No throbbing joy their ſpotleſs boſom fir'd,
"Save what Benevolence herſelf inſpir'd;
"No praiſe they ſought, except that praiſe refin'd,
"Which the heart whiſpers to the worthy mind.
"Such are theſe gentle tribes, the happy few
"Who ſhare the triumph to their victory due:
"Angelic aims their ſpotleſs minds employ,
"And fill their meaſure of unchequer'd joy.
[131] "Behold! where ſome with generous ardor wait
"Around yon Seer, who holds the book of Fate;
"Thoſe aweful leaves with eager glance they turn,
"Thence with celeſtial zeal they fondly learn
"What dangers threaten, thro' the vale of earth,
"Their kindred pilgrims, ere they riſe to birth:
"To earth they ſtill inviſibly deſcend,
"In that dark ſcene congenial minds defend,
"From Pleaſure's Bud drive Spleen's corroding worm,
"And in my votaries' heart my power confirm.
"Delights more calm yon liſtening band employ,
"Who deeply drink of intellectual joy.
"See them around that ſpeaking Nymph rejoice,
"Their pleaſures varying with her varied voice!
"What graces in the ſweet enthuſiaſt glow!
"Repeating here whate'er ſhe learns below.
"Memory her name, her charge o'er earth to flit,
"And cull the faireſt flowers of human wit.
"Whatever Genius, in his happieſt hour,
"Has penn'd, of moral grace and comic power,
"To warm the heart, the ſpells of Spleen unbind,
"And pour gay ſunſhine o'er the miſty mind;
[132] "Teach men to cheriſh their fraternal tie,
"And view kind Nature with a filial eye;
"This active Spirit catches in her flight,
"Skill'd to retain, and happy to recite.
"Here ſhe delivers each bright work, and each
"Derives new beauty from her graceful ſpeech.
"Warpt by no envy, by no love miſled,
"Equal ſhe holds the living and the dead;
"Alike rehearſing, as they claim their turn,
"The ſong of ANSTEY, and the tale of STERNE.
"But Morning calls thee hence.—Yet one ſcene more,
"My foſtering love ſhall lead thee to explore.
"This, thy laſt ſight, with careful eyes ſurvey,
"And mark th' extenſive nature of my ſway."
Thus with fond zeal the guardian Spirit ſaid,
And to new precincts of her palace led;
The ſcene ſhe enter'd of her richeſt ſtate,
Where on her voice the ſubject Paſſions wait:
Here roſe a throne of living gems, ſo bright
No breath could ſully their benignant light;
[133] This, her immortal ſeat, the gracious Guide
Aſſum'd: her Ward ſtood wondering at her ſide.
Swift as they felt their ruling Power inthron'd,
Aetherial Beings, who her empire own'd,
Crowded in glittering pomp the gorgeous ſcene,
To pay their homage to their heavenly Queen.
Firſt came chaſte Love, whoſe ſweet harmonious form
Ne'er felt Suſpicion's ſoul-convulſing ſtorm;
No baleful arrow in his quiver lies,
No blinding veil enwraps his ſparkling eyes;
There all the rays of varied joy unite,
And jointly ſhed unſpeakable delight.
With him was Friendſhip, like a virgin dreſt,
The ſoft Aſbeſtos form'd her ſimple veſt,
Whoſe wond'rous folds, in fierceſt flames entire,
Mock the vain ravage of conſuming fire:
Around this robe, a myſtic chain ſhe wore,
Each golden link a ſtar of diamonds bore;
Force could not tear the finiſh'd work apart,
Nor Int'reſt looſe it by his ſubtleſt art:
[134] But, ſtrange to tell, if the preſiding Power,
Who to her Favourite gave this precious dower,
If kind SOPHROSYNE could fail to breathe
Her vital virtue on this magic wreath,
The parts muſt ſever, faithleſs to their truſt,
The gold grow droſs, and every diamond duſt.
Theſe Valour follow'd, deck'd with verdant palm,
Gracefully bold, majeſtically calm.
A mingled troop ſucceed, with feſtive ſound,
Wiſdom with olive, Wit with feathers crown'd;
Here, hand in hand they move, no longer foes,
Their charms encreaſing as their union grows;
Pure Spirits all, who hating mental ſtrife,
Exalt creation, and embelliſh life;
All here attend, and, in their Sovereign's praiſe,
Their circling forms the ſong of glory raiſe.
The bleſt SERENA drinks, with raviſh'd ear,
The melting muſic of the tuneful ſphere.
Now in its cloſe the ſoothing echoes roll
O'er her rapt fancy, and intrance her ſoul;
Her ſenſes ſink in ſoft Oblivion's bands,
Till faithful Jenny at her pillow ſtands,
[135] Recalls each mental and corporeal power,
While ſhe proclaims aloud the paſſing hour;
And, in a voice expreſſive of ſurprize,
Too ſhrill to ſeem the muſic of the ſkies,
Informs the ſtartled Fair 'tis time to riſe.
END OF THE FIFTH CANTO.

CANTO VI.

[136]
BLEST be the heart of ſympathetic mould,
Whatever form that gentle heart infold,
Whoſe generous fibres with fond terror ſhake,
When keen Affliction threatens to o'ertake
Young artleſs Beauty, as alarm'd ſhe ſtrays
Thro' the ſtrange windings of this mortal maze!
To ſuch, SERENA, be thy ſtory known,
Whoſe boſom beſt can make thy lot their own,
And, kindly ſharing in thy trials paſt,
Attend with ſweet anxiety the laſt.
The hour approaches, the tremendous hour,
In whoſe dark moments deeper perils lower;
Still ſo enwrapt in Pleaſure's gay diſguiſe,
They lurk inviſible to Caution's eyes;
And, unſuſpected by the Fair one, wait
To cancel or confirm her bliſsful fate.
Her lively mind with bright ideas ſtor'd,
She takes her ſtation at the Breakfaſt-board;
[137] Still her ſoft ſoul the heavenly Viſion fills,
And ſweeter graces in her ſmile inſtils;
New hopes of triumph glide thro' every nerve,
And arm her glowing heart with firm reſerve;
Conſcious the final trying chance impends,
To bear its force her every power ſhe bends;
In her quick thought ambitious to preſage
How Spleen's dark agents may exert their rage,
She ponders on what perils may befall,
And fondly deems her mind a match for all.
Ah, lovely Nymph! this dangerous pride forego;
Pride may betray—Security's thy foe.
While fancied Prudence thus, a foreign gueſt,
Sits doubly cheriſh'd in SERENA's breaſt,
Behold a billet her attention ſteal,
No common arms compoſe its ample ſeal;
Th' unfolding paper breathes a roſeate ſcent,
Sweet harbinger of joy, its kind intent.
Of courteous FILLIGREE it bears the name,
Clear ſymptom of the Peer's increaſing flame!
The gracious Earl, lamenting pleaſure loſt,
And fair SERENA in her wiſhes croſt,
[138] Has plann'd, in honour of the lovely Maid,
A fancied Ball, a private Maſquerade,
And ſupplicates her Sire, with warm eſteem,
To ſmile indulgent on the feſtive ſcheme.
All arts he uſes to inſure the grant,
Nor leaves unaſk'd the eager maiden Aunt.
Quick at the ſound SERENA's glowing heart
Throbs with gay hopes; but ſoon thoſe hopes depart:
Reflection, in her ſoul a faithful guard,
The opening avenues of pleaſure barr'd:
She deem'd the plan of this delightful ſhow,
But the new ambuſh of her ſecret foe;
The bliſs too bright to realize, ſhe gueſs'd,
And chas'd th' idea from her guarded breaſt.
While theſe diſcreet reſolves her thought employ,
Tranquil ſhe triumphs o'er her ſmother'd joy.
Not ſo the Knight—to his parental eyes,
In dazzling pomp deluſive viſions riſe:
That Coronet, the object of his vow,
He ſees ſuſpended o'er his daughter's brow;
Eager he burns to ſnap the pendent thread,
And fix the glory on his Darling's head.
[139] Far wiſer aims the ancient Maiden caught,
No empty gew-gaw flutters in her thought;
But, while more keenly ſhe applauds the plan,
Her hope is ſolid and ſubſtantial Man;
Not for her infant Niece, whoſe baby frame
She holds unfit for Hymen's holy flame;
But for her riper ſelf, whoſe ſtrength may bear
The heavieſt burden of connubial care.
Tho' different Phantoms dance before their ſight,
Niece, Aunt, and Father, in one wiſh unite,
To join the banquet is their common choice,
The buſineſs paſt with no diſſenting voice;
And the warm Sire, in whom ambition burn'd,
A note of grateful courteſy return'd:
His billet ſeal'd, the glad good-humour'd Knight
Launch'd forth, like Neſtor, on his youthful might:—
"O could I now, in ſpite of age, retain
"That active vigour, and that ſprightly vein,
"Which led me once the lively laugh to raiſe
"Among the merrier Wits of former days,
"When rival Beauties would around me throng,
"And gay Ridottos liſten to my ſong!
[140] "Such were I now, as on the feſtive night,
"When Ch—h's charms amaz'd the public ſight;
"When the kind Fair one, in a veil ſo thin
"That the clear gauze was but a lighter ſkin,
"Maſk'd like a virgin juſt prepar'd to die,
"Gave her plump beauties to each greedy eye!
"On that fam'd night, (for then with frolic fire
"Youth fill'd my heart, and Humour ſtrung my lyre)
"Pleas'd in the ſunſhine of her ſmile to baſk,
"I danc'd around her in a Devil's maſk;
"And idly chaunted an infernal ode,
"In praiſe of all this Female tempter ſhew'd.
"The jocund crowd, who throng'd with me to gaze,
"Extoll'd my unpremeditated lays,
"And Sport, who ſtill of this old revel brags,
"*Styl'd her the firſt of Maids, and me of Wags.
"Then a light Devil, now, reduc'd to limp,
"I am but fit to play the hag-born Imp;
"Still, not to croſs the frolic of this Ball,
"Still as the Tortoiſe Caliban I'll crawl,
[141] "And if with Gout my burning ankles flinch,
"I'll call it Proſpero's tormenting pinch;
"Still in this ſhape I'll ſhew them what I am,
"And PEN. ſhall go as Sycorax, my dam."
So ſpoke the Knight; and ſpoke with ſo much weight,
The liſtening Females ſaw his word was fate;
For ne'er did Jove with ſo reſolv'd a brow
To ſmiling Love his joyous ſcheme avow,
When he concerted, for his ſpecial mirth,
A maſquerading on the ſtage of earth,
And of the Swan's ſoft plume, or Bull's rough hair,
Order'd the Fancy-dreſs he choſe to wear.
From whence let ſapient Antiquarians ſhew
The ancient uſe of Maſquerades below.
SERENA ſmil'd to ſee this joyous fire
Infuſe new youth in her determin'd Sire;
But mute PENELOPE, with half a ſigh,
"With one auſpicious and one dropping eye,"
Heard the firm Knight his fixt reſolve impart,
Tickling at once and torturing her heart.
The Ball ſhe reliſh'd, but abhorr'd the taſk
To hide her beauties in a Beldam's maſk:
[142] Miranda's name would better ſuit her plan,
A ſimple Maiden, not afraid of Man;
But us'd, alas! her Brother's law to feel,
She knows that law admits not of repeal.
Truſting her charms will any garb enrich,
She deigns to take the habit of a Witch.
Never did Sorcereſs in the ſhades of night
Try to illuminate a filthy Sprite
With fonder efforts, or with worſe ſucceſs,
Than PEN. now labour'd, in this wayward dreſs,
To give the ſprightly ſhew of living truth
To the poor ghoſt of her departed youth.
As Witches o'er their magic cauldron bend,
Anxious to ſee their menial Imps aſcend;
So in her glaſs the ancient Maiden pries,
And dreams new graces in her perſon riſe.
No ſuch delights, whoſe dear deluſions pleaſe,
The mild SERENA in her mirror ſees;
She, at whoſe toilet Beauty's latent Queen
Attends, enchanted with her filial mien,
And o'er her Favourite's unconſcious face
Breathes her own roſeate glow and vivid grace.
[143] She haſtes her glittering garments to adjuſt,
With all the modeſt charms of ſweet diſtruſt;
Doubting that beauty, which ſhe doubts alone,
Which dazzles every eye except her own.
The native diffidence which ſway'd her mind,
Now feels new terrors with its own combin'd;
The robes of Ariel to the Nymph recall
Thoſe diſappointments that may yet befall;
As her fair hands the gauze or tiſſue touch,
They fondly warn her not to hope too much.
She feels the friendly counſel they impart,
And Caution reigns protector of her heart.
The fateful evening comes—the coach attends,
And firſt the gouty Caliban aſcends;
Then, in Deformity's well-ſuited pride,
Sour Sycorax is ſtation'd by his ſide;
And laſt, with ſportive ſmiles, divinely ſweet,
Light Ariel perches on the vacant ſeat.
Fancy now paints the ſcene of pleaſure near,
Yet fluttering Gaiety is check'd by Fear.
Her wiſh to view the feſtive ſight runs high;
But the fond Nymph remembers, with a ſigh,
[144] From Hope's keen hand the cup of joy may ſlip,
And fall untaſted, though it reach the lip.
As the fine Artiſt, whoſe nice toils aſpire
To fame eternal by encauſtic fire;
If he, with grief, has ſeen the faithleſs heat
Mar the rich labour it ſhould make compleat,
When next his hands, with trembling care, confide
To the fierce element his pencil's pride,
Watches unceaſing the pernicious flame,
Terror and Hope contending in his frame,
While his fair work the dangerous fire ſuſtains,
Feels it in all his ſympathetic veins,
And at each trivial ſound that Chance may cauſe,
Hears the Gem crack, and ſees its cruel flaws:
With ſuch ſolicitude the panting Maid
Paſt the long ſtreet, of every noiſe afraid.
Now, while around her rival flambeaus flare,
And the coach rattles thro' the crowded ſquare,
She fears ſome dire miſchance muſt yet befall,
Some Demon ſnatch her from the promis'd Ball;
And dreams no trial more ſevere than this,
So bright ſhe figures the new ſcene of bliſs:
[145] Yet, horrid as it ſeems, her heart is bent
To bear e'en this, and bear it with content.
But, whirl'd at length within the Porter's gate,
She thinks what perils at the Ball may wait;
And, as ſhe now alights, the fluttering Fair
Invokes her Guardian to protect her there,
Till thoughts of danger, thoughts of caution, fly
Before the magic blaze that meets her eye.
Th' advancing Nymph, at every ſtep ſhe takes,
Pants with amazement, doubtful if ſhe wakes;
Far as her eyes the glittering ſcene command,
'Tis all enchantment, all a Fairy land;
No veſtiges of modern pomp appear,
No modern melody ſalutes her ear;
With Mooriſh notes the echoing manſion rings,
And its tranſmuted form to Fancy brings
The rich *Alhambra of the Mooriſh kings.
The Peer, who keenly thirſts for Faſhion's praiſe,
To gild his revel with no common rays,
Summon'd his modiſh Architect, whoſe ſkill
Can all the wiſhes of Caprice fulfil.
[146] His genius, equal to the wildeſt taſk,
Gave to the houſe itſelf a Gothic maſk.
The Chaplain, that no gueſt might feel neglect,
As a Magician of the Arab ſect,
Wav'd a preſiding wand throughout the Ball,
And well provided for the wants of all.
The Peer himſelf, his proweſs to evince,
Shines in the ſemblance of a Mooriſh Prince;
And round the brilliant mimic Hero wait
All pomp and circumſtance of Mooriſh ſtate:
Thro' all his ſplendid dome no eye could find
Aught unembelliſh'd, ſave the Maſter's mind.
There, tho' repreſt by Courteſy's controul,
Lurks the low mover of the little ſoul,
Mean Vanity; whoſe ſlave can never prove
The heart-refining flame of genuine love.
While her cold joys his abject mind amuſe,
His thoughts are buſied on connubial views.
His houſe compleat, its decorations plac'd
By the ſure hand of faſhionable Taſte,
He only wants, to crown his modiſh life,
That laſt and fineſt moveable—a Wife.
[147] She too muſt prove, to fix his coy deſire,
Such as the eye of Faſhion will admire.
His Ball is but a jury, to decide
Upon the merit of his fancied Bride.
If ſweet SERENA, on this ſignal night,
Shines the firſt idol of the public ſight;
If Gallantry's fixt eyes pronounce her fair,
By the ſure ſign of one unceaſing ſtare;
And if, prophetic of her nobler doom,
Each rival Beauty ſhudders at her bloom;
The die is caſt—he weds—the point is clear;
She cannot ſlight the vows of ſuch a Peer.
Thus argued in his mind the feſtive Earl,
And, leſt he lightly chuſe an awkward Girl,
Wiſely conven'd, on this important caſe,
Each faſhionable judge of Female grace.
Here Beaux Eſprits in various figures lurk,
Of Jew and Gentile, Bramin, Tartar, Turk;
But of the manly Maſks, a youthful Bard
Seem'd moſt to challenge Beauty's ſoft regard:
Adorn'd with native elegance, he wore,
In ſimpleſt form, the minſtrel dreſs of yore:
[148] They call him EDWIN, who around him throng,
EDWIN, immortaliz'd in BEATTIE's ſong;
And, ſooth to ſay, within a comely frame,
He bore a heart that anſwer'd to the name;
For this neat habit deck'd a generous Youth,
Of gentleſt manners, and ſincereſt truth.
Tho' on his birth propitious Fortune ſmil'd,
No proud parental folly ſpoil'd the Child;
And Genius, more beneficently kind,
Bleſt with ſuperior wealth his manly mind.
Of years he barely counted twenty-one;
But, like a brilliant morn, his opening life begun.
Fain would the Muſe on this her votary dwell,
And fully paint the Youth ſhe loves ſo well;
His figure's charms, the muſic of his tongue,
What Nymphs his lays allur'd, what lays he ſung:
But higher cares her rambling ſong controul;
SERENA's perils ſummon all her ſoul;
For Spleen, ambitious to exert her force,
Conſcious this trial is her laſt reſource,
Moſt keenly bent on her pernicious taſk,
Has ſhifted round the Ball from maſk to maſk,
[149] Watching the moment, with infernal care,
To form with deepeſt art her final ſnare,
And manacle the mind of the unguarded Fair.
It comes, the moment that muſt fix her lot,
By her, ah thoughtleſs Maid! by her forgot;
Tho' the light Hours, e'en in their frolic ring,
Trembling perceive the fearful chance they bring,
And, ſhuddering at the Nymph's terrific ſtate,
Seem anxious to ſuſpend her doubtful fate.
Now ſocial Eaſe the place of Sport ſupplied,
The hot oppreſſive maſk was thrown aſide,
And Beauty ſhone reveal'd in all her bluſhing pride.
Superior ſtill in features as in form,
With admiration fluſh'd, with pleaſure warm,
The gay SERENA every eye allur'd;
The hearts her figure won her face ſecur'd:
A tender ſweetneſs ſtill the Nymph maintain'd,
And Modeſty o'er all her graces reign'd.
Well might her ſoul to brilliant hopes incline,
A thouſand Youths had call'd her charms divine;
A thouſand friends had whiſper'd in her ear,
That Fate had mark'd her for the feſtive Peer.
[150] Her youthful fancy, tho' by pomp amus'd,
Wiſh'd not thoſe offers, which her heart refus'd:
That tender heart, by no vain pride poſſeſt,
With indeciſive trembling ſhook her breaſt,
Like a young bird, that, fluttering in the air,
Wiſhes to build her neſt, yet knows not where.
The buſy Earl, his puny love to raiſe,
Hunted the circling whiſper of her praiſe;
Heard Envy own her lovely charms, tho' loth,
Heard Taſte atteſt them with a modiſh oath;
And, nuptial projects thickening in his mind,
Now his fair partner in the dance rejoin'd.
As now the ſprightly muſic paus'd, my Lord
Eager reſolv'd to touch a ſofter chord;
Secure of all repulſe, he vainly meant
Half to diſplay, half hide his fond intent,
And, in diſſembled Paſſion's flowery tropes,
To ſport at leiſure with the Virgin's hopes:
For this he fram'd a motley ſpeech, replete
With amorous compliment and vain conceit.
The labour'd nothing with complacent pride
He ſpoke; but to his ſpeech no Nymph replied:
[]

Page 153.

Stothard del. Sharp ſculp.

London, Publiſh'd Septr. 1st. 1787, by T. Cadell, Strand.

[151] For in the moment, the loſt Fair devotes
Her willing ear to more attractive notes.
The Minſtrel happen'd near the Nymph to walk,
Rapt with a boſom-friend in ſecret talk,
And, at the inſtant when the Earl began
Half to unfold his matrimonial plan,
EDWIN, in whiſpers, from the crowd retir'd,
Chanc'd to repeat the Sonnet ſhe inſpir'd:
The ſounds, tho' faint, her recollection caught,
Drew her quick eye, and fixt her wondering thought.
Loſt in this ſweet ſurprize, ſhe could not hear
A ſingle accent of the amorous Peer.
Spleen ſaw the moment that ſhe ſought to gain,
And perch'd triumphant on the Noble's brain.
With jealous Envy ſtung, and baffled Pride,
"Contemptuous Girl!" with ſudden rage he cried,
"If here to happier Youths thy views incline,
"I want not fairer Nymphs who challenge mine.
"Thy breaſt in vain with penitence may burn;
"But, once neglected, I no more return."
Thus loudly ſpeaking, with diſtemper'd heat,
Rudely he turn'd, with rancorous ſcorn replete.
[152] SERENA, ſtartled at th' injurious ſound,
Survey'd th' inſulting Peer, who ſternly frown'd;
Shame and reſentment thro' her boſom ruſh,
Swell every vein, and raiſe the burning bluſh.
Love, new-born Love, but in its birth conceal'd,
Nor to the Nymph herſelf as yet reveal'd,
And juſt Diſdain, and Anger's honeſt flame,
With complicated power convulſe her frame:
Contending Paſſions every thought confound,
And in tumultuous doubt her ſoul is drown'd.
Now treacherous Pride, who tempts her tongue to trip,
Forms to a keen reply her quivering lip:
Inſidious Spleen now hovers o'er the Fair,
Deems her half lock'd within her hateful ſnare;
In her new ſlave preparing to rejoice,
To taint her ſpirit, and untune her voice.
Hapleſs SERENA! what can ſave thee now?
The Fiend's dark ſignet ſtamps thy clouded brow,
In thy ſwoln eye I ſee the ſtarting drop;
This fatal ſhower, aetherial Guardian! ſtop:
Haſte to thy votary, haſte, her ſoul ſuſtain,
Nor let the trials ſhe has paſt be vain.
[153] Ah me! while yet I ſpeak, with ſhuddering dread
I hear the magic Girdle's burſting thread.
This horrid omen, ye kind Powers! avert:
Nor thou, bright Zone! thy brighter Charge deſert.
Ah, fruitleſs prayer! her panting breaſt behold!
See! the gauze ſhakes in many a ruffled fold!
Forc'd from their ſtation by her heaving heart,
From the ſtrain'd Girdle thrice three ſpangles ſtart:
Thro' her diſorder'd dreſs a paſs they've found,
And fallen, ſee, they glitter on the ground!
O bleſſed chance! with life-recalling light
The glittering monitors attract her ſight!
Like ſtars emerging from the darken'd pole,
They ſparkle ſafety to her harraſs'd ſoul.
See! from her brow the clouds of trouble fly,
Vexation's tear is vaniſh'd from her eye!
Her roſy cheeks with Joy's ſoft radiance burn,
Like Nature ſmiling at the Sun's return;
The Nymph, no more with mental darkneſs blind,
Shines the ſweet Ruler of her reſcu'd mind.
Hence, hateful Spleen! thy fancied prize reſign,
Renounce for ever what ſhall ne'er be thine;
[154] For, conſcious of her airy Guardian's aid,
She feels new ſpirit thro' her heart convey'd,
And, inly bleſſing this victorious hour,
Her ſoul exults in its recover'd power.
In ſuch mild terms ſhe hails th' inſulting Peer,
As Spleen, if mortal, muſt expire to hear;
But, driven for ever from the lovely Girl,
The foul Fiend riots in the captive Earl.
He anſwers not; but, with a ſullen air,
On happier EDWIN, who approach'd the Fair,
Darts ſuch a glance of rage and envious hate,
As Satan caſt on Eden's bliſsful ſtate,
When on our Parents firſt he fixt his ſight,
And undelighted gaz'd on all delight:
So doom'd to look, and doom'd ſuch pangs to feel,
Scornful he turn'd on his elaſtic heel.
"O lovely Mildneſs! oh angelic Maid!
"Deſerving homage, tho' to ſcorn betray'd;
"Riſe ſtill, ſweet Spirit, riſe theſe wrongs above,
"Turn from injurious Pride to faithful Love;
[155] "Tho' on my brow no Coronet may ſhine,
"Wealth I can offer at thy beauty's ſhrine,
"And, worthier thee, a heart that worſhips thine."
Thus, with new-kindled Love's aſpiring flame,
Spoke the fond Youth conceal'd by EDWIN's name,
The gallant FALKLAND, rich in inborn worth,
By Fortune bleſt, and not of abject birth.
Warmly he ſpoke, with that indignant heat
With which the generous heart ne'er fails to beat,
When Worth inſulted wakens virtuous ire,
And injur'd Beauty ſets the ſoul on fire.
Quick to his voice the ſtartled Virgin turn'd,
With wonder, hope, and joy, her boſom burn'd;
With ſweet confuſion, flurried and amaz'd,
On his attractive form ſhe wildly gaz'd.
Full on her thought the friendly viſions ruſh'd;
Bluſhing ſhe view'd him, view'd him ſtill and bluſh'd;
And, ſoft Affection quickening at the ſight,
Perchance had ſwoon'd with fullneſs of delight,
But that her Father's voice, with quick controul,
Recall'd the functions of her fainting ſoul.
[156] When on the diſtant ſeat, where, fondly fixt,
He view'd the Nymph as in the dance ſhe mixt,
He indiſtinctly heard, with wounded ear,
The ſpleenful outrage of the angry Peer.
Swift at th' imperfect ſound, with choler wild,
He ſprung to ſuccour his inſulted Child;
But ere his fury into language broke,
Love calm'd the ſtorm that Arrogance awoke.
The ſudden burſt of FALKLAND's tender flame,
His winning manners, his diſtinguiſh'd name,
His liberal ſoul, by Fortune's ſmile careſt,
All join'd to harmonize the Father's breaſt.
His fiery thoughts ſubſide in glad ſurprize,
And to the generous Youth he warmly cries:
"Ingenuous FALKLAND! by thy frankneſs won,
"My willing heart would own thee as my Son;
"But on thy hopes SERENA muſt decide:—
"Haſte we together from this houſe of Pride."
So ſpoke the Sire; for, to her Votary kind,
SOPHROSYNE inſpir'd his ſoften'd mind.
Speaking, he ſmil'd, to ſee that on his word
The Lover hung, and bleſt the ſounds he heard;
[157] That his embarraſs'd Child his ſentence caught
With each tumultuous ſign of tender thought;
Whoſe bluſhes, ſpringing from the heart, declare
The dawn of fondneſs in the modeſt Fair.
Th' enchanted Youth with ecſtaſy convey'd
Forth from the troubled Feaſt the trembling Maid.
As the keen Sailor, whom his daring ſoul
Has drawn, too vent'rous, near the freezing pole;
Who, having ſlighted Caution's tame advice,
Seems wedg'd within impervious worlds of ice;
If, from each chilling form of peril free,
At length he reach the unincumber'd ſea,
With joy ſuperior to his tranſient pain,
Ruſhes, exulting, o'er th' expanſive main:
Such ſtrong delight SERENA's boſom ſhar'd,
When ſweet Reflection to her heart declar'd,
That all the trials of her Fate were paſt,
And Love's deciſive plaudit ſeal'd the laſt.
Her airy Guard prepares the ſofteſt down,
From Peace's wing, to line the nuptial crown:
Her ſmiles accelerate the bridal morn,
And clear her Votary's path from every thorn.
[158] On the quick match the Prude's keen cenſures fall,
Blind to the heavenly Power who guided all:
But mild SERENA ſcorn'd the prudiſh play,
To wound warm Love with frivolous delay;
Nature's chaſte child, not Affectation's ſlave,
The heart ſhe meant to give, ſhe frankly gave.
Thro' her glad Sire no gouty humours run,
Jocund he glories in his deſtin'd Son.
PENELOPE herſelf, no longer ſeen
In the ſour ſemblance of tormenting Spleen,
Buys for her Niece the robes of nuptial ſtate,
Nor ſcolds the Mercer once thro' all the long debate.
For quick diſpatch, the honeſt Man of law
Toils half the night the legal ties to draw:
At length th' enraptur'd Youth, all forms compleat,
Bears his ſweet Bride to his paternal ſeat;
On a fair lawn the chearful manſion ſtood,
And high behind it roſe a circling wood.
As the bleſt Lord of this extenſive reign
Led his dear partner thro' her new domain,
With fond ſurprize, SERENA ſoon deſcried
A temple rais'd to her aetheria! Guide.
[159] Its ornaments ſhe view'd with tender awe,
Their faſhion ſuch as ſhe in viſion ſaw;
For the kind Youth, her grateful ſmile to gain,
Had, from her clear deſcription, deck'd the fane.
Joyful he cried, to his angelic Wife,
"Be this kind Power the worſhip of our life!"
He ſpoke; and led her to the inmoſt ſhrine;
Here, link'd in roſy bands, two Votaries ſhine;
The pencil had imparted life to each,
With energy that ſeem'd beyond its reach.
Firſt ſtood Connubial Love, a manly Youth,
Whoſe bright eye ſpoke the ardent vows of truth;
Friendſhip, ſweet ſmiling, fill'd the ſecond place,
In all the ſofter charms of Virgin grace.
Their meeting arms a myſtic tablet raiſe,
Deck'd with theſe lines, the Moral of my Lays:—
"VIRTUE's an ingot of Peruvian gold,
"SENSE the bright ore Potoſi's mines unfold;
"But TEMPER's image muſt their uſe create,
"And give theſe precious metals ſterling weight."

PLAYS OF THREE ACTS; WRITTEN FOR A PRIVATE THEATRE.

[]

TO HER GRACE THE DUTCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.

[]
Non perch' io creda biſognar miei carmi
A chi ſe ne fa copia da ſe ſteffa;
Ma ſol per ſatisfare a queſto mio
Che ho d' onorarla e di lodar diſio.
ARIOSTO, Canto xxxvii.
THE Great and Fair, in every age and clime,
Receive free homage from the Sons of Rhyme:
Bend, ye ambitious Bards, at Grandeur's ſhrine!
Be Power your patron! Wit and Beauty mine!—
To thee, whom elegance has taught to pleaſe
By ſerious dignity, or ſportive eaſe;
Whom Virtue hails, at Pleaſure's feſtive rites,
Chaſte Arbiter of Art's refin'd delights:
[164] To thee, fair DEVON! I breathe this votive ſtrain;
Nor dread th' averted ear of proud Diſdain;
For O, if muſic has not bleſt my lyre,
A lovelier ſpirit of th' aetherial choir,
Joy-breathing Gratitude, that hallow'd gueſt,
Who fires with heavenly zeal the human breaſt,
Bids my weak voice her ſwelling note prolong,
And conſecrate to thee her tributary ſong.
When firſt my anxious Muſe'sfav'rite child,
Her young SERENA, artleſs, ſimple, wild,
Preſum'd from privacy's ſafe ſcenes to fly,
And met in giddy haſte the public eye;
Thy generous praiſe her trembling youth ſuſtain'd,
The ſmile ſhe dar'd not aſk, from thee ſhe gain'd;
And found a guardian in the gracious DEVON,
Kind as the regent of her fancied heaven.—
The flatter'd Muſe, whoſe offspring thou haſt bleſt,
In the fond pride that rules a parent's breaſt,
[165] Preſents thus boldly to thy kind embrace
This little group of her ſucceeding race.
Bleſt! if by pathos true to Nature's law,
From thy ſoft boſom they may haply draw
Thoſe tender ſighs, that eloquently ſhew
The virtues of the heart from whence they flow!
Bleſt! if by foibles humorouſly hit,
In the light ſcenes that aim at comic wit,
They turn thy penſive charms to mirthful grace,
And wake the ſprightly ſweetneſs of thy face!
While thus the proud Enthuſiaſt would aſpire
To change thy beauties with her changing lyre;
Much as ſhe wants the talent and the right,
To ſhew thy various charms in varied light,
O might the Muſe, intruding on thy bower,
From her fair Patron catch the magic power
Frequent to meet the public eye, and ſtill
That fickle eye with fond amazement fill!
[166] Let her, if this vain wiſh is loſt in air,
Breathe from her grateful heart a happier prayer!—
Howe'er her different fables may give birth
To fancied woe, and viſionary mirth;
May all thy griefs belong to Fiction's reign,
And wound thee only with a pleaſing pain!
May thy light ſpirit, on the ſea of life,
Elude the rocks of care, the guſts of ſtrife,
And ſafely, as the never-ſinking buoy,
Float on th' unebbing flood of real joy!
W. HAYLEY.

PREFACE.

[167]

AS the following Plays were intended only for a private theatre, I have been tempted by that circumſtance to introduce a kind of novelty into our language, by writing three comedies in rhyme, though the Comic Muſe of our country has been long accuſtomed to expreſs herſelf in proſe, and her cuſtom has the ſanction of ſettled precept, and ſucceſsful example. The Antiquarian, indeed, may remind me that Gammer Gurton's Needle, one of the earlieſt of our old plays, with other comic productions of that rude period, was written in rhyme; and poſſibly ſome faſtidious enemies of that Gothic jingle, as they affect to call it, may conſider the preſent Publication as nothing more than a relapſe into the moſt barbarous mode of dramatic compoſition.

For the boldneſs of an attempt, which has no modern precedent to plead in its behalf, ſome apology may be due to the Public.

In the firſt place, I beg it may not be ſuppoſed, that by writing a comedy in rhyme, I mean to convey an indirect [168] cenſure on the contrary practice. No one can prize more highly than I do the many excellent comedies in proſe, with which our language is enriched. I am very far from entertaining a wiſh to overturn the ceremonial which the Comic Muſe of England has eſtabliſhed; but I hope to find our country as much a friend to toleration in the forms of literature, as in thoſe of religion. The cuſtom of other enlightened nations, both ancient and modern, may be pleaded on this occaſion in behalf of verſe. Ariſtophanes, in his play of the Clouds, ſeems to pride himſelf on his poetry. Arioſto having written two comedies in proſe, converted them both into metre at a maturer period of his life; and Moliere, the unrivalled maſter of the French comie theatre, who has written admirably both in proſe and rhyme, is, I think, moſt admirable, and moſt truly comic, when he adheres to the latter.

To the author who attempts a comedy in Engliſh rhyme, our language ſeems to offer an advantage, which the French poet did not enjoy. The Comic Muſe of France has chiefly confined herſelf to that ſtructure of verſe, which belongs equally to her Tragic Siſter. In the poetry of our nation, this particular meaſure is appropriated to ſportive ſubjects, and though hitherto not uſed in Comedy, it poſſeſſes to an Engliſh ear a very comic vivacity. That it is highly calculated for poems of wit and humour, we have a ſtriking proof in that [169] moſt exquiſite production the Bath Guide. How far it may ſucceed through the varied ſcenes of an Engliſh play, experiment only can determine. As ſome readers, on the firſt ſight of a comedy in rhyme, may haſtily ſuppoſe that the faſhion and the materials of the work are borrowed from the Theatre of France, I think it proper to declare, in juſtice to the writers of that country, that they are by no means anſwerable for any defects which may be found in theſe dramatic performances. I am not conſcious of having borrowed a ſingle character or ſituation from any comic writer whatever, either foreign or domeſtic.—The firſt of the three comedies, contained in the preſent Publication, was founded on a real anecdote related to me by an intimate friend, who, concealing the names of the parties, mentioned their ludicrous adventure as a new and tempting ſubject for the Comic Muſe.—The plan of the ſecond aroſe in the mind of its author, from his remarking the various effects of Connoiſſeurſhip in different characters. An attachment to the fine arts, which is allowed to refine and ſtrengthen the virtues of a manly and a generous ſpirit, has perhaps a peculiar tendency not only to ſhew, but to increaſe the narrowneſs of a vain and feeble mind; and if ſuch a tendency exiſts, it is the province of a comic writer to counteract and correct it.—The aim of the third comedy in this collection is to laugh at two diſtinct ſpecies of affectation, [170] very prevalent in our age and country; the affectation of refined ſentiment, and the affectation of pompous and pedantic expreſſion. I proteſt however againſt perſonal application: and, to guard againſt it, let me declare, that this ridicule is levelled, not at the great and reſpectable Veteran in the field of literature, whoſe phraſes may ſometimes be borrowed by a character in the play; but at the nameleſs and ſervile herd of his awkward imitators.—Vigor and originality of thought give a ſanction to the pomp and peculiarity of his language. If ſingularities of ſtyle are united with genius and moral excellence, they are properly regarded with a partial reſpect; but when theſe ſingularities are prepoſterouſly copied, and ſeem to prevail as a faſhion, they become, I apprehend, very fair ſubjects of ſportive ſatire.

When I reflect what long and eſtabliſhed prejudice a rhyming play muſt encounter—when I remember that even Dryden himſelf, the moſt able advocate, and the greateſt maſter of rhyme in our language, has expreſsly condemned the uſe of it in comedy—I am alarmed at the hardineſs of my attempt; but when I recollect that time, the moſt infallible teſt of literary opinion, has fully ſhewn the miſtake of that immortal Poet, in recommending the uſe of rhyme in Engliſh Tragedy, I am inclined to hope that he might be equally miſtaken in ſuppoſing it utterly unſuited to our Comic Muſe. It may be urged indeed, with great truth, that a comedy [171] in rhyme cannot be ſo cloſe a copy of Nature as a comedy in proſe, the latter adhering to the very language of common life. But from a ſiſter-art we may borrow, at leaſt a plauſible argument in favour of Poetry, on the preſent occaſion. The great maſter, who has deſcanted ſo happily on the principles of Painting, obſerves with great propriety, in one of his diſcourſes, that ‘"we are not always pleaſed with the moſt abſolute poſſible reſemblance of an imitation to its original object: caſes may exiſt, in which ſuch a reſemblance may be even diſagreeable. I ſhall only obſerve, that the effect of figures in wax-work, though certainly a more exact repreſentation than can be given by painting or ſculpture, is a ſufficient proof that the pleaſure we receive from imitation is not increaſed merely in proportion as it approaches to minute and detailed reality: we are pleaſed, on the contrary, by ſeeing ends anſwered by ſeeming inadequate means*."’—On theſe principles, which perhaps are equally juſt in the two kindred arts, a comedy in Rhyme may be ſtill more entertaining than a comedy, of equal merit in other points, which confines itſelf to proſe; and a critic who exclaims againſt the unnatural effect of a rhyming dialogue, may as juſtly cenſure a portrait on canvaſs, becauſe it is not ſo exact a copy of life, as an image of coloured wax. In both caſes, the artiſt, whether painter or poet, may be [172] juſtly called a true and a pleaſing copier of Nature, if he preſerves as high a degree of reſemblance, as his mode of imitation will admit, and embelliſhes his work with the attractive and almoſt indiſpenſable graces of eaſe, ſpirit, and freedom.

It is ſaid by Voltaire of theatrical compoſition in general, ‘"Tous les genres ſont bons hors le genre ennuyeux."’ If the preſent comedies fall not within the claſs which that lively Writer has ſo juſtly proſcribed, the Author may be allowed to hope, that his liberal and enlightened readers will look with indulgence on a Publication, which aroſe from his wiſh to introduce a ſtriking, and he truſts not a blamable, variety into the amuſements of Engliſh literature.

THE HAPPY PRESCRIPTION; OR, THE LADY RELIEVED FROM HER LOVERS. A COMEDY, IN RHYME.

[]

Perſons of the Drama.

[]
  • SIR NICHOLAS ODDFISH,
  • SAPPHIC,
  • DECISIVE,
  • MORLEY,
  • COLONEL FELIX,
  • JONATHAN, Servant to MORLEY;
  • SELINA, Niece to SIR NICHOLAS,
  • MRS. FELIX, her Couſin, and Wife to the COLONEL,
  • JENNY, Servant to SELINA.
  • Servants of SIR NICHOLAS, &c.
SCENE the Country Manſion of the ODDFISH Family.

THE HAPPY PRESCRIPTION;

[]
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Enter Sir Nicholas, in debate with Mrs. Felix and Selina.
MRS. FELIX.
WHAT a ſtrange declaration!—it gives me the ſpleen;
But 'tis what good Sir Nicholas never can mean.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Not mean it, fair Lady!—by Jupiter, yes!
And my project, you'll ſee, will be crown'd with ſucceſs;
I am joyous myſelf, and 'tis ever my plan
To give thoſe I love all the joy that I can.
MRS. FELIX.
[176]
We own it—but joy is like diet, dear Couſin,
One palate mayn't reliſh what pleaſes a dozen;
Nor will I allow that my appetite's vicious,
If perchance I don't like, what you think moſt delicious.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Rare dainty diſtinctions!—But can I believe
That a woman e'er liv'd, ſince the wedding of Eve,
Whoſe heart (tho' moſt coyly her head might be carried)
Did not fervently wiſh to be ſpeedily married?
Not to wound your nice ears with the name of deſires
Which youth renders lovely, and nature inſpires,
Your ſex, from its weakneſs, demands a defender,
Whom pride and affection make watchful and tender;
And if my fair Coz is no hypocrite grown,
The truth of my maxims you'll honeſtly own;
While the wars from your arms the brave Colonel detain,
Is the want of a huſband the ſource of no pain?
MRS. FELIX.
There, indeed, you have touch'd me a little too near;
My Soldier, you know, to my ſoul is moſt dear;
I own—and my frankneſs you never will blame,
I'd purchaſe his preſence with aught but his ſame.
SIR NICHOLAS.
[177]
Well ſaid, thou dear, honeſt, and warm-hearted wife;
For thy truth may good angels ſtill watch o'er his life,
And while others the rough field of ſlaughter are treading,
Send him home full of glory, to dance at our wedding!
For a wedding we'll have to enliven us all,
And Hymen's bright altar ſhall warm the old hall.
For my Niece ere I die 'tis my wiſh to provide,
And ere two months are paſt I will ſee her a bride.
I'm reſolv'd—and you know that my neighbours all ſay,
Sir Nicholas Oddfiſh will have his own way.
MRS. FELIX.
Selina, dear Sir, wants no other protection,
While her life glides in peace by your gentle direction.
She-thinks, and, I own, I approve her remark,
In conjugal cares 'tis too ſoon to embark:
Her boſom untouch'd by Love's dangerous dart,
Fate has not yet ſhewn her the man of her heart.
SIR NICHOLAS.
The man of her heart!—theſe nonſenſical fancies
You light-headed females pick out of romances.
That I am no tyrant you know very well,
So, Couſin, don't teach my good Niece to rebel!
[178] I am no greedy guardian, who thinks it his duty
On the altar of Plutus to ſacrifice beauty;
Whoſe venal barbarity, juſtly abhorr'd,
Ties a lovely young girl to an old crippled lord,
And baſely, to gain either rank or eſtate,
Makesher ſwear ſhe will love, what ſhe cannot but hate.
From ſuch a protector Heaven guard my dear Niece!
I wiſh her to wed that her joys may increaſe;
And the deuce muſt be in the ſtrange girl who diſcovers
No man to her mind in ſuch plenty of lovers.
To no very great length will my cruelty run,
If from twenty admirers I bid her chuſe one.
MRS. FELIX.
But why, dear Sir Nicholas, why in ſuch haſte?
SIR NICHOLAS.
'Tis thus that my projects are ever diſgrac'd
With the falſe names of hurry and precipitation,
Becauſe I abhor ſilly procraſtination;
That thief of delight, who deludes all our ſenſes,
Who cheats us for ever with idle pretences,
By whom, like the dog in the fable, betray'd,
We let go the ſubſtance to ſnap at the ſhade.
[179] To ſeize preſent time is the true art of life;
'Tis Time who now cries, make Selina a wife!
The ſeaſon is come, I've ſo long wiſh'd to ſee
From the moment I dandled her firſt on my knee:
She, you know, to my care was bequeath'd by my Brother,
And having this child, I ne'er wiſh'd for another:
Thro' life I have kept myſelf ſingle for her;
Her intereſt, her joy, to my own I prefer.
SELINA.
Your kindneſs, dear Sir, I can never repay.
SIR NICHOLAS.
In truth, my dear damſel, you eaſily may;
I demand no return ſo enormouſly great;
I aſk but a boy to poſſeſs my eſtate.
SELINA.
Lord, Uncle, how come ſuch odd thoughts in your head?
MRS. FELIX.
From his heart, I aſſure you—'tis pleaſantly ſaid;
A fair ſtipulation—both parties agreed,
The compact, I truſt, in due time will ſucceed:
But patience, dear Knight, you will have your deſire,
Nor wait very long for a young little 'ſquite.
SIR NICHOLAS.
[180]
The cold ſtream of Patience ne'er creeps in my veins,
But the wiſh my heart forms my quick ſpirit attains.
I'm none of your chill atmoſpherical wretches,
Whoſe affections are ſubject to ſtarts and to catches;
Whoſe wiſh, like a weather-cock, veering about,
Now turns towards hope, and now changes to doubt:
No, mine, like the needle without variation,
Only looks to one point, and that point's Conſummation.
I want to behold this young urchin ariſe,
Before I have loſt or my legs or my eyes,
That I may enjoy all his little vagaries,
As the changeable ſeaſon of infancy varies.
I long to be moulding his heart and his ſpirit;
To ſhew him the fields he is born to inherit;
Lead him round our rich woods, while my limbs are yet limber,
And tell the young rogue how I've nurs'd up his timber;
That when the worn thread of my life is untwiſted,
He long may remember that I have exiſted;
And when my old frame in our monument reſts,
As he walks by my grave with a few worthy gueſts,
[181] He thus to ſome warm-hearted friend may addreſs him,
Here lies, my odd, honeſt, old Uncle—God bleſs him!
MRS. FELIX.
Thank Heaven, dear Couſin, your hale conſtitution
Shews not the leaſt ſign of a near diſſolution.
SELINA.
To make your life happy, whate'er the condition,
Has been, my dear Uncle, my higheſt ambition;
To fulfil every wiſh that your fancy can frame,
Still is, as it ought to be, ever my aim:
But if by your voice I am doom'd to the altar,
With terror and pain my weak accents muſt falter,
Unleſs my kind ſtars a new lover ſhould ſend me,
Unlike all the ſwains who now deign to attend me.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Nice wench! do you want the whole world to adore you?
Would you have all the men of the earth rang'd before you?
For, thanks to your charms, and to fortune's kind bounty,
You may rank in your train all the youth of our county;
And, chuſe whom you will, if the man has but worth,
And is nearly your equal in wealth and in birth,
[182] I give my conſent—you are free from reſtriction;
But I will not be plagu'd with perverſe contradiction,
I will ſee you wed without any delay:
Your two fitteſt lovers are coming to-day;
Young Sapphic, whoſe verſes delight all the fair,
And Dicky Deciſive, Sir Jacob's next heir:
Both young and both wealthy, both comely and clever,
To gain you, no doubt, each will warmly endeavour;
For they come for a month, by my own invitation,
On purpoſe to ſound my dear girl's inclination:
I have ſaid to them both, and no man can ſpeak fairer,
Let him, who can pleaſe her moſt, win her and wear her.
SELINA, aſide to Mrs. Felix.
Good angels defend me!
MRS. FELIX.
I ſee nothing frightful:
Our month with ſuch gueſts muſt be very delightful:
When Sapphic's ſoft verſes incline us to doſe,
Dick will keep us awake with ſatirical proſe.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Don't croſs me, I ſay! nor miſlead my good Niece!
By Jove, if ſhe thwarts me with any caprice,
Like a certain old Juſtice, I'll ring up my maids,
And marry the firſt of the frank-hearted jades;
[183] For perverſe contradiction I never will bear,
But provide for myſelf a more dutiful heir.
MRS. FELIX.
Dear Couſin, in ſpite of his Worſhip's deciſion,
You cannot be certain of ſuch a proviſion:
Attempts of that nature are ſubject to fail.
SIR NICHOLAS.
My deſigns, you ſhall ſee, Madam, always prevail:
For if this nice Gipſy, by your machination,
Declines every offer, to give me vexation,
Like my late jolly neighbour, Sir Timothy Trickum,
Who vindictively married the frail Molly Quickum,
I'll make ſure of the matter, and chuſe me a wife,
With an heir ready plac'd on the threſhold of life:
For, as I have ſaid, tho' a foe to reſtriction,
I never will ſuffer perverſe contradiction.
You now know my mind, which no maſk ever covers,
So farewell, and prepare to receive your two lovers.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX.
Go thy way, thou ſtrange mixture of ſenſe and of blindneſs!
A model at once of oppreſſion and kindneſs.
[184] Thy will, thou odd compound of goodneſs and whim,
Is a ſtream, againſt which it is treaſon to ſwim;
Yet we muſt croſs the current—
SELINA.
Dear Couſin, ſay how!
Direct oppoſition he will not allow:
What can you deviſe as a plan of prevention?
How divert his keen ſpirit from this new intention?
I had much rather die than be ever united
To one of the lovers, that he has invited:
My heart has a thorough averſion to both:
Yet to make him unhappy I'm equally loth;
When I think what I owe to his tender protection,
The worſt of all ills is to loſe his affection.
MRS. FELIX.
Dear Girl, your warm gratitude gives you new charms:
'Tis an amiable fear which your boſom alarms,
And I from your Uncle's quick humour would ſcreen you,
Not looſen the bands of affection between you.
He merits your love, and you know he has mine;
Yet we ſomehow muſt baffle his haſty deſign,
Nor ſuffer his whim thus to make you a wife,
To repent the raſh buſineſs the reſt of his life.
Take courage! kind chance may aſſiſt us—
SELINA.
[185]
I doubt it,
Yet Heaven knows how we ſhall manage without it;
For when his heart's ſet on a favourite ſcheme,
His ardor and haſte, as you know, are extreme;
Like a med'cine ill-tim'd, oppoſition is vain,
And inflames the diſorder 'twas meant to reſtrain.
MRS. FELIX.
In his fevers indeed there is no intermiſſion;
And thanks, gentle Coz! to your ſoft diſpoſition!
So ſweet and compliant your temper has been,
You have taught him to think contradiction a ſin;
And here all around him confirm that belief,
His vaſſals all bow to the nod of their chief.
Here, ſhut from the world in this rural dominion,
No mortal oppoſes his will or opinion;
And thus he is ſpoil'd—Politicians all ſay,
Human nature's not faſhion'd for abſolute ſway.
SELINA.
'Tis true, tho' the world, as you ſay, think him odd,
In this ſphere he is held a diminutive god:
And when I behold how his fortune is ſpent,
In ſuppreſſing vexation, and ſpreading content;
[186] When I hear all the poor his kind bounty expreſſing,
And thoroughly know how he merits their bleſſing,
My feelings with theirs in his eulogy join,
And confeſs, that his nature is truly divine.
MRS. FELIX.
Thou excellent Girl! if ſuch fondneſs and zeal
For a warm-hearted, whimſical Uncle you feel,
With what fine ſenſations your boſom will glow,
What tender attachment your temper will ſhew,
When your fortunate lord Love and Hymen inveſt
With higher dominion o'er that gentle breaſt!
But tell me, dear Couſin—be honeſt—declare,
Has no young ſecret ſwain form'd an intereſt there?
I ſuſpect—but don't let my ſuſpicion affright you,
Tho' the good Knight's rare virtues amuſe and delight you,
From this gloomy old hall you would wiſh to get free,
Had not Cupid preſerv'd you from feeling ennui:
Come tell me the name of the favourite youth;
I am ſure I gueſs right.
SELINA.
No, in ſad ſober truth,
I never have ſeen, in the courſe of my life,
A mortal to whom I ſhould chuſe to be wife.
MRS. FELIX.
[187]
Ye ſtars, what a pity!—I wiſh I could learn
That my Colonel from India would ſhortly return,
Both for your ſake and mine; for our preſent diſtreſs
He would ſpeedily turn into joyous ſucceſs;
As his regiment muſt ſome young hero afford,
Who might throw at your feet both himſelf and his ſword.
What ſay you, my dear, to a ſoldier?—
Enter Jenny.
JENNY.
Oh! Madam,
Here's young Mr. Sapphic—I vow, if I had them,
I'd give fifty pounds had you ſeen how politely
He begg'd me to tie a ſweet noſegay up tightly,
Which is jolted to pieces.—Well, he's a ſweet beau;
And now with his pencil he's writing below,
I believe 'tis a poſy, he writes it ſo neatly,
And I'm ſure 'tis fine verſe, Ma'am, it ſounded ſo ſweetly.
MRS. FELIX.
Oh charming! his vows will be very ſublime,
And I truſt we ſhall hear his propoſals in rhyme.
SELINA.
[188]
How can you, dear Couſin, ſo cruelly jeſt in
A buſineſs you know I am really diſtreſt in?
I ſhall certainly forfeit my Uncle's protection,
For I never can wed where I feel no affection.
Do help me.
MRS. FELIX.
Good Girl, this perplexity ſmother,
And think your two lovers will baniſh each other:
There's much to be hop'd from our preſent affairs.
JENNY.
O, Ma'am, Mr. Sapphic is coming up ſtairs.
(Aſide as ſhe goes out.)
I am mightily pleas'd with this marrying plan,
And I hope in my ſpirit that he'll be the man.
[Exit.
Enter Sapphic.
SAPPHIC.
Fair Ladies, the moments have ſeem'd to be hours,
While I ſtopt in your hall to adjuſt a few flowers:
For the ſeaſon, I'm told, they're uncommonly fine;
But I ſtill wiſh the tribute more worthy the ſhrine.
[Bowing and preſenting them to Selina.
SELINA.
[189]
Mr. Sapphic is always extremely polite:
Theſe roſes, indeed, are a wonderful ſight:
You are far better floriſts than we are.
MRS. FELIX.
My dear,
Mr. Sapphic has magic to make them appear,
And Flora is brib'd, by the ſongs he compoſes,
To produce for her poet extempore roſes;
Into this early bloom all her plants are bewitch'd:
But you do not obſerve how the gift is inrich'd,
Here's a border of verſe, if my eyes don't deceive me.
SELINA, aſide to Mrs. Felix.
Dear Couſin, you'll read it—I pray you, relieve me;
I ſhall bluſh like a fool at each civil expreſſion.
MRS. FELIX, aſide to Selina, taking the paper.
Now, with emphaſis juſt, and with proper diſcretion.
(Mrs. Felix reads.)
"Ye happy flowers, give and receive perfume
"As on Selina's fragrant breaſt ye bloom:
"From earth, tho' not arrang'd in order nice,
"Ye are tranſplanted into Paradiſe;
"If on that ſpot ye languiſh into death,
"'Twill be from envy of her ſweeter breath."
[190] 'Tis a delicate compliment, tender and pretty,
What original ſpirit! how graceful and witty!
SAPPHIC.
Dear Ma'am, you're too good, to find any thing in it,
'Tis a mere haſty trifle—the work of a minute:
On the anvil I had not a moment to hammer,
And I fear, in my haſte I have ſinn'd againſt grammar.
MRS. FELIX.
All ſlight imperfections I never regard
When I meet with ſuch vigor of thought in a bard,
With a fancy ſo brilliant—
SAPPHIC.
O! Ma'am, you're too kind;
But candor's the teſt of an amiable mind.
I wiſh that your taſte all our Critics might guide,
To ſoften that rigor with which they decide.
MRS. FELIX.
From Critics, dear Sir, you have little to fear.
If Mr. Deciſive himſelf had been here,
He muſt have been charm'd with this ſweet jeu d'eſprit,
Which, as he is coming to-day, he ſhall ſee.
I am eager to hear how his wit will applaud it:
To conceal it would be of due praiſe to defraud it.
SAPPHIC.
[191]
In Mercy's name, Ladies, I beg your protection,
Preſerve my poor rhymes from Deciſive's inſpection;
Conſider how haſty—
MRS. FELIX.
Say rather how ſpringhtly—
SAPPHIC.
Compos'd in a moment—
MRS. FELIX.
Produc'd ſo politely!
SAPPHIC.
He'll cut them to atoms!
MRS. FELIX.
Dear Sir, he's your friend,
And I thought he had ſeen all the poems you penn'd:
I was told that to him your long works you rehearſe—
Does Mr. Deciſive himſelf write in verſe?
SAPPHIC.
I wiſh from my ſoul that he did, now and then;
But he uſes the pen-knife much more than the pen,
And too freely has flaſh'd all who write in the nation,
To give them an opening for retaliation.
My old friend Deciſive has honour and wit;
To the latter, indeed, he makes moſt things ſubmit;
[192] And thinks it fair ſport, as a friend or a foe,
To knock down a Bard by a flaming bon mot.
To your ſex indeed his chief failings I trace;
For the fair-ones ſo flatter'd his figure and face,
That too early he ceas'd the chaſte Muſes to follow,
And being Adonis, would not be Apollo.
MRS. FELIX.
Yet he has much fancy.
SAPPHIC.
O, Madam, no doubt,
And genius, that ſtudy would ſoon have brought out.
Had his thoughts been leſs turn'd to his legs and his looks,
Ere this he'd have written ſome excellent books:
'Tis pity ſuch parts ſhould thro' indolence fall;
But he never compoſes, and reads not at all.
SELINA.
Not read, Mr. Sapphic! you ſurely miſtake;
Your friend cannot be an illiterate rake:
Our neighbours, who lately from London came down,
Declare, that his word forms the taſte of the town.
SAPPHIC.
Dear Madam, the buſineſs is eaſily done;
He judges all authors, but never reads one.
MRS. FELIX.
[193]
I'm ſure he muſt own this impromptu is ſweet,
And I vow he ſhall read it—
SAPPHIC.
Dear Ma'am, I intreat,
I conjure you to ſpare me; this earneſt petition
I know you will grant me—
MRS. FELIX.
On this one condition,
That for ſix lines ſuppreſs'd you indulge me with twenty:
Come, ſhew us your pocket-book—there you have plenty
Of tender poetical ſquibs for the Fair.
SAPPHIC, taking out his pocket-book.
Dear Ma'am, here is nothing.
MRS. FELIX.
A volume, I ſwear,
O, charming!—well, now you're an excellent man;
'Tis ſtuff'd like a pincuſhion—
SAPPHIC.
Yes, Ma'am—with bran.
MRS. FELIX.
Fie, fie, you're too modeſt, and murder my meaning;
What a harveſt is here! yet I aſk but a gleaning:
[194] It would not be fair to ſeize all the collection,
Tho' all is moſt certainly worthy inſpection.
Indulge us, dear Sir: come, I'll take no refuſal.
SAPPHIC.
Indeed, Ma'am, here's nothing that's fit for peruſal.
MRS. FELIX.
There are fifty fine things, and one can't chuſe amiſs.
SAPPHIC, taking out a paper.
Here's one new little ſong—
MRS. FELIX.
Well then, let me have this.
SAPPHIC, after giving a paper.
They all are ſo jumbled, I fear I am wrong;
I meant to have ſhewn you a new little ſong,
Which was written laſt week on the ball at our races,
Where I heard the Miſs Trotters compar'd to the Graces;
I could not help ſaying, 'twas very profane,
It was taking the name of the Graces in vain.
MRS. FELIX reads.

"On ſeeing Selina and Jenny near each other in the garden."

SAPPHIC.
[195]
O mercy, dear Madam, you muſt not read thoſe!
A ſtanza unfiniſh'd.—
MRS. FELIX.
How ſweetly it flows!
Selina, pray hear it.
SELINA, aſide to MRS. FELIX.
Dear Couſin, enough!
How can you delight in his horrible ſtuff!
MRS. FELIX reads.
"Tho' each in the ſame garden blows,
"The poet muſt be crazy,
"Who, when invited by the roſe,
"Can ſtoop to pick the daiſy."
SELINA, aſide to MRS. FELIX.
If you love me, dear Couſin, aſſiſt me, I pray,
To end all this nonſenſe, and get him away.—
Pray, Sir, when you came, was my Uncle below?
SAPPHIC.
He's abroad, Ma'am, your ſervant inform'd me—
SELINA.
O No!
You have heard he is building a temple to Pan,
And we hope that your taſte may embelliſh the plan:
[196] At the end of the walk, in his favourite grove,
Where there formerly ſtood an old ruin'd alcove,
You'll find him; and as 'tis an art you are ſkill'd in,
'Twill pleaſe him to know what you think of the building.
MRS. FELIX.
Aye do, Mr. Sapphic, inſpect what is done,
For the workmen all blunder'd when firſt they begun:
Your opinion, I'm ſure, will oblige the good Knight.
SELINA.
An inſcription, he once ſaid, he wiſh'd you to write.
SAPPHIC.
Dear Madam!—the hint is delightful, I vow;
To the God of Arcadia I haſten to bow:
I ſhall find the good Knight in the midſt of the dome;
I am heartily glad that he is not from home.
We ſhall ſurely contrive ſomething clever between us,
And the Muſe will compoſe by the order of Venus.
[Bows tenderly to Selina, and Exit.
SELINA.
How could you ſo praiſe that impertinent creature?
And praiſe him without diſcompoſing a feature!—
I could not have thought, before this converſation,
That your frankneſs could turn into ſuch adulation.
MRS. FELIX.
[197]
The world, my dear Child, is to you quite unknown;
When you ſee it, you'll find ſuch diſcourſe is the ton;
Fine folks in high life learn to praiſe with great glee
Such perſons and things as they ſicken to ſee.
To me your beſt thanks for my ſpeeches are due—
By thus flattering the Poet, I ſurely ſerve you;
He will now play the Sky-lark inſtead of the Dove,
And ſtun me with ſongs, while you're ſav'd from his love.
Enter Jenny.
JENNY.
Dear Ma'am, now I hope Mr. Sapphic's quite bleſt,
For he flies thro' the walks like a bird to his neſt.—
He's a ſweet pretty gentleman.
MRS. FELIX, aſide to Selina.
This, if I ſhew it,
Will ſoon baniſh Jenny's regard for the poet:—
Jenny, ſee what your friend Mr. Sapphic has written.
JENNY.
Dear Ma'am, with his verſes I always am ſmitten.
(Having read the ſtanza.)
A Daiſy indeed! to be ſure I am neat,
But tho' I'm a ſervant, I hope I am ſweet.
[198] When he makes my young Miſtreſs a Roſe or a Lily,
He might turn me at leaſt to a Daffy-down-dilly.
But a Daiſy, forſooth! with no fragrance at all!—
I'll croſs him for this—
SELINA.
What's that noiſe in the hall?
JENNY.
As ſure as I live 'tis your other gay Spark,
For I ſaw a new chaiſe driving into the park.—
I'll ſee, Ma'am.
(Aſide going out.)
I'll ſhew this fine Poet a trick—
A Daiſy! that no one but children will pick.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX.
This ſimile Jenny I ſee cannot ſwallow,
And her anger may ruin this ſon of Apollo;
For in courtſhip this maxim is often diſplay'd,
He has half loſt the Miſtreſs who loſes the Maid.
Enter Deciſive.
DECISIVE.
Alone, my dear Ladies!—they told me below,
Our friend Sapphic was here, your poetical Beau;
I was almoſt afraid that my ſudden intruſion
Might check the rich ſtream of ſome lyric effuſion.
[199] (To Selina.)
I am happy to ſee you ſo lovely to-day;
But I hope I've not frighted your Poet away.
SELINA.
O no—Mr. Sapphic had bid us adieu—
MRS. FELIX.
And not without ſaying ſome fine things of you:
He declares, that with thoſe brilliant parts you poſſeſs,
'Tis a ſin you ne'er ſend any work to the preſs.
DECISIVE.
Good Sapphic!—In truth 'tis his comfort to think
The whole duty of man lies in ſpilling of ink;
And at Paradiſe gate his large volumes of metre
Will, I hope, be allow'd a fair paſs by Saint Peter.
MRS. FELIX.
Then the Saint muſt be free from your critical ſpirit,
For I know you have little eſteem for their merit;
You're a rigorous judge, and to poets terrific.
DECISIVE.
I wiſh my friend's Muſe was not quite ſo prolific:
But in rhymes, when a child, I have heard he would ſqueak,
And ſo proved a poet before he could ſpeak;
[200] On his death-bed, I doubt not, he'll ſtill think of verſe,
And groan out a rhyme to his doctor or nurſe.
MRS. FELIX.
I fancy your favourite reading is proſe;
Here's a new ſet of travels, pray have you read thoſe?
DECISIVE, taking the book.
This author is lucky to meet with a buyer:
A traveller's but a ſoft word for a liar.
Such works may pleaſe thoſe who have ne'er been abroad,
But men, who have travell'd, perceive all the fraud.
MRS. FELIX.
Is the work ſo deceitful! it ſeems you have read it?
DECISIVE.
Not a ſyllable, Madam—
MRS. FELIX.
Pray who then has ſaid it?
DECISIVE.
Not a ſoul that I know—but ſuch books are a trade,
And I perfectly know how thoſe volumes are made.
MRS. FELIX.
'Tis a work, I am told, that has great reputation
Both for wit and for truth—
DECISIVE.
[201]
We're a credulous nation—
MRS. FELIX.
Pray what kind of books are your favourite ſtudy?
DECISIVE.
I find modern works only make the brain muddy,
As my friends grew by reading more awkward than wiſe,
And ruin'd their perſons and clouded their eyes;
I have wiſely reſolv'd not to read any more,
Since each living author is turn'd to a bore.
MRS. FELIX.
How can you ſo waſte all your bright mental powers?
'Tis pity you men have not ſuch works as ours—
What d'ye ſay to my knotting?
(Takes out her work.)
DECISIVE.
Your box wants a hinge.
And I'll give you a much better pattern for fringe;
I brought it from France.
MRS. FELIX.
Now I ſee, my good friend,
There is no kind of work which your ſkill cannot mend:
[202] In all arts you poſſeſs a diſtinguiſhing head,
From building a temple to knotting a thread.
DECISIVE.
A-propos of a temple—pray has the good Knight
Rais'd his altar to Pan?—he had fix'd on the ſite.
Is the ſtructure begun?—I have not ſeen his plan—
MRS. FELIX.
Then haſten, and pay your devotions to Pan.
Sir Nicholas now in his veſtibule ſtands,
To guide all his workmen, and quicken their hands;
And Sapphic is gone to attend the good Knight,
And try what inſcription his genius can write.
DECISIVE.
Poor Pan! by the Graces thou'rt left in the lurch;
Thy temple will look like a trim pariſh church,
With Sapphic's inſcriptions, like ſcraps of the Bible,
Put up, as the Church-wardens ſay, in a libel.
MRS. FELIX.
Indeed we much fear ſo—pray haſte to inſpect it,
And exert all your exquiſite taſte to correct it.
DECISIVE.
Ma'am I'll do what I can, for it puts me in wrath
To ſee a fine temple diſgrac'd by a Goth.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX.
[203]
Well, my dear, your two Lovers, like true men of faſhion,
Do not peſter you much with the heat of their paſſion
You'll be quite at your eaſe—thanks to Pan and the Muſe!
Enter Jenny, haſtily.
JENNY.
News! news! my dear Ladies, moſt excellent news!
SELINA.
The girl is quite wild!
MRS. FELIX.
What tranſports you ſo, Jenny?
JENNY.
I've news for you, Madam, that's well worth a guinea:
I have news from the Colonel—
MRS. FELIX.
A letter! Where is it?
JENNY.
No, Ma'am, here's a ſtranger arriv'd on a viſit,
And he comes from the place where the Colonel is fighting.
MRS. FELIX.
And with letters for me?
JENNY.
[204]
Madam, that I'm not right in;
For I run from his man when I got half my ſtory;
But the Colonel, he ſays, is all riches and glory.
MRS. FELIX.
Dear girl! that's enough; through my life I ſhall feel
Due regard for thy warm and affectionate zeal.
But where is this Stranger?
JENNY.
Juſt walk'd to my Maſter.
His poor man has met with a cruel diſaſter;
He was wounded in battle.
SELINA.
Pray treat him with care.—
In your joy, my dear Couſin, I heartily ſhare.
MRS. FELIX.
This Stranger's a jewel for you from the Eaſt;
He's a Captain, I hope, my dear Jenny, at leaſt.
JENNY.
Ah, Madam! my fancy ſuppos'd him ſo too;
But we're both in the wrong, and for Miſs he won't do,
For I learnt from his man he is only a Doctor.
MRS. FELIX.
Poor Jane! how the difference of title has ſhock'd her!
[205] For my part I can't find, by my reaſon or feeling,
That the art of deſtroying excels that of healing:
We may equally love the profeſſors of both.
JENNY.
That Miſs tho' ſhould marry a Doctor, I'm loth.
MRS. FELIX.
Come, my dear, let us meet 'em—I can't reſt above—
How ſlowly fly letters from hands that we love!
End of ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter Jenny and Jonathan.
JENNY.
COME, dear Mr. Jonathan, tell me the whole:
An account of a battle I love to my ſoul;
There is nothing on earth I ſo truly delight in,
As to hear a brave Soldier diſcourſe about fighting.—
So the Colonel was wounded, you ſay, near the wall:
Whereabouts was the ſhot? Did he inſtantly fall?
JONATHAN.
[206]
No; recoiling a little, he ruſh'd on again,
And fought like a lion, made fiercer by pain;
Tho' a curſed keen arrow, an Indian let fly,
Pierc'd the bone of his cheek juſt below the right eye.
'Twas a horrible wound! but it could not appall him.
JENNY.
O mercy! that ſuch a hard fate ſhould befall him.
Alas! I'm afraid that his fine manly face
Muſt have loſt by the ſcar all its ſpirit and grace.
Does he look very hideous?
JONATHAN.
No; thanks to my Maſter,
You can hardly perceive that he e'er wore a plaiſter.
There never was known a more wonderful cure;
But kind Heaven aſſiſts my good Maſter, I'm ſure;
Without it, the ſkill of no mortal could ſave
The many brave lads he has kept from the grave.
You would weep with delight to behold him ſurrounded
With a hundred fine fellows, once horribly wounded;
Who with thanks for their lives are ſtill eager to greet him,
And hail him with bleſſings whenever they meet him.
JENNY.
[227]
God reward him, ſay I, for the good he has done;
And of thoſe he has ſav'd I'm glad you are one.
JONATHAN.
Aye, twice he preſerv'd me when all thought me dead,
And once brought me off at the riſque of his head.
It was not his buſineſs to mix in the ſtrife,
And ſome thought him mad when he ventur'd his life
To bring off a poor mangled private like me;
But I've ſtill a heart left, in this trunk that you ſee,
Which loves the brave ſpirit who ſnatch'd me from death,
And will ſerve him, I hope, till my very laſt breath.
JENNY.
Your ſcenes of hard ſervice, I hope, are all over;
It is now fairly time you ſhould both live in clover.
Your Maſter, I truſt, has brought home as much treaſure
As will make him a parliament-man at his pleaſure;
And, to recompenſe you for the wound in your arm,
Perhaps he will buy you a ſnug little farm.
JONATHAN.
When a Gentleman comes from the Eaſt, my good girl,
You all think he is loaded with diamonds and pearl;
[208] You fancy his treaſure too great to be told,
And ſuppoſe he poſſeſſes a mountain of gold.
A few daring blades, by a bold kind of ſtealth,
Have indeed from the Indies brought home ſo much wealth,
That with all their keen ſenſes they ne'er could employ it,
And have dy'd from the want of a heart to enjoy it:
But ſome hundred brave lads, whom gay youth led to enter
That promiſing region of hope and adventure,
Have toil'd many years in thoſe rich burning climes,
With ſmall ſhare of their wealth, and with none of their crimes.
Now my Maſter and I both belong to this tribe;
Not a ſingle Nabob have we kill'd for a bribe;
And to tell you a truth, which I hope you'll not doubt,
We're as poor and as honeſt as when we ſet out.
JENNY.
What! your Maſter ſtill poor in ſo thriving a trade!
And, with patients ſo rich, has he never been paid
For the wounds he has heal'd?
JONATHAN.
[209]
Yes, my dear, for his fees
I know he has touch'd many thouſand rupees;
But the ſight of diſtreſs he could never endure;
What he took from the rich he beſtow'd on the poor.
JENNY.
Well, Heaven will pay him, no doubt, in due ſeaſon.
But what brings him home?—I would fain know the reaſon
Why he leaves that rich land in the bloom of his life:
I ſuppoſe, from the want of a cherry-cheek'd wife?
They ſay thoſe black wenches are ſad naſty creatures,
And tho' they've fine ſhapes they have horrible features.
Does he want a white ſweetheart? or has he a Black?
JONATHAN.
'Tis indeed a white woman that brings us both back:
But, alas! 'tis an old one—my Maſter, it ſeems,
Has a fond ſimple mother that's troubled with dreams,
And he, like a tender and ſoft-hearted youth,
Reſigns his fine proſpect, and comes home, forſooth,
Becauſe the old dame has expreſs'd her deſires
To ſee him in England before ſhe expires:
And egad, ſince he's come ſhe will live long enough,
For ſhe ſeems to be made of good durable ſtuff.
JENNY.
[210]
Well, now I ſhall love him a hundred times more
Than I did for the ſtories you told me before.
God bleſs the kind ſoul! who behaves to his mother
As if he well knew he could ne'er have another;
And were he my ſon, I could not live without him;
I could ſtay here all day while you're talking about him.—
But 'tis time to be gone; we muſt both diſappear,
For the Colonel's ſweet Wife and your Maſter are here.
JONATHAN.
Stop, I muſt peep at her;—ſhe's as bright as the day!
JENNY.
And her heart is as good as her ſpirit is gay—
Come, I'll ſhew you our walks—we may get out this way.
[Exeunt.
Enter Mrs. Felix and Morley.
MRS. FELIX.
Dear excellent Friend, ſince I owe to your worth
The ſafety of what I moſt value on earth,
With thoſe it loves beſt my heart yields you a place,
And I claſp your kind hand with a ſiſter's embrace.
To judge of the man whom ſuch ſervice endears,
I want not the tardy acquaintance of years;
[211] But in ſtrong tho' quick ties, that no chances can ſever,
In an inſtant he ſeizes my friendſhip for ever:
And had I much leſs obligation to you,
My regard and eſteem I ſhould ſtill think your due,
From the picture my Felix has drawn of your mind.
MORLEY.
His warm ſoul to his friends is moſt partially kind:
But ſuch as I am I moſt truly am yours;
Your goodneſs my grateful attachment enſures,
And my heart with proud tranſport your friendſhip embraces.
Tho' I ne'er gaz'd before on your perſonal graces,
I've beguil'd ſome long weeks of hard weariſome duty
With frequent diſcourſe on your virtues and beauty;
And I own for the Colonel it rais'd my eſteem,
To mark with what pleaſure he dwelt on the theme.
MRS. FELIX.
You're an excellent creature to ſooth a fond Wife,
Who regards her Lord's love hardly leſs than his life;
But ſince you've replied with good-humour ſo ſteady
To the ten thouſand queſtions I've aſk'd you already,
I'll ſpare you to-day, and, if 'tis in my power,
Mention Felix's name only once in an hour.
[212] That my thoughts to the Indies no longer may roam,
Let me talk to you now about matters at home;
Your counſel may make our perplexity leſs,
And finiſh our odd tragi-comic diſtreſs.
Firſt tell me, and ſpeak without any diſguiſe,
(Tho' I fancy I read all your thoughts in your eyes)
What d'ye think of my Couſin?
MORLEY.
Her graces indeed
The glowing deſcription of Felix exceed;
Tho' in praiſing her, oft he with pleaſure has ſmil'd,
Like a father deſcribing his favourite child.
For my part, I think ſhe is laviſhly bleſt
With thoſe beauties by which the pure mind is expreſt,
That her heart is with truth and with tenderneſs warm,
That ſweet ſenſibility ſhines in her form;
A form, on which no man his eye ever turn'd
Without feeling his breaſt in her welfare concern'd.
'Tis the lot of ſuch graces, wherever they dwell,
None can ſee their ſoft miſtreſs and not wiſh her well.
MRS. FELIX.
Very gallantly ſaid, and the praiſe is her due—
But how came her Lovers ſo well known to you?
MORLEY.
[213]
Her Lovers!—dear Madam, I hope you're in jeſt—
Or if by their vows your ſweet Friend is addreſt,
Heaven grant, for the peace of her delicate mind,
That her hand may be never to either reſign'd!
MRS. FELIX.
From my ſoul, I aſſure you, I join in your prayer;
But whence does it ſpring?
MORLEY.
I will freely declare,
Tho' they're both men of fortune, fair birth, and good name,
With figures that ſet ſome young nymphs in a flame;
Tho' at each, many ladies are ready to catch
At what the world calls, a moſt excellent match;
Yet, if I have read your fair Couſin aright,
A boſom ſo tender, a ſpirit ſo bright,
Muſt be wretched with ſuch a companion for life,
As each of theſe Lovers would prove to his Wife.
MRS. FELIX.
You are right; but their characters where could you know?
MORLEY.
I knew them at college a few years ago,
[214] Before, by a whimſical odd ſort of fate,
And ſome family loſſes, too long to relate,
In Europe my views of proſperity ceas'd,
And chance ſent me forth to my friends in the Eaſt.
MRS. FELIX,
Pray what ſort of youths were theſe two modiſh men?
MORLEY.
You now find them both what they ſeem'd to me then;
Two characters form'd like moſt young men of faſhion,
Whoſe cold ſelfiſh pride is their ſovereign paſſion:
In each, tho' they're men of an oppoſite turn,
The ſame heart-freezing vanity ſtill you diſcern.
To indulge that dear vanity, each ſtill diſplays
All the force of his mind, tho' in different ways.
Thence, in ſpinning weak verſe Sapphic's toil never ends,
And Deciſive ne'er ſtops in deriding his friends;
Each equally fancies no nymph can reſiſt
His lips, which he thinks all the Graces have kift.
MRS FELIX.
Perfect knowledge of both your juſt picture has ſhown!—
The warmth of theſe Lovers diverts me, I own.
[215] Of conqueſt each ſeems to himſelf very clear,
And feels from his rivals no diffident fear.
'Tis eaſy to ſee, from their ſatisfied air,
Each loves his own perſon much more than the Fair.
But, my poor gentle Coz wiſhes both at a diſtance;
And I want to contrive, by your friendly aſſiſtance,
To relieve her, and quietly ſend them from hence
Without the Knight's knowledge.
MORLEY.
As neither wants ſenſe,
Can't the Lady pronounce their diſmiſſion at once,
Which none can miſtake but an impudent dunce?
MRS. FELIX.
This meaſure ſeems eaſy indeed at firſt view;
But, alas! 'tis a meaſure we dare not purſue.
Our warm-hearted, whimſical, poſitive Knight,
Allows not to woman this natural right;
And hence my young Friend, in a pitiful caſe,
Knows not how to reject what ſhe ne'er can embrace;
For nothing her Uncle's reſentment would ſmother,
Should ſhe baniſh one ſuitor, and not take the other.
MORLEY.
Then indeed I am griev'd for the Lady's diſtreſs;
But how can I aid her?
MRS. FELIX.
[216]
'Tis hard, I confeſs,
To a ſudden retreat this bold Pair to oblige,
And make two ſuch Heroes abandon a ſiege;
Yet I wiſh we could do it—and when they recede,
The departure of both muſt appear their own deed.
MORLEY, after a pauſe.
Well—my friendſhip for you has ſuggeſted a ſcheme.
MRS. FELIX.
'Tis a ſervice our hearts will for ever eſteem.
But what is your project?
MORLEY.
Don't queſtion me what,
Leſt you think me a fool for too ſimple a plot:
'Tis ſimple, and yet I would venture my life
It will drive from theſe Beaus all their thoughts of a Wife;
And if my ſcheme proſpers, with joy I'll confeſs
What a whimſical trifle produc'd our ſucceſs.
MRS. FELIX.
Well, keep your own ſecret, if ſilence is beſt;
Tho' a woman, for once I'll in ignorance reſt.—
Here comes our friend Sapphic—he ſeems in a flurry.
MORLEY.
His ſtep ſhews indeed a poetical hurry,
[217] And we ſhall be call'd in as Goſſips, fair neighbour,
For by the Bard's buſtle his Muſe is in labour.
Enter Sapphic.
SAPPHIC.
Dear Ma'am! may I aſk you for paper and ink,
Leſt a freſh jeu d'eſprit in oblivion ſhould ſink?
For when my free fancy has brought forth my verſe,
My treacherous memory proves a bad nurſe.
MRS. FELIX.
O pray! for your Muſe let us rear her young chit,
For the bantling, no doubt, muſt have ſpirit and wit;
As a cradle to hold it, I beg you'll take that,
(giving him a paper.)
And your Friend here will aid you in dreſſing the Brat;
At a rite ſo important I merit no place,
And I beg to withdraw while you're waſhing its face.
[Exit.
SAPPHIC.
That's charming gay creature—luxuriant and young—
But I've loſt half a ſtanza—the deuce take her tongue;—
Let me ſee—let me ſee if I can't recollect it.—
'Tis done;—and now, Morley, pray hear or inſpect it.
MORLEY.
The Poet himſelf his own verſe ſhould recite.
SAPPHIC.
[218]
You're a ſenſible fellow—your maxim is right.
(Reads.)
"Thy old Arcadia, Pan, reſign,
"For this more rich retreat:
"A fairer nymph here decks thy ſhrine;
"Be this thy fav'rite ſeat."
Well, my Friend, won't this bring the old God out of Greece?
MORLEY.
Aye, and make good Sir Nicholas give you his Niece.
SAPPHIC.
Yes, I fancy this ſtanza will make the Girl mine.
MORLEY.
What Poet can wiſh for a prize more divine?
I give you much joy on your conqueſt, my Friend;
Yet the eyes of regret on your nuptials I bend,
And grieve in reflecting, that conjugal joy
Your poetical harveſt of Fame muſt deſtroy.
SAPPHIC.
What the deuce do you mean?
MORLEY.
To thoſe great works adieu
Which the world now expects with impatience from you.
[219] The Poet when bleſt can no more be ſublime,
And a chill matrimonial muſt ſtrike thro' his rhyme.
SAPPHIC.
You're miſtaken, dear Doctor—connubial delight
Will give a new zeſt to each poem I write;
And you'll ſee ſuch productions!—
MORLEY.
'Tis true, now and then
Polemics by marriage have quicken'd their pen.
A Dutch Critic, I know, by the aid of his Wife,
Made a book and a child every year of his life.
But total ſecluſion from Venus and Bacchus,
Is, you know, to the Bard recommended by Flaccus.
A grand epic poem I hear you are writing;
'Tis a work that your country will take great delight in:
But conſider, my Friend, when you're deep in heroics,
As Poets have not all the patience of Stoics,
How you'll grieve to be check'd in the flow of your verſe,
By a young ſqualling child and an old fcolding nurſe;
E'en the qualms of your Lady may drive from your brain
Fine thoughts that you ne'er can recover again;
[220] Reflect how you'll feel, with ſuch hopes of ſucceeding,
If your Muſe ſhould miſcarry becauſe your Wife's breeding.
SAPPHIC.
Egad, in that caſe I ſhould think my fate hard.
MORLEY.
I myſelf have beheld an unfortunate Bard,
Who his nails for a rhyme unſucceſsfully bit,
When family cares had extinguiſh'd his wit.—
With many who ſing in the Muſe's full choir,
It would do them no miſchief to muffle their lyre;
But for you, whom the Nine, with a tender preſage,
Are prepar'd to proclaim the firſt Bard of our age;
For you, who of Taſte are the favourite theme—
SAPPHIC.
Yes, I think I ſtand high in the publie eſteem.
MORLEY.
For you, I ſhould grieve if domeſtic delight
On your fair riſing laurels ſhould fall as a blight.
'Tis the pride of great minds, whom the Muſes inflame,
To ſacrifice joy on the altar of Fame:
Your paſſion's renown—of this Girl are you fonder?—
On this delicate point I muſt leave you to ponder;
Conſider it, while I attend the old Knight.
[Exit.
SAPPHIC alone (after a pauſe.)
[221]
By Jove, I believe my friend Morley is right.
Thou, Fame, art my Miſtreſs; to win thee I ſing.
This Girl, tho' ſhe's handſome, is but a dull thing.
'Tis clear, whenſoe'er I a poem rehearſe,
That ſhe has no reliſh for elegant verſe.—
Her fortune indeed would be rather convenient,
But the glorious, to me, is before the expedient.
Egad, I'd quit Venus herſelf, if I knew
That the ſyſtem of Morley was certainly true.
I don't think the Girl to Deciſive inclin'd;
But here comes her Maid, who may tell me her mind.
Enter Jenny.
My good little Jenny, you're truſty and true,
And your Miſtreſs, I know, tells her ſecrets to you.
What you know, to a friend you may ſafely impart,
And give me a perfect account of her heart:
Pray how do I ſtand in your Lady's regard?
JENNY.
Now's my time to be even with this ſaucy Bard.
(aſide.)
To be ſure, Sir, the taſte of my Lady is odd;
But poetry moves her no more than a clod.
SAPPHIC.
[222]
What! no reliſh for rhyme!—Does ſhe never repeat
The ſoft little ſonnets I've laid at her feet?
JENNY.
Ah, Sir! would my Miſtreſs were once of my mind,
(For I read all the verſes of yours that I find);
But my Lady's ſo cruel ſhe thwarts my deſire,
And to hide them from me throws them into the fire.
SAPPHIC.
She's a fool—ſhe's a fool
(aſide.)
—I ſhould have a fine life,
With ſuch a proſaic dull jade of a wife.
JENNY.
But, my good Sir, I hope you will not be dejected,
I could tell you by whom all your wit is reſpected.
There's a heart upon which you have made ſuch impreſſion—
But I muſt not betray her by my indiſcretion.
SAPPHIC.
Whom d'ye mean, my good Jenny? come, tell me, my dear.
JENNY.
You would make a bad uſe of the ſecret, I fear.—
[223] Now I hope I ſhall lead the Bard into a ſcrape,
(aſide.)
For he bites like a Gudgeon, and cannot eſcape.
SAPPHIC.
Come, ſay who's in love with me—if ſhe is fair,
I'll not leave the dear creature, I vow, to deſpair.
JENNY.
O lud! I proteſt ſhe is coming this way;
But I did not intend her regard to betray.
I muſt fly—but I beg that you'll not be too free.
[Exit.
SAPPHIC.
Madam Felix!—I thought ſhe was partial to me.
Enter Mrs. Felix.
MRS. FELIX.
May I enter without incommoding the Muſe?
SAPPHIC.
By a queſtion like this your own charms you abuſe.
Thoſe eyes, my dear Madam, were form'd, I profeſs,
To inſpirit a Poet, and not to depreſs;
From your preſence he ſurely muſt catch inſpiration.
MRS. FELIX.
A very poetical fine ſalutation!
But I ſeriouſly beg, if you're buſy with rhyme,
That you will not allow me to take up your time.
[224] As I'm not Selina, you're free from reſtriction,
And may tell me plain truths, unembelliſh'd with fiction.
SAPPHIC.
Then I ſwear, my dear creature, I ſwear by this hand,
That I feel as I touch it my genius expand;
That your lips—O by Jove! he's a madman or booby,
Who roves to the Indies for diamond or ruby;
And each vein in my heart his ſtrange folly condemns,
Who leaves theſe more bright and more exquiſite gems.
Sweet Fair! let me keep, while their richneſs I praiſe,
The cold damp of neglect from o'erclouding their rays.
(While Mr. Sapphic kiſſes Mrs. Felix with great vehemence, Jenny enters unperceived.)
JENNY.
O ho!—have I caught you? impertinent Poet!
This is more than I hop'd for—my Maſter ſhall know it.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX.
Good God! Mr. Sapphic, what frantic illuſion
Has produc'd this ridiculous ſcene of confuſion?
All Poets are Quixotes in love, I am told;
And the truth of the adage in you I behold.
As the Knight once miſtook an old mill for a giant,
Your ſenſe as diſorder'd, your fancy as pliant,
[225] Takes me for my Couſin—your love's ebullition
I only can pardon on this ſuppoſition.
I fain would ſuppoſe that no inſult was meant,
Nor believe you could think, what I ought to reſent.
SAPPHIC.
O! talk not of anger, with lips that inſpire
The ſtrongeſt ſenſation of rapturous fire,
That with love's ſweet convulſions ſhake every nerve:
O! think not that I your reſentment deſerve;
Becauſe my warm heart, thus engroſs'd by your charms,
Is ambitious of filling theſe dear empty arms.
No, let me, while baſking beneath your bright eye,
The place of a thankleſs deſerter ſupply;
And in this melting breaſt kindle ecſtacy's flame,
Which Nature deſign'd for ſo glowing a frame.
MRS. FELIX.
Away, Sir!—and ſince in your fondling inſanity
You reject the excuſe which I form'd for your vanity,
My threats muſt inform you—
SAPPHIC.
O! frown not, ſweet creature;
Let not wrath ſpoil the charm of thy every feature.
MRS. FELIX.
[226]
Regain you your ſenſe—from my wrath you are free,
Which ſhould not be rais'd by a being like thee;
Begone then!—my pardon in vain you'll implore,
If you dare on this ſubject to breathe a word more.
SAPPHIC.
Words, indeed, my warm fair one, by Nature's confeſſion,
For the love that I feel are no proper expreſſion;
The ſoul's fond intent in ſoft murmurs ſhould ſwell,
And kiſſes explain what no language can tell.
Ye Gods, how luxuriant!
MRS. FELIX.
Away! quit my arm!
Or my cries in an inſtant the houſe ſhall alarm.
SAPPHIC.
Provoking ſweet creature!—indulge my fond paſſion;
Come, come, don't I know you're a woman of faſhion?
Your coyneſs, I've heard, you can ſometimes give over;
And I'm ſure you're too wiſe to be true to a rover.
Beſides, I have learnt, that with partial regard
You have caſt a kind eye on your ill-treated Bard.
MRS. FELIX.
[227]
Away! thou vain coxcomb! nor, baſe as thou art,
Inſult the bright Lord of ſo loyal a heart;
Begone!—I abhor thee—my perſon releaſe!—
SIR NICHOLAS, entering.
Is it thus, my young Sir, you pay court to my Niece?
SAPPHIC.
Confuſion! What devil has ſent the old Knight?
SIR NICHOLAS.
How dare you, pert ſtripling, almoſt in my ſight
To inſult a chaſte female that's under my roof?—
But ſince of your baſeneſs you give me ſuch proof,
You ſhall feel it repaid by a proper correction.
SAPPHIC (aſide.)
Deuce take this perverſe and unlucky detection:
I wiſh I had wiſely, as Morley had taught me,
Renounc'd that jade Venus before he thus caught me.
What excuſe can I make him?—
(To Sir Nicholas)
My dear worthy Sir,
Tho' I now ſeem moſt juſtly your wrath to incur,
Yet as you grow cool, your opinion will vary,
You will not reſent ſuch an idle vagary,
A mere romping frolic—
SIR NICHOLAS.
[228]
A frolic, d'ye ſay!
Then a frolic of mine ſhall your frolic repay.—
Call our ſervants to puniſh this frolicſome ſpark,
They ſhall drag him acroſs the new pond in the park.
SAPPHIC (aſide.)
'Tis what he can't mean—yet his countenance ſuch is,
I wiſh from my ſoul I was out of his clutches.—
(To Sir Nicholas.)
Dear Sir, I aſſure you, I'm griev'd beyond meaſure
That I thus have awaken'd your furious diſpleaſure;
When calmer—
SIR NICHOLAS.
Young man, I am not in a fury,
A ſentence more juſt never came from a jury;
Such frolics as yours have Old England diſgrac'd:
In high life let them flouriſh as faſhion and taſte.
To thoſe wanton young fellows I am not ſevere,
Who attack the looſe Wife of a vain gambling Peer.
My Lady, whoſe Lord waſtes at Hazard the night,
May plead to more generous pleaſures ſome right;
I care not how each keeps their conjugal oath,
Since honour and peace muſt be ſtrangers to both.
[229] But when a brave Soldier, pure Glory's true ſon,
Ennobled with laurels laboriouſly won;
When riſking in far diſtant climates his life,
To his Country he leaves a fair innocent Wife;
Accurſt be the man, who, to friendſhip unjuſt,
Fails to guard as his ſoul this moſt delicate truſt;
Or to puniſh thoſe fops who inſult her chaſte beauty,
And invite her to ſwerve from her honour and duty.
Of the doom that I think to ſuch libertines due,
I will give to the world an example in you.
Our old Engliſh diſcipline, Ducking, by name,
Shall atone for your outrage, by quenching your flame.
Here! William and John—
MRS. FELIX.
For my ſake, I intreat
That you will not, dear Sir, this rough vengeance compleat.
SIR NICHOLAS.
By Jupiter, Couſin, to make him leſs fond,
He ſhall croak out his love to the frogs of our pond.—
Here, William! tell Jack after Stephen to ſkip,
And tell the old Huntſman to come with his whip,
[230] Then wait all together around the hall door.
SAPPHIC.
O mercy, dear Sir! I your mercy implore.
You will not deſtroy me?
SIR NICHOLAS.
No, only correct,
And teach you a brave Soldier's Wife to reſpect.
MRS. FELIX.
Yet think, my dear Couſin, yet think, for my ſake,
What a noiſe this ridiculous matter will make.
You know that my Felix's nature is ſuch,
He don't wiſh his Wife to be talk'd of too much;
His honour and quiet let us make our care,
And bury in ſilence this fooliſh affair:
Perhaps, in my manners too eaſy and gay,
My levity led the young Poet aſtray.
SIR NICHOLAS.
No, no I my good creature, you muſt not arraign
Your innocent ſelf in a buſineſs ſo plain:
Beſides, his offence by this plea cannot ſink,
For they are the worſt of all puppies that think
Each woman's a wanton who is not preciſe,
And that cheerfulneſs muſt be the herald of vice.
MRS. FELIX.
[231]
Howe'er this may be—as he's now all repentance,
I earneſtly beg a repeal of your ſentence.
SAPPHIC.
Dear Ma'am I adore you for this interceſſion;
And I truſt the good Knight will forgive my tranſgreſſion.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Well, Sir, as beyond your deſert you're befriended
By that virtue which you have ſo groſsly offended,
You are free to depart; but remember, young ſwain,
That you ne'er touch the Wife of a Soldier again.
SAPPHIC.
If I do, may I die by the wind of a ball!
Heaven bleſs you, good folks, and this ſociable hall!
Since my amorous folly your friendſhip thus loſes,
My amours ſhall henceforth be confin'd to the Muſes.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX.
I thank you, dear Sir, and rejoice in my heart
That in ſafety you've ſuffer'd this youth to depart.
SIR NICHOLAS.
By Jupiter, Coz, I had cool'd your warm Poet,
Had I not been afraid all our neighbours might know it,
[232] And make you the ſubject of ſuch converſation
As I think your nice Colonel would hear with vexation.
Then, ſince for your ſake I have let the Bard go,
Come and aid me to ſettle all matters below:
That my anxious cares in her comfort may ceaſe,
I'm reſolv'd young Deciſive ſhall marry my Niece.
End of ACT II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter Mrs. Felix and Selina.
MRS. FELIX.
WELL, my dear, what d'ye think of our medical friend,
Whom the letters of Felix ſo highly commend?
If my gratitude does not my judgment miſlead,
He's the man in the world who with you might ſucceed:
[233] Tho' gentle, yet manly, tho' baſhful, polite.
Are you not half in love?—
SELINA.
Yes, indeed, at firſt ſight!—
His ſervice to you on my heart is engrav'd,
And I love him, I own, for the life he has ſav'd.
To win me perhaps he might not find it hard,
So eſteem'd as he is by the friends I regard;
But I fancy ſuch thoughts will not enter his brain:
And for my part, inſtead of attracting a ſwain,
I only ſhall think, as they heartily vex me,
Of eſcaping from thoſe who already perplex me.
MRS. FELIX.
O make yourſelf eaſy, I pray, on that head;
In the deepeſt diſgrace the poor Poet is fled,
And I truſt that the Critic will ſoon ſhare his fate.
Come with me—I've a moſt curious tale to relate.
Let us haſte—I perceive that Deciſive is near,
In whoſe preſent diſcourſe I would not interfere.
[Exeunt.
Enter Deciſive and Morley.
DECISIVE.
So while in the grove I was cooly projecting
New plans for the temple the Knight is erecting,
[234] Our Poet, addicted to amorous ſin,
Grew a little too fond of the Ladies within:
But diſcovery happen'd his paſſion to damp;
And this is the cauſe of his haſte to decamp.
MORLEY.
The old Knight, I believe, ſuch reſentment expreſs'd
As quicken'd the ſpeed of his fugitive gueſt;
On Terror's ſwift wing he is certainly flown,
And as he has retreated, the field is your own.
DECISIVE.
As a rival I had not much fear of poor Sapphic;
Bad rhyme's current coin in moſt amorous traffic,
But would not paſs here.
MORLEY.
I think not in your view,
As it finds ſuch a critical touchſtone in you.
The Poet's diſmiſſion your triumph enſures,
And the prize, my good friend, is now certainly yours;
A prize, that we juſtly may call very great,
A lovely ſweet girl with a noble eſtate.
DECISIVE.
The girl's very well, but knows nothing of life;
It will coſt me ſome pains to new model my Wife;
[235] But I think ſhe will gladly receive my correction,
And my wealthy old kinſman approves the connection.
(Coughs.)
MORLEY.
You've a cough, my good friend.
DECISIVE.
Yes, a trifling one: Hem!
Have you got any Indian preſcription for phlegm?
MORLEY.
Believe me, that cough is no trifling affair;
It calls, I aſſure you, for caution and care.
With regret I point out ſo unpleaſant a truth,
But your conſtitution I've known from your youth;
Your hectic appearance I ſee with concern,
As I know, with your frame, if health takes ſuch a turn,
The leaſt indiſcretion your life may deſtroy.
The ſlighteſt exceſs in diverſion and joy;
Even thoſe tender cares, which on life's pureſt plan
Muſt belong to the ſtate of a Family Man,
May lead to diſeaſe from which art cannot ſave,
And rapidly hurry you into the grave.
'Twere better this courtſhip of yours ſhould miſcarry,
For you'll certainly die in ſix months if you marry.
DECISIVE.
[236]
Are you ſerious, dear Doctor?
MORLEY.
By ſuch a ſad end
I lately have loſt a poor good-humour'd friend.
You remember Jack Dangle at College, no doubt;
He was juſt of your age, and a little more ſtout;
He, with other young ſages, left Weſtminſter Hall
To teach Engliſh law to the ſlaves of Bengal.
But Jack, in his new chamber-practice at leaſt,
Too eagerly follow'd the rules of the Eaſt.
A bad cough enſu'd, much like yours in its ſound—
(Deciſive coughs.)
Good God! I could ſwear 'twas poor Jack under ground,
'Tis his tone ſo exactly, ſepulchral and hollow!
The ſyſtem he ſlighted I hope you will follow.
With pains in his breaſt he was ſharply tormented;
But as he at firſt to my guidance conſented,
Some time my ſtrict regimen kept him alive,
Poor Dangle once more was beginning to thrive;
And had he ſome months in my plan perſever'd,
On the earth at this moment he might have appear'd;
[237] But chance threw a pretty white girl in his way,
And eager for marriage, fond Jack would not ſtay:
In vain I conjur'd him to wait half a year,
And ſhew'd him the danger he ran very clear.
He thought the remains of his cough but a trifle,
And, being unable his paſſion to ſtifle,
He took his fair wife;—but, alas! the vile cough
Encreas'd every day till it carried him off!
DECISIVE.
I don't recollect any pain in my breaſt,
But I feel a ſtrange tightneſs juſt now in my cheſt.
MORLEY.
How's your ſtomach?
DECISIVE.
I've nothing to fear on that ſcore.
MORLEY.
Do you eat as you did?
DECISIVE.
Yes, I think rather more.
MORLEY.
That ravenous hunger's the thing that I dread.
How d'ye ſleep?
DECISIVE.
All the time that I paſs in my bed.
MORLEY.
[238]
Indeed!—I don't like ſo lethargic a ſlumber.
DECISIVE.
Why! my friend! of good ſymptoms theſe rank in the number.
MORLEY.
Alas! you may call them all good if you pleaſe,
By that title you only confirm your diſeaſe,
In which, tho' the patient declines very faſt,
He for ever will flatter himſelf to the laſt.
Believe me, your ſymptoms are rather alarming,
Yet your preſent diſorder there is not much harm in,
If you can but abſtain, with a ſpirit reſign'd,
From all that may harraſs your body or mind.
To a different climate I wiſh you'd repair,
And for one winter breathe a leſs changeable air.
Spend a Chriſtmas at Naples, and when you return
You may marry without any anxious concern.
But you're now at that critical period of life
When, in ſuch frames as yours, nature feels an odd ſtrife,
And, if quiet does not all her functions befriend,
The ſhort earthly ſcene on a ſudden will end.
On a point ſo important you'll pardon my freedom.
DECISIVE.
[239]
Your cautions oblige me, I feel that I need 'em,
For in truth I am growing as thin as a rabbit,
And there's ſomething conſumptive I know in my habit.
My father died ſoon after taking a wife,
And cough'd out his ſoul when I jump'd into life:
I ſuppoſe I am going.
MORLEY.
Take courage, my friend;
On your own prudent conduct your life will depend.
If you take but due care for two years, I'll engage
You will ſtand a fair chance for a healthy old age.
Nor would I adviſe you this girl to refuſe,
A diſtant attachment your mind will amuſe;
And, no doubt, for a man of your fortune and figure
She will wait till your health has recover'd its vigour.
DECISIVE.
I can part with the girl without feeling a chaſm
In my heart; that will ſhake with no amorous ſpaſm;
For, to tell you the truth, my old rich Uncle Cob
Is more eager than I for this marrying job.
By this ſcheme the old blade is ſupremely delighted,
Becauſe two large manors may thus be united:
[240] But when of his park I've extended the bound,
It will do me ſmall good if I ſink under ground;
And I'm not ſuch a fool, in theſe projects of pelf,
To humour my friends and endanger myſelf.
MORLEY.
Indeed I'd not wed for an old Uncle's whim;—
But here comes our Knight, I ſhall leave you with him,
As I think you've ſome delicate points to adjuſt.
[Exit.
DECISIVE, alone.
I'm in no haſte to ſleep with my Anceſtors' duſt.
'Tis wiſer my weak conſtitution to ſave,
Than to marry, and ſo travel poſt to the grave.
Enter Sir Nicholas.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Come, give me your hand, and rejoice, my young neighbour,
You're the man that's to order the pipe and the tabor;
And by Jove we'll all dance on ſo joyous a day:
Your wedding, dear Dick, ſhall be ſpeedy and gay;
For your rival is gone with our ſerious diſpleaſure,
And I give to your wiſhes my young lovely treaſure.
A treaſure ſhe is, tho' the girl is my niece;
Heaven grant ye long years of affection and peace!
[241] And a fine chopping boy ere the end of the firſt—
Remember that I am to ſee the rogue nurs'd.
Go, you happy young dog, go and ſeal with a kiſs,
And teach the old hall to re-echoe your bliſs.
As I know on this match what Sir Jacob intends,
And we can ſo well truſt each other as friends,
Short contracts will anſwer as well as the beſt,
Our lawyers at leiſure may finiſh the reſt.
I know all ſuſpence in ſuch caſes is hard,
And you ſhall not, I ſwear, from your bliſs be debarr'd,
While o'er acres of parchment they're crawling like ſnails.
DECISIVE.
Dear Sir, upon weighing in Reaſon's juſt ſcales
Your very great favours, and my weak pretenſion,
I find I'm unworthy of ſuch condeſcenſion,
And muſt, with regret, the high honour reſign,
Which I once vainly thought might with juſtice be mine.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Hey-day! what does all this formality mean?
Why, Dick! has the Devil poſſeſs'd you with ſpleen?
Or has love made your mind thus with diffidence ſore?
Falſe modeſty ne'er was your foible before.
[242] You think you're unworthy!—the thought is ſo new,
That I hardly can tell what to ſay or to do.
If you love the good girl full as much as you ſaid,
I think you have very juſt claims to her bed;
But if your mind's chang'd, and you feel your love lighter,
'Tis better to ſay ſo, than marry and ſlight her:
And if this be the caſe, Sir, you have your releaſe;
For altho' I am eager to marry my Niece,
Tho' I'm partial to you, yet I beg you to note,
That I don't want to cram her down any man's throat.
DECISIVE.
I'm truly convinc'd of the Lady's perfection,
And 'twould pleaſe me, dear Sir, to preſerve the connection,
Tho' now, by particular reaſons, I'm led
To reviſit the Continent once ere I wed.
In the time of my abſence I can't be exact;
But in what form you pleaſe I will freely contract,
In the courſe of two years to receive as my Wife—
SIR NICHOLAS.
Do you mean to inſult me, you puppy? Od's-life!
Ere I'd tie my dear girl to ſo ſilly a fop
For life, I'd condemn her to trundle a mop.
[243] And let me adviſe you, young man, for the future,
To know your own mind ere you go as a ſuitor.
DECISIVE.
I perceive, Sir, my preſence grows irkſome to you,
And you'll therefore allow me to bid you adieu.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Your departure, indeed, I don't wiſh to reſtrain,
And have little concern when I ſee you again.
[Exit Deciſive.
SIR NICHOLAS alone.
What can make this pert puppy recede from his ſuit?
My fair Couſin and he have ſcarce had a diſpute;
She would hardly affront him on purpoſe to vex me!—
Here ſhe comes to explain all the points that perplex me.
Enter Mrs. Felix.
Well, Couſin, my ſcheme for a wedding's ſuſpended,
The Beaux are both gone, and their courtſhip is ended;
With an air ſo myſterious Deciſive withdraws,
I a little ſuſpect you're concern'd as the cauſe:
Confeſs, have you had any words with this Youth?
MRS. FELIX.
Not I, my dear Sir, on my honour and truth.
But I'm ready to own, that the news you impart
With ſurprize and with pleaſure enlivens my heart.
[244] I think your ſweet Niece has a lucky eſcape:
I would almoſt as ſoon ſee her marry an ape
As her union with one of theſe coxcombs behold;
The Bard is too warm, and the Critic too cold.
SIR NICHOLAS.
I find that they are not ſuch lads as I thought 'em;
The world all the worſt of its faſhions has taught 'em:
And the world is indeed at a very fine paſs,
When ſuch puppies inſult ſo attractive a laſs.
Young fellows of fortune now think it hard duty
To pay a chaſte homage to Virtue and Beauty.
But I'll leave theſe pert ſops to their own vile caprice,
And ſoon find a much fitter match for my Niece.
Other orders of men for a huſband I'll ſearch,
And I think I can ſettle my girl in the Church.
MRS. FELIX.
Lord, Couſin! I thought you deteſted the Cloth!
SIR NICHOLAS.
Our Rector, I own, often kindles my wrath;
But all Parſons are not like my neighbour, old Squabble,
Who has learnt from his geeſe both to hiſs and to gobble.
We have in our neighbourhood three young Divines,
And each, I believe, to Selina inclines.
[245] Our Biſhop's ſmart nephew deſerves a ſweet wench,
He himſelf in due time may be rais'd to the Bench;
With him I ſhould like very well to unite her;
And if he hereafter ſhould riſe to the Mitre,
Then perhaps we together may bring to perfection
A much-wanted plan for the Church's correction.
MRS. FELIX.
A very fine ſcheme, which you'll manage, no doubt!
SIR NICHOLAS.
More wonderful things I have known brought about;
And tho' my firſt plan, as you ſee, has miſcarried,
I'm reſolv'd that my Niece ſhall be ſpeedily married.
I'll unite the good girl to a Prieſt, if I'm able;
For the young Olive Branch never fails at his table.
There is one I prefer—but to leave the girl free,
I allow her to make a fair choice of the three:
I ſhall therefore invite the whole group to the hall,
And I'll now go and make her write cards to them all.
[Exit.
MRS. FELIX alone.
What a wonderful creature is this worthy Knight!
To make others happy is all his delight!
Yet, miſled by ſome wild philanthropic illuſion,
He's for ever involv'd in odd ſcenes of confuſion.
[246] 'Tis well that our Critic has made his laſt bow,
I rejoice he's remov'd, and I long to know how.
Enter Morley.
MORLEY.
Thank my ſtars, my dear Ma'am, I've diſpatch'd your commiſſion;
Your ſweet friend is, I hope, in a tranquil condition:
From her two irkſome lovers ſhe now is reliev'd.
MRS. FELIX.
And I'm dying to know how all this was atchiev'd.
Come tell me, good creature, how could you effect it?
MORLEY.
By a project ſo ſimple you'd never ſuſpect it:
I have baniſh'd both ſwains, by declaring a wife
Would rob one of glory, and t'other of life.
I perſuaded the Bard his poetical fame
Could never exiſt with a conjugal flame:
Hence he grew with your charms ſo licentiouſly free,
But forgive me this ill, which I could not foreſee.
Deciſive, more wiſely, abandons the Fair
To make his own lungs his particular care.
MRS. FELIX.
[247]
What! on ſuch points as theſe have they taken your word?
MORLEY.
Dear Madam! mankind credit things moſt abſurd,
When they come from the mouth of a medical man;
Hence Mountebanks never want ſkill to trepan.
The extent of our empire indeed there's no ſeeing,
When we act on the fears of a true ſelfiſh being.
MRS. FELIX.
How ſimple ſoever the means you've employ'd,
You have remedy'd ills by which we were annoy'd.
Having thus clear'd the ſcene from each troubleſome lover,
Can you not for the nymph a fit huſband diſcover?
You ſee how ſhe's preſt by her Uncle to wed,
Who ne'er quits a ſcheme he once takes in his head.—
Suppoſe her kind fancy ſhould lean towards you,
Is your heart quite as free as I'm ſure 'twould be true?
Is it not pre-engag'd?
MORLEY.
As in mirth's ſportive ſally
It pleaſes you thus a poor pilgrim to rally,
[248] Your good-nature, I know, will forgive me if I
To your pleaſantry make a too ſerious reply.
'Tis my maxim to ſpeak, whatſoe'er be the theme,
With a heart undiſguis'd, to the friends I eſteem:
Had I all India's wealth, 'twould be my inclination
To offer it all to your lovely relation.
But ſuppoſing it poſſible you could be willing
To unite her with one who is ſcarce worth a ſhilling;
Believe me, dear Madam, my pride is too great
To wiſh her to ſtoop to my humble eſtate.
MRS. FELIX.
Such pride, tho' it reſts upon no ſtrong foundation,
Is noble, I own, and deſerves admiration.
I call it ill-founded, becauſe, in my mind,
If there's fortune enough for a couple when join'd,
If talents and worth are by each duly ſhar'd,
If in all other points they are equally pair'd,
And mutual regard mutual merit enhances,
It ſignifies not which ſupply'd their finances.
MORLEY.
Your pardon—how often, when fortune's unequal,
Gay weddings produce a moſt turbulent ſequel?
But could I once hope your ſweet Couſin to gain,
How many things are there ſuch hopes to reſtrain?
[249] Suppoſe your dear Colonel, my moſt noble friend,
Whom ſucceſs to your arms may more ſpeedily ſend!
Suppoſe, having clos'd the bright work he has plan'd,
His return from the Eaſt he ſhould haſten by land;
Suppoſe him arriv'd, with what face could I meet
The man whom my heart ſhould exultingly greet,
If he found me attempting, in ſpite of my ſtation,
To wed, tho' a beggar, your wealthy relation?
MRS. FELIX.
From theſe words, my dear friend, which I almoſt adore,
And a few ſlighter hints that eſcap'd you before,
I have caught a quick hope, which is fraught with delight,
That I ſoon ſhall be bleſt with my Felix's ſight:
I begin to ſuſpect he's in England already;
I perceive that you can't keep your countenance ſteady.
With his uſual attention his love has reflected
How my poor fooliſh nerves by ſurprize are affected;
And, leſt they ſhould fail me beyond all revival,
Has ſent you to prepare for his wiſh'd-for arrival.
Am I right in my gueſs? Is he not very near?
Could I truſt my own heart, I ſhould think Felix here.
COLONEL FELIX, entering.
[250]
Sweet foreboder, behold him reſtor'd to your arms.
MRS. FELIX.
O my Felix! this tranſport o'erpays all alarms,
Thus to ſee thee reſtor'd, and ennobled with fame!
In what words ſhall affection thy welcome proclaim?
COLONEL.
My Love! my beſt Treaſure! than glory more dear!
The bliſs of this meeting, which ſhines in thy tear,
That we owe to this friend let us never forget.
MORLEY.
My ſhare in your tranſport o'erpays all the debt.—
But, Colonel, your fondneſs has travell'd full ſpeed,
And has not allow'd me the time you agreed.
COLONEL.
I meant not, indeed, to have join'd you to-day,
But I found love forbade my intended delay.
MORLEY.
Well, my duty is done, now you happily meet;
Heaven bleſs you together—
MRS. FELIX.
Stay, ſtay, I entreat;
You muſt not go yet; and before you depart
I will open to Felix the ſcheme of my heart.
SELINA (behind the ſcene.)
[251]
Indeed, Sir, I never can write ſuch a card.
SIR NICHOLAS (behind the ſcene.)
Then you'll forfeit at once my paternal regard!
COLONEL.
Hey-day! in the houſe I much fear ſomething's wrong,
As Sir Nicholas talks in a language ſo ſtrong.
MRS. FELIX.
Does he know you are here?
COLONEL.
No, my dear, I think not,
Unleſs he the tidings from Jenny has got;
She alone ſaw me come, and without much ado
Moſt kindly directed me where to find you.
MRS. FELIX.
They are coming this way—let's withdraw all together,
And contrive how to turn this loud ſtorm to fair weather.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir Nicholas and Selina.
SIR NICHOLAS.
I inſiſt on your writing ſuch cards to them all!
SELINA.
Dear Uncle, I beg you'll this order recall.
[252] You know your commands I much wiſh to obey;
But reflect on this matter what people will ſay:
You're ſo eager to marry your Niece, they will ſwear
That you hawk her about juſt like goods at a fair.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Well, my dear, let 'em ſay ſo, and I'll ſay ſo too,
For your ſimile proves what a guardian ſhould do.
He who wants to diſpoſe of a tender young maid,
May take a good hint from the gingerbread trade:
If he has any ſenſe, 'twill be ever his plan
To part with ſoft paſtry as ſoon as he can;
For egad an old maid is like old harden'd paſte,
You may cry it about, but nobody will taſte.
Come, do as I bid you, and take up your pen.
SELINA.
Lord, Sir! it will ſeem very odd to theſe men;
You will make me appear in a horrible light;
I vow my hand ſhakes ſo, I never can write.
Excuſe me, dear Sir, from this buſineſs, pray do,
And let me live ſingle for ever with you.
SIR NICHOLAS.
All buſineſs where woman's concern'd, I believe,
Muſt partake of the curſe from our grandmother Eve.
[253] All her daughters the ſteps of their parent have follow'd!
Contradiction, the core of the apple ſhe ſwallow'd,
In their veins ſtill fermenting new ills can produce,
And all their blood ſeems coloquintida juice.—
You froward croſs baggage! your word ſhould I take,
And bid you live ſingle five years for my ſake,
Of the barbarous Uncle you'd quickly complain,
Who from nature's juſt right a young girl wou'd reſtrain!
SELINA.
Indeed, Sir, I ſhould not.
SIR NICHOLAS.
I tell you you wou'd.
From perverſeneſs alone you oppoſe your own good.
'Tis only to thwart me, becauſe I deſire
To ſee you well ſettled before I expire,
That you now, with your ſoft hypocritical carriage,
Affect to have no inclination to marriage.
But you'll never contrive, tho' your tongue may be nimble,
To convince me your heart is as cold as your thimble.
I know of what ſtuff froward damſels are made;
The guardian muſt force you, who cannot perſuade.
[254] That you'll like a good huſband, I never can doubt;
And married you ſhall be before the month's out,
Or at leaſt your kind Uncle no more you ſhall teaze,
But may e'en go to Rome and turn nun if you pleaſe.
SELINA (aſide.)
I have loſt all the love he has ſhewn me for years;
If I ſtrive to reply I ſhall burſt into tears.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Come, anſwer me, Miſs! will you ſcribble or not?
Enter the Colonel, Mrs. Felix, and Morley.
COLONEL.
My worthy old friend, what can make you ſo hot?
SIR NICHOLAS.
Ha, Colonel!—you find me a little concern'd—
But I'm heartily glad you are ſafely return'd.
Your arrival indeed is a welcome ſurprize,
Tho' before you your fame a bright harbinger flies;
We have heard your ſucceſs, and we all triumph in it.
COLONEL.
I truſt I am come in a fortunate minute
To make all your preſent embarraſſment ceaſe,
For I bring a young huſband, my friend, for your Niece.
SIR NICHOLAS.
[255]
Egad, that's well ſaid; and I'm ſure it's well meant;
And if he's like you he ſhall have my conſent.
COLONEL.
He has many more virtues, and juſt as much wealth,
And from India brings home both his morals and health.
Here, my friend, is the man.—As I owe him my life,
I wiſh to preſent him ſo lovely a wife;
Half my fortune is his—here I freely declare it,
And have only to hope that Selina my ſhare it.
I've regarded her long as a child of my own;
Nor can my affection more truly be ſhown,
Than by wiſhing to place the dear girl in the arms
Of the friend whoſe rare virtues are worthy her charms.
MORLEY.
Dear generous Felix, I'm quite overcome,
Thy bounty is ſuch, it ſtrikes gratitude dumb!
COLONEl.
This was ever, my friend, my moſt ſettled intention,
Though my very juſt purpoſe I choſe not to mention,
From the hope I ſhould find, what I gladly embrace,
A moment from which it may borrow ſome grace,
When my gift its plain value may riſe far above,
By the aid it affords to the wiſhes of love;
[256] And I own, as a prophet I'm proud of my art,
Now I ſee the effects of her charms on your heart.
MORLEY,
O Felix! can I thus deprive thy free ſpirit
Of wealth, the reward of heroical merit?
Can I the victorious Commander deſpoil
Of what he has purchas'd with danger and toil?
Should love and delight on thy preſent attend,
I could never be happy in robbing a friend.
No, I ſtill muſt decline—
SIR NICHOLAS.
My dear boy, ſay no more;
You're the match that I never could meet with before.
I have long ſought in vain for an heir to my mind,
But all my ſoul wiſh'd, in your ſpirit I find.
You ſhall not rob your friend of a ſingle *Gold Moor,
He can raiſe heirs enough to inherit his ſtore:
To ſuch men as himſelf let him haſte to give birth,
And with twenty young Felix's garniſh the earth.
How trifling ſoever your fortune may be,
From the Colonel's eſteem, and the virtues I ſee,
I think you as noble a match for my Niece,
As I could, had you brought home a new golden fleece:
[257] I have money enough, if you're rich in affection.—
As I always have talk'd of an equal connection,
My neighbours, perhaps, may ſuppoſe my ſight dim,
Or mock my wiſe choice as a generous whim:
Let them ſtudy with zeal, which I hope may ſucceed,
Of their horſes and dogs to improve the beſt breed;
A ſtudy more noble engroſſes my mind,
To preſerve the firſt points in the breed of mankind:
On the heart and the ſoul, as the firſt points, I dwell,
In theſe, my dear Children, you match mighty well;
And I think human nature in debt to my care,
For uniting two mortals who happily pair.
COLONEL.
Your hand, my dear Knight, it is gloriouſly ſaid!
SIR NICHOLAS.
By Juno, we'll put the young Couple to bed!
We'll have no dull delays.—
MRS. FELIX.
Now what ſay you, my dear,
Are theſe orders for marriage too quick and ſevere?
MORLEY.
My amazement and gratitude both are extreme,
But my voice ſeems oppreſt in a heavenly dream;
[258] Though your kindneſs is greater than language can paint,
I beg this fair hand may be free from conſtraint.
SIR NICHOLAS.
From conſtraint!—Gad, if now ſhe affects to demur,
I can tell her my wrath ſhe will ſo far incur,
She ſhall go to a convent for life, or at leaſt
Be ſent as a venture herſelf to the Eaſt.
SELINA.
My Uncle I long have obey'd, and at preſent
I cannot complain his commands are unpleaſant:
Nay more; could he place all mankind in my view,
And bid me chuſe from them, my choice would be you.
MORLEY.
To this dear declaration my life muſt reply,
All words are too weak—
SIR NICHOLAS.
The whole earth I defy,
To ſhew me a ſcene more delightful than this;
Dear honeſt frank Girl, come and give me a kiſs;
Thou'rt the creature of Nature much more than of Art,
And I own thee again as the Child of my heart.
JONATHAN, entering and ſpeaking to the Colonel.
There are two cheſts for you, Sir, juſt come to the hall.
COLONEL.
A few Indian things for the Ladies—that's all.
[259] Pray, Jonathan, pay thoſe who brought them with this.
(giving money.)
MORLEY.
My brave lad muſt ſhare in our general bliſs.
Here, Jonathan, if you're to marriage inclin'd,
And can luckily meet with a girl to your mind,
You may marry and ſettle, as ſoon as you pleaſe;
The Colonel has taken good care of your eaſe.
JONATHAN.
God bleſs him, whate'er he is pleas'd to beſtow!
I think I have found a kind ſweetheart below.
MRS. FELIX.
He has made choice of Jenny;—and I will provide
A fortune, my Friend, for your good-humour'd Bride.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Egad, they ſhall have my new farm on the hill,
And raiſe young recruits there as faſt as they will.
JONATHAN.
Heaven proſper you all! I will pray for you ever,
And to ſerve my King ſtill, as I can, I'll endeavour.
[Exit.
SIR NICHOLAS.
Well ſaid, honeſt Soldier;—we'll have no delay,
Go and tell the old Parſon to keep in the way.
COLONEL.
[260]
Come with me, fair Couſin, examine my cheſts;
I long to preſent you a few bridal veſts.
MRS. FELIX, to Morley.
As we view with delight the events of to-day,
A fair leſſon, my Friend, in your fate we ſurvey;
While, from love to an aged fond parent, with ſpeed
From wealth's open road you moſt kindly recede,
Heaven ſends you that fortune you nobly have ſlighted,
And your warm filial piety here is requited;
This bright moral truth by your lot is expreſt,
They who ſeek others' bliſs, are by Providence bleſt.
SIR NICHOLAS, to Morley.
Here, my worthy young Friend, take and cheriſh this Fair,
And, truſt me, you'll find her deſerving your care;
For although of her ſex ſhe may have a ſmall ſpice,
She'll pleaſe you ten times where ſhe vexes you twice;
And happy the man, in this ſkirmiſhing life,
Who is able to ſay half as much of his Wife.
END OF THE FIFTH VOLUME.
Notes
*
Neſcia mens hominum fati ſortiſque futurae,
Et ſervare modum, rebus ſublata ſecundis.
Turno tempus erit, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, et cum ſpolia iſta diemque
O lerit.
AENEID. x. v. 501. & ſeq.
*
[...], &c.’
*
Per me ſi va nella citta dolente,
Per me ſi va nell' eterno dolore,
Per me ſi va tra la perduta gente,
* * * * * * * * *
Laſciate ogni ſperanza, voi ch' intrate.
Queſte parole di colore oſcuro
Vid' io ſcritte al ſommo d'una porta.
DANTE, Inferno. 3.
*
The opinion of ſome reſpectable Critics had almoſt led me to change the cloſe of this Canto, as containing too ſevere a cenſure on one of the great writers, who have done moſt honour to our language. And, indeed, when I reflect on the inimitable talents, the public ſpirit, and the charitable inſtitutions of Swift, I am almoſt ready to addreſs his Spirit with this humiliating apoſtrophe: ‘"I confeſs that I have done thee wrong."—’ But a ſuperior attention to the intereſt of ſociety inclines me to perſevere in a very different ſentiment, and ſtill to think, that no talents, no virtues in a writer, can properly exempt even the moſt brilliant work from ſevere reprehenſion, when, inſtead of improving, it has an evident tendency to debaſe and vilify human nature—a tendency, that I conſider as moſt evident in the compoſition to which I have alluded:—if I am wrong in this idea, I may yet ſhelter myſelf under the authority of two moſt honourable names—a moral Poet of a generous and exalted ſpirit, and a learned Critic of infinite candour and diſcernment.—In Young's Eſſay on Original Compoſition, and in the poſthumous work juſt bequeathed to the public by the lamented Mr. Harris, the miſanthropy of Swift is moſt warmly cenſured. The words of the latter are ſo ſtriking and appoſite, that I cannot wiſh for a ſtronger juſtification. ‘"Miſanthropy is ſo dangerous a thing, and goes ſo far in ſapping the very foundations of Morality and Religion, that I eſteem the laſt part of Swift's Gulliver (that I mean relative to his Houyhnhnms and Yahoos) to be a worſe book to peruſe, than thoſe which we forbid, as the moſt flagitious and obſcene. One abſurdity in this Author (a wretched Philoſopher though a great Wit) is well worth remarking—in order to render the nature of Man odious, and the nature of Beaſts amiable, he is compelled to give human characters to his Beaſts, and beaſtly characters to his Men; ſo that we are to admire the Beaſts, not for being Beaſts, but amiable Men; and to deteſt the Men, not for being Men, but deteſtable Beaſts."’ HARRIS's Philological Enquiries, vol. ii. page 538.
*
[...].’See Neſtor's Speech in the 11th Iliad.
*
See the Views of this Palace in Swinburn's Travels.
*
Sir Joſhua Reynolds' Diſcourſe of December 1782.
*
An Indian Coin.
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