With speech so sweet, fo fweet a mien
You excommunicate the Spleen,
Which, fiend-like, flies the magic ring
You form with found, when pleas'd to fing
Whate'er you fay, howe'er you move,
We look, we liften, and approve.
Your touch, which gives to feeling blifs,
Our nerves officious throng to kifs;
By Celia's pat, on their report,
The grave-air'd foul, inclin'd to fport,
Renounces wisdom's fullen pomp,
And loves the floral game, to romp.
But who can view the pointed rays,
That from black eyes fcintillant blaze?
Love on his throne of glory feems
Encompass'd with Satellite beams.
But when blue eyes, more foftly bright,
Diffuse benignly humid light,
We gaze, and fee the fmiling loves,
And Cytherea's gentle doves,
And raptur'd fix in such a face,
'Love's mercy-feat, and throne of grace.
Shine but on age, you melt its fnow ;
Again fires long-extinguish'd glow,
And, charm'd by witchery of eyes,
Blood long congealed liquefies:
True miracle, and fairly done
By heads which are ador'd while on.
But oh, what pity 'tis to find
Such beauties both of form and mind,
By modern breeding much debas'd,
In half the female world at least!
Hence I with care fuch lott'ries fhun,
Where, a prize mifs'd, I'm quite undone ;
And han't, by vent'ring on a wife,
Yet run the greatest risk in life..
Mothers, and guardian aunts, forbear
Your impious pains to form the fair,
Nor lay out fo much cost and art,
But to deflow'r the virgin heart;
Of every folly-foft'ring bed
By quick'ning heat of custom bred.
Rather than by your culture spoil'd,
Defist, and give us nature wild,
Delighted with a hoyden foul,
Which truth and innocence controul,
Coquets, leave off affected arts,
Gay fowlers at a flock of hearts.;
Woodcocks to fhun your snares have skill,
You fhew fo plain, you strive to kill.
In love the artlefs catch the game,
And they scarce miss who never aim.
The world's great Author did create
The sex to fit the nuptial state,
And meant a bleffing in a wife
To folace the fatigues of life;
And old infpired times difplay,
How wives could love, and yet obey.
Then truth, and patience of controul,
And house-wife arts adorn'd the foul;
And charms, the gift of nature, fhone;
And jealousy, a thing unknown:
Veils were the only masks they wore;
Novels (receipts to make a whore)
Nor ombre, nor quadrille they knew,
Nor Pam's puiffance felt at loo.
Wife men did not, to be thought gay,
Then compliment their pow'r away:
But left, by frail defires misled,
The girls forbidden paths should tread,
Of ignʼrance rais'd the safe high wall;
We fink haw-haws, that fhew them all.
Thus we at once folicit sense,
And charge them not to break the fence. Now, if untir'd, confider friend,
What I avoid to gain my end.
I never am at Meeting feen, Meeting, that region of the Spleen; The broken heart, the bufy fiend, The inward call, on Spleen depend. Law, licens'd breaking of the peace, To which vacation is disease; A gypfy diction scarce known well By th' magi, who law-fortunes tell, I fhun; nor let it breed within Anxiety, and that the Spleen; Law, grown a foreft, where perplex The mazes, and the brambles vex; Where its twelve verd❜rers every day Are changing still the public way; Yet if we miss our path and err, We grievous penalties incur ;
And wand'rers tire, and tear their skin,
And then get out where they went in.
I never game, and rarely bet,
Am loth to lend, or run in debt,
No compter-writs me agitate;
Who moralizing pass the gate,
And there mine eyes on fpendthrifts turn,
Who vainly o'er their bondage mourn.
Wisdom, before beneath their care,
Pays her upbraiding visits there,
And forces folly through the grate
Her panegyric to repeat.
This view, profufely when inclin❜d,
Enters a caveat in the mind:
Experience join'd with common sense,
To mortals is a providence.
Paffion, as frequently is seen,
Subfiding fettles into Spleen.
Hence, as the plague of happy life,
I run away from party-strife.
A prince's caufe, a church's claim,
I've known to raise a mighty flame,
And prieft, as ftoker, very free
To throw in peace and charity.
That tribe, whofe practicals decree
Small-beer the deadlieft herefy;
Who, fond of pedigree, derive
From the most noted whore alive;
|