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June 7, 1770. No.
284. |
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On a modern FINE LADY
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Could our first
Father, at his toilsome Plough,
Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow,
Cloth’d only in a rude unpolish’d Skin,
Could he a vain fantastick Nymph have seen,
In all her Airs, in all her modern
Graces, 5
Her various Fashions, and more various Faces,
How had it puzzled him, who late assign’d
Just Appellations to each several Kind,
A right Idea of the Sight to frame,
To guess from what new Element she
came, 10
To fix the wavering Form, and give the Thing a Name.
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June 7, 1770. No.
284. |
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LOVE and JEALOUSY.
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How much are they
deceiv’d who vainly strive,
By jealous Fears, to keep our Hopes alive!
Love’s like a Torch, which, if secur’d from Blasts,
Will faintlier burn, but then it longer lasts:
Expos’d to Storms of Jealousy and
doubt, 5
The Blaze grows greater, but ’tis sooner out.
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June 7, 1770. No.
284. |
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The LION and the FOX. A
FABLE
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’Twas in some
former Days (my cautious Rhymes
Always except the present happy Times,)
A noble youthful Lion rul’d the Wood,
Graceful his Person, and his Manners good;
Virtue he lov’d, and Justice did
regard, 5
And bashful Merit met a sure Reward.
Reynard approach’d the Court with servile Fear,
And gain’d the Honour of the Royal Ear;
Enjoy’d a Place within the Palace Walls,
And was made Pay-Master of the Jackalls; 10
Here long he liv’d, enjoy’d a Life of Pleasure,
And for his Cubs purloin’d a Store of Treasure;
Which to another Wood with Care he sent,
And none could tell which Way the Money went.
At length impeach’d for all his horrid
Crimes; 15
He drags his Carcase into foreign Climes;
There thinks to live beyond the Lion’s Reach,
And sordid Precepts to his Cubs to preach:
But though escap’d the Executioner’s Hand,
Heav’n still pursues him thro’ each distant
Land; 20
With ling’ring Pains assists his fatal End,
He dies, unpity’d by a single Friend.
Thus may those Wretches, who’ve their
Country sold,
Perish, like him, ’midst unaccounted Gold.
T.
G.
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June 7, 1770. No.
284. |
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To a Conceited AUTHOR.
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Scribble no more,
Friend Clodio, be advis’d,
Your Works are nonsence, totally despis’d.
Be wise in Time—throw by the Pen and Ink,
And ne’er write more—till you have learnt to think.
T.
R.
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June 14, 1770. No.
285. |
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Messrs.
PRINTERS,
THE Speech of the grave CLARISSA,
in the last Canto of the immortal POPE's celebrated Rape of
the Lock, who endeavours to compose the Resentment of Belinda,
cannot be too much admired. It contains so much good Sense, is
fraught with such useful moral, and expressed with such
harmony of Numbers, as quite charm me, and I dare say will
have the same Effect upon the Bulk of your readers. I am,
&c. CRITO.
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Say, why are
beauties prais’d and honour’d most?
The wise Man’s Passion, and the vain Man’s Toast.
Why deck’d with all that Land and Sea afford?
Why Angels call’d, and Angel like ador’d?
Why round our Coaches crowd the white glov’d
Beaus? 5
Why bows the Side-box from its inmost Rows;
How vain are all these Glories, all our Pains,
Unless good Sense preserves what Beauty gains;
That Men may say, when we the front Box grace,
Behold the first in Virtue as in
Face! 10
Oh! if to dance all Night, and dress all Day,
Charm’d the Small-pox, or chas’d old Age away,
Who would not scorn what Housewife’s Care produce,
Or who would learn one earthy Thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a
Saint, 15
Nor could it sure be such a Sin to paint.
But since, alas! frail Beauty must decay,
Curl’d, or uncurl’d, since Locks will turn to gray;
Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,
And she who scorns a Man must die a
Maid; 20
What then remains but well our Power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate’er we lose.
And trust me, dear! good Humour can prevail,
When Airs and Flights, and Screams and Scolding, fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty Eyes may
roll; 25
Charms strike the Sight, but Merit wins the Soul.
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June 14, 1770. No.
285. |
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On SICKNESS
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O’er Cots of
Peasants, and the Thrones of Kings,
Without Distinction, Sickness spreads her Wings;
Unwelcome Guest! Sister of pining care!
Thy poisonous Breath destroys whate’er is fair.
When bound, alas! with thy consumptive
Chain, 5
We seek from Art relief, but seek in vain;
Beauty and Health with timorous Pinions fly,
Whene’er thy ghastly Form approaches nigh;
The human Frame to thee its homage pays,
All bend before the Fever’s raging
Blaze. 10
Thy least Attack corrupts the bubbling Rill
Of Life’s fair Stream, and gives us up to ill.
He then who values Health, with all her Train
Of smiling Blessings, free from lingering Pain,
Must temperance follow, Luxury
avoid, 15
And always study to be well employ’d.
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June 14, 1770. No.
285. |
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Qualifications to gain the Heart of a LADY.
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A Few quaint
Phrases, got by rote;
A powder’d Head, a tawdry Coat;
A ’Kerchief white, a mincing Pace;
A smirking Look, a beardless Face;
Without one Grain of Wit or
Sense; 5
To Learning not the least Pretence:
These, these will gain (act well your Part)
Each Lady’s Hand, each Lady’s Heart.
A
BEAU
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June 14, 1770. No.
285. |
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The LADY’S RESOLVE.
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Whilst thirst of
Praise, and vain Desire of Fame,
In every Age, is every Woman’s Aim,
With Courtship pleas’d, of silly Toasters proud,
Fond of a Train, and happy in a Crowd,
On each poor Fool bestowing some kind
Glance, 5
Each Conquest owing to some loose Advance;
While vain Coquets affect to be pursu’d,
And think they’re virtuous if not grossly lewd;
Let this great Maxim be my virtue’s Guide,
In Part she is to blame that has been try’d 10
He comes too near that comes to be deny’d.
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June 21, 1770. No.
286. |
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The NEGROES
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Hic niger est;
hunc tu, Romane, caveto.
When wild Remonstrants play’d, like fools,
And cut themselves with Faction’s tools,
We laugh’d.—We laugh’d, when Peers protested,
On Faction’s side, and thought they jested.
When, under Beckford’s flag display’d, 5
Both join’d, as if to Freedom’s aid,
Spight of Remonstrance and Protest,
We saw that both were slaves profess’d;
Cou’d any else be such contrivers?
To choose their Chief from Negro
drivers. 10
LYNCEUS.
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June 28, 1770. No.
287. |
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The Batchelor’s Reason for taking a
Wife.
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Grave
Authors say, and witty Poets sing,
That honest Wedlock is a glorious Thing:
But depth of Judgement most in him appears,
Who wisely weds in his maturer Years.
Then let him choose a Damsel young and
fair,
5
To bless his Age, and bring a worthy Heir;
To sooth his cares, and free from noise and strife,
Conduct him gently to the verge of life.
Let sinful bachelor’s their woes deplore,
Full well they merit all they feel and
more; 10
Unaw’d by precepts, human and divine,
Like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join;
Nor know to make the present blessing last,
Nor hope the future, or esteem the past;
But vainly boast the joys they never try’d, 15
And find divulg’d the secrets they would hide:
The marry’d man may bear his yoke with ease,
Secure at once himself and heaven to please;
And pass his inoffensive hours away,
In bliss all night, and innocent all
day: 20
Tho’ fortune change, his constant spouse remains,
Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains.
But what so pure, which envious tongue will spare?
Some wicked wits have libell’d all the fair.
With matchless impudence they stile a
wife 25
The dear bought curse, and lawful plague of life;
A bosom serpent, a domestic evil,
A night invasion, and a mid-day devil.
Let not the wife these slanderous words regard,
But curse the bones of every lying
bard. 30
All others goods by fortune’s hand are
given;
A wife is the peculiar gift of heav’n;
Vain fortune’s favours, never at a stay,
Like empty shadows glide and pass away;
One solid comfort, our eternal
wife, 35
Abundantly supplies us all our life:
This blessing lasts (if those who try say true)
As long as e’re a heart can with——and longer too.
Our grandsire Adam, e’er of Eve
possess’d,
Alone and ev’n in paradise unbless’d, 40
With mournful looks the blissful seenes survey’d,
And wandered in the solitary shade:
The Maker saw, took pity and bestow’d
Woman, the last, the best reserve of God.
A Wife! ah gentle deities, can
he 45
That has a wife e’er feel adversity?
Would men but follow what the sex advise,
All things would prosper, all the world grow wise.
’Twas by Rebecca’s aid that
Jacob won
His father’s blessing from an elder
son:
50
Abusive Nabal, ow’d his forfeit life
To the wise conduct of a prudent wife:
Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show,
Preserv’d the Jews, and slew the Assyrian foe:
At Hester’s suit the persecuting
sword 55
Was sheath’d, and Israel lived to bless the Lord.
Be charm’d with virtuous joys, and sober life,
And try that christian comfort, call’d a wife.
POPE.
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