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THE GOAT'S BEARD.

"Is there a fault in womankind You did not make, or strive to find? To rise on your defects you teach them, And lose your virtues ere they reach them. Would e'er ambition touch their brain, Did you your lawful rule maintain, With tenderness exert your sway, And mildly win them to OBEY? Had Cæsar, Antony, been men,

We scarce had heard of Egypt's queen 25.

Follies and vices of his own

Sunk to a slave great Philip's son ;
Nor did Alcides 26 learn to spin
Till he put off the lion's skin.

"Henry the Fourth of France (a name
We love, we pity, and we blame)
Had frailties, which the meanest clown
Of native sense would blush to own.
D'Etrée, Vernueil, and twenty more,
Will prove him vassal to a ———.
Nothing could tame the headstrong lad,
Whose pure good-nature was run mad.
Ev'n toil, and penury, and pain,

28

And Sully 27, teas'd and preach'd in vain.
Nothing could stop th' insatiate rage,
Not even the hasty snow of age ;
Not even his last provoking wife 29,
That fire-brand of perpetual strife,
Who set half Europe in a flame,
And died, poor wretch, an empty name.
"In what the world calls politics
You teach the fair a thousand tricks.
Full many a mistress of a king,
At first a plain unheeded thing,
But swells in fancied dignity,
And glories in her infamy;
Till, to distress a weaker brother,
You play her off against each other;
Improve the sex's native wiles,
Th' artillery of tears and smiles;
Flatter her pride, or peevishness,
Till she, elated by success,
Feels her own force, and bolder grown
By your instructions, acts alone;
Procures now this, now that man's fall,
And fairly triumphs o'er you all.

"The second Charles on England's throne (Sav'd from oblivion by his crown) Call him whatever you think fit, A knave, an idiot, or a wit,

Had from his travels learnt no more
Than modern youths from Europe's tour.
To all that should improve his mind,
The voluntary dupe was blind.
Whate'er calamities fell on him,
Distress was thrown away upon him.

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The same unfeeling thoughtless thing,
Whether an exile or a king.

"Cleaveland and Portsmouth had fine features,
And yet they were but silly creatures,
Play'd off like shuttles in a loom

(To weave the web of England's doom!)
By knaves abroad and knaves at home.

Of all who sooth'd his idle hours 30,
(To wave his en passant amours)
Of all who gloried in the flame,

And in broad day-light blaz'd their shame,
Spite of her frolics and expense 31,
Nell Guyn alone had common sense.

"Of gaming little shall be said,
You 're surfeited upon that head.
What arguments can move the mind
Where folly is with madness join'd?
What sober reasoning can prevail,
Where even contempt and ruin fail?
Yet let me mention, betwixt friends,
"Burn not the taper at both ends."
Why must your wives be taught by you
That needless art to squander too?
Whene'er they show their bracelet strings,
Their dear white hands, and brilliant rings,
It should be in a quiet way;

Ladies should piddle, and not play.

"You know too well your glorious power,
Greatly to lose in half an hour
What cost your ancestors with pain
At least full half an age to gain.
Then let your spouses (to be grave)
For coals and candles something save,
And keep their pin-money and jointures,
To free from jail the kind appointers.

"Learning-you scarce know what it is.
Then put the question, and 't is this:
True learning is the mind's good breeding,
'Tis common sense improv'd by reading.
If common sense, that corner-stone,
Is wanting, let the rest alone.
Better be fools without pretence,
Than coxcombs even of eminence.

Eve 32 from her husband's lips preferr'd
What she from angels might have heard,

30" There was as much of laziness as of love in all those hours which he passed among his mistresses; who served only to fill up his seraglio, while a bewitching kind of pleasure, called sauntering, was the sultana queen he delighted in.”

Duke of Buckinghamshire's Character of Ch. II. 31 Bishop Burpet, in his History of his Own Times, says of Mrs. Guyn, that she was the indiscreetest and wildest creature that ever was in a court, yet continued, to the end of the king's life, in great favour, and was maintained at a vast expense. He might have added, to her credit, that she never meddled at all with the wretched politics of those times.

32 In the eighth book of Paradise Lost, while was conversing with Raphael,

.....and by his countenance seem'd Ent'ring on studious thoughts abstruseEve retired.

29 Mary of Medicis. This lady was of an ambitious intriguing spirit, with a very mean under-Adam standing. That she was a " provoking, wife," Sully's Memoirs sufficiently testify. The disturbances she raised at home, and the cabals she entered into abroad during her exile, are a proof of the second position. The last she must have severely felt, for she died at Cologne in 1642, in extreme misery.

VOL. XVIL ·

Yet went she not, as not with such discourse
Delighted, or not capable her ear
Of what was high-

R

And wisely chose to understand Exalted truths at second hand.

Should your soft mates adopt her notions,
And for instruction wait your motions,
To what improvements would they reach?
-Lord bless you! what have you to teach?
"Yes, one thing, I confess, you deal in,
And read in fairly without spelling.
In that, I own, your zeal is such,
You even communicate too much.
In matter, spirit, and in fate
Your knowledge is extremely great,
Nobly deserting common sense
For metaphysic excellence.
And yet whate'er you say, or sing,
Religion is a serious thing.
At least to me, you will allow,
A deity, it must be so.

Then let me whisper- Do n't perplex
With specious doubts the weaker sex.
Let them enjoy their Tates and Bradys,
Free-thinking is not sport for ladies.'

"Is 't not enough you read Voltaire,
While sneering valets frizz your hair,
And half asleep, with half an eye
Steal in dear infidelity?

Is 't not enough Helvetius' schemes
Elucidate your waking dreams,
(Though each who on the doctrine doats
Skips o'er the text, to skim the notes)
Why must the fair be made the wise
Partakers of your mysteries?
You'll say they listen to your chat.
I grant them fools, but what of that?
Your prudence sure might be so civil
To let your females fear the devil.
Even for the comfort of your lives
Some must be mothers, daughters, wives;
Howe'er it with your genius suits,
They should not all be prostitutes.
"Firm as the sage Lucretius draws
Above religion, morals, laws,
Secure (though at a proper distance)
Of that great blessing NON-EXISTENCE,
You triumph; each a deity
In all, but immortality.
Why therefore will ye condescend
To tease a weak believing friend,
Whose honest ignorance might gain
From errour a relief in pain,
And bear with fortitude and honour
The miseries you brought upon her?
Momus perhaps would slily say,
For Momus has a merry way,
Why will your wisdom and your wit
To such degrading tricks submit?
Why in soft bosoms raise a riot ?
Can't ye be d-mn'd yourselves in quiet?

"But that's an after-thought; at present
We merely wish you to be decent.
And just will add some trifling things,
From whence, we think, confusion springs.

But because,

Her husband the relater she preferr'd
Before the angel-

The poet assigns a reason for it,
.........From his lip

Not words alone pleas'd her.

"You'll easily conceive in gods,
Who fix in air their thin abodes,
And feast on incense, and ambrosia,
Foul feeding must create a nausea.
Yet we ourselves to flesh and blood
Have granted more substantial food,
Nor wonder that, in times like yours,
All but the poor are epicures,
And reason from effects to causes,
On roti's, entremets, and sauces.
But here be wise, the reason 's clear,
Be niggards of your knowledge here,
And to yourselves alone confine
That first of blessings, how to dine.
For should the fair your taste pursue,
And eating be their science too,
Should they too catch this nasty trick,
(The bare idea makes me sick)
What would become of Nature's boast?
Their beauty and their sex were lost.
-I turn disgusted from the scene,—
She-gluttons are she-aldermen.

"Another precept lingers yet,
To make the tiresome group complete.
In all your commerce with the sex,
Whether you mean to please or vex,
If not well-bred, at least be civil;
Ill manners are a catching evil.
I speak to the superior few:
-Ye British youths, I speak to you.
"The ancient heroes of romance,
Idolaters in complaisance,

So hit the sex's dearest whim,
So rais'd them in their own esteem,
That ev'ry conscious worth increas'd,
And every foible sunk to rest.
Nay, e'en when chivalry was o'er,
And adoration reign'd no more,
Within due bounds the following sect
Restrain'd them by profound respect;
Politely grasp'd the silken reins,
And held them in ideal chains.

But now, when you appear before them,
You want all deference and decorum ;
And, conscious of good Heav'n knows what,
Noddle your heads, and slouch your hat;
Or, careless of the circling throng,
Through full assemblies lounge along,
And on a couch politely throw
Your listless limbs without a bow,
While all the fair, like Sheba's queen,
Crowd eager to the inviting scene,
And o'er that couch in raptures hang
To hear their Solomon's harangue.
No doubt 't is edifying stuff,
(For gentle ears are cannon-proof)
And wise the doctrines which you teach.
But your examples more than preach:
For 't is from hence your high-bred lasses
Lose, or despise, their native graces.
Hence comes it that at every rout
They hoyden in, and hoyden out.
The modest dignity of yore,

The step chastis'd, is seen no more.
They hop, they gallop, and they trot,
A curt'sy is a thing forgot.
Th' affected stare, the thrust-out chin,
The leer, the titter, and the grin,
Supply what hung on Hebe's cheek,
And lov'd to live in dimple sleek.'

Nay, some who boast their sixteen quarters
One might mistake for chandlers' daughters.
"Ah, could these triflers of a day
Know what their masters think and say,
When o'er their claret they debate
Each pretty victim's future fate;
With what contempt and malice fraught
They sneer the follies they have taught;
How deep a blush their cheek would fire!
Their little breasts would burst with ire;
And the most heedless mawkin there,
The loveliest idiot, drop a tear.

"Virtues have sexes, past a doubt, Mythologists have mark'd them out; Nor yet in excellence alone

Have this peculiar difference shown:
Your vices-that 's too hard a name-
Your follies should not be the same.
In every plant, in every grain

Of Nature's genuine works we find
Some innate essences remain

Which mark the species and the kind. Though forms may vary, round or square, Be smooth, be rough, be regular; Though colours separate or unite, The sport of superficial light; Yet is there something, that or this,

By Nature's kind indulgence sown,
Which makes each thing be what it is,
A tree a tree, a stone a stone.

So in each sex distinct and clear
A genuine something should appear,
A je ne sai quoi, however slight,
To vindicate the natural right.

"Then, sirs, for I perceive you yawn,
Be this conclusion fairly drawn:
Sexes are proper, and not common ;
Man must be man, and woman woman.
In short, be coxcombs if you please,
Be arrant ladies in your dress;
Be every name the vulgar give

To what their grossness can't conceive:
Yet one small favour let me ask,
Not to impose too hard a task-
Whether you fix your fancied reign

In brothels, or in drawing-rooms,
The little something still retain.

Be gamesters, gluttons, jockies, grooms, Be all which Nature never meant, Free-thinkers in the full extent, But, ah! for something be rever'd, And keep your sex, and SHOW THE beard.”

TO HER GRACE

THE DUTCHESS OF QUEENSBURY'.

SAY, shall a bard in these late times
Dare to address his trivial rhymes
To her, whom Prior, Pope, and Gay,
And every bard, who breath'd a lay

In the first edition of this little poem the name was not printed. As the dutchess is since dead, it cannot be necessary to conceal it. She was of a great age when this compliment was paid to her, which was singularly well adapted, as her grace never changed her dress according to the fashion, but retained that which had been in vogue when she was a young beauty.

Of happier vein, was fond to choose
The patroness of every Muse?

Say, can he hope that you, the theme
Of partial Swift's severe esteem,
You, who have borne meridian rays,
And triumph'd in poetic blaze,
Ev'n with indulgence should receive
The fainter gleams of ebbing eve?

He will; and boldly say in print,
That't was your grace who gave the hint;
Who told him that the present scene

Of dress, and each preposterous fashion,
Flow'd from supineness in the men,

And not from female inclination.
That women were obliged to try
All stratagems to catch the eye,
And many a wild vagary play
To gain attention any way.

'T was merely cunning in the fair.-
This may be true-but have a care;
Your grace will contradict in part,

Your own assertion, and my song, Whose beauty, undisguis'd by art,

Has charm'd so much, and charm'd so long.

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Come here, you two girls, that look full in my face, And you that so often are turning your back, Put on these cork rumps, and then tighten your stays Till your hips, and your ribs, and the strings themselves crack.

Can ye speak? can ye breathe?-Not a wordthen 't will do.

[you. You have often dress'd me, and for once I'll dress Do n't let your curls fall with that natural bend, But stretch them up tight till each hair stands an end.

One, two, nay three cushions, like Cybele's tow'rs;
Then a few ells of gauze, and some baskets of flow'rs.
These bottles of nectar will serve for perfumes.
Go pluck the fledg'd Cupids, and bring me their
plumes.

If that's not enough, you may strip all the fowls,
My doves, Juno's peacocks, and Pallas's owls.
And stay, from Jove's eagle, if napping 3 you take
him,

You may snatch a few quills-but be sure you do n't wake him.

"Hold! what are ye doing! I vow and protest, If I don't watch you closely you 'll spoil the whole What I have disorder'd you still set to rights, [jest. And seem half unwilling to make yourselves frights, What I am concealing you want to display; But it sha'n't serve the turn, for I will have my way. Those crimp'd colet'montés do n't reach to your chins,

And the heels of your slippers are broader than pins. You can stand, you can walk, like the girls in the street;

Those buckles won't do, they scarce cover your feet. Here, run to the Cyclops, you boys without wings, And bring up their boxes of contraband things.— * * *** [pass, "Well, now you 're bedizen'd, I'll swear, as ye I can scarcely help laughing-do n't look in the glass. Those tittering boys shall be whipt if they tease you, So come away, girls. From your torments to ease you,

We 'Il haste to Olympus, and get the thing over; I have not the least doubt but you'll each find a lover.

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ON A MESSAGE-CARD IN VERSE,
SENT BY A LADY.

HERMES, the gamester of the sky,

To share for once mankind's delights,
Slipp'd' down to Earth, exceeding sly,

And bid his coachman dive to White's.
In form a beau, so light he trips,
You'd swear his wings were at his heels;
From glass to glass alert he skips,

And bows and prattles while he deals.
In short, so well his part he play'd,

The waiters took him for a peer;
And ev'n some great ones whisp'ring said,
He was no vulgar foreigner.
Whate'er he was, he swept the board,

Won every bet, and every game;
Stripp'd ev'n the rooks, who stamp'd and roar'd,
And wonder'd how the devil it came!
He wonder'd too, and thought it hard;

But found at last this great command Was owing to one fav'rite card,

Which still brought luck into his hand. The four of spades; whene'er he saw

Its sable spots, he laugh'd at rules,
Took odds beyond the gaming law,
And Hoyle and Philidor were fools.
Put now, for now 't was time to go,
What gratitude shall he express?
And what peculiar boon bestow

Upon the cause of his success?
Suppose, for something must be done,
On Juno's self he could prevail
To pick the pips out, one by one,

And stick them in her peacock's tail.
Should Pallas have it, was a doubt,
To twist her silk, or range her pins,
Or should the Muses cut it out,
For bridges to their violins.

2 Alluding to the usual representation of the To Venus should the prize be given, Graces.

3 The sleeping eagle in Pindar. Thus translated by West:

Perch'd on the sceptre of th' Olympian king,

The thrilling darts of harmony he feels; And indolently hangs his rapid wing,

While gentle sleep is closing eye-lids seals; And o'er his heaving limbs in loose array

To ev'ry balmy gale the ruffling feathers play.
Thus imitated by Akenside:

.With slacken'd wings,
While now the solemn concert breathes around,
Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord
Sleeps the stern eagle; by the number'd notes
Possess'd; and satiate with the melting tone:
Sovereign of birds.

And thus by Gray:

Perching on the scepter'd hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie

The terrour of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

Superior beauty's just reward, And 'gainst the next great rout in Heaven Be sent her for a message-card. Or hold-by Jove, a lucky hit!

Your goddesses are arrant farces; Go, carry it to Mrs.

And bid her fill it full of verses.

ON THE

BIRTH-DAY OF A YOUNG LADY,

FOUR YEARS OLD.

OLD creeping Time, with silent tread,
Has stol'n four years o'er Molly's head.
The rose-bud opens on her cheek,
The meaning eyes begin to speak;
And in each smiling look is seen
The innocence which plays within.
Nor is the fault'ring tongue confin'd
To lisp the dawnings of the mind,
But fair and full her words convey
The little all they have to say;

THE DOUBLE CONQUEST...SONG...AN INSCRIPTION.

And each fond parent, as they fall,
Find volumes in that little all.

May every charm, which now appears,
Increase, and brighten with her years!
And may that same old creeping Time
Go on till she has reach'd her prime,
Then, like a master of his trade,
Stand still, nor hurt the work he made.

THE JE NE SCAI QUOI,

A SONG.

YES, I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Cælia has undone me;
And yet I'll swear I can't tell how
The pleasing plague stole on me.

'T is not her face which love creates, For there no graces revel;

"T is not her shape, for there the Fates Have rather been uncivil.

"T is not her air, for sure in that

There's nothing more than common; And all her sense is only chat,

Like any other woman.

Her voice, her touch, might give th' alarm-
'T was both perhaps, or neither;
In short, 't was that provoking charm
Of Cælia all together.

THE DOUBLE CONQUEST,

A SONG.

Of music, and of beauty's power,
I doubted much, and doubted long :
The fairest face a gaudy flower,

An empty sound the sweetest song,
But when her voice Clarinda rais'd,
And sung so sweet, and smil'd so gay,
At once I listen'd, and I gaz'd;

And heard, and look'd my soul away.

To her, of all his beauteous train,

This wondrous power had Love assign'd,

A double conquest to obtain,

And cure at once the deaf and blind.

SONG FOR RANELAGH.

Yg belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence this impertinence springs,
The sexes at once to confound?

What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,
With each motion design'd to perplex ?
Bright eyes were intended to languish, not stare,
And softness the test of your sex.

The girl, who on beauty depends for support,
May call every art to her aid;

The bosom display'd, and the petticoat short,
Are samples she gives of her trade.

245

But you, on whom fortune indulgently smiles, And whom pride has preserv'd from the snare, Should slily attack us with coyness, and wiles, Not with open and insolent war.

The Venus, whose statue delights all mankind,
Shrinks modestly back from the view,
And kindly should seem by the artist design'd
To serve as a model for you.

Then learn, with her beauty, to copy her air,
Nor venture too much to reveal:

Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal.

The blushes of Morn, and the mildness of May,
Are charms which no art can procure:

O be but yourselves, and our homage we pay,
And your empire is solid and sure.
But if, Amazon-like, you attack your gallants,
And put us in fear of our lives,

You may do very well for sisters and aunts,
But, believe me, you 'll never be wives.

AN INSCRIPTION

IN THE COTTAGE OF VENUS,

AT MIDDLETON PARK, OXFORDSHIRE.

QUISQUIS es, O juvenis, nostro vagus advena luco,
Cui cor est tenerum, cuique puella comes;
Quisquis es, ah fugias!-hic suadent omnia amorem,
Inque casâ hâc latitans omnia suadet amor.
Aspice flore capri quam circum astringitur ilex
Hærenti amplexu, et luxuriante comâ!
Sylva tegit, tacitum sternit tibi lana cubile,
Aut tumet in vivos mollior herba toros.

Si quis adest subitum dant tintinnabula signum,
Et strepit in primo limine porta loquax.
Nec rigidum ostendit nostro de parjete vultum
Actæusve senex, dimidiusve Cato:

At nuda aspirat dulces Cytherea furores,
Atque suos ritus consecrat ipsa Venus.

THE SAME IN ENGLISH.

WHOE'ER thou art, whom chance ordains to rove
A youthful stranger to this fatal grove,
O, if thy breast can feel too soft a flame,
And with thee wanders some unguarded dame,
Fly, fly the place!-Each object through the shade
Persuades to love; and in this cottage laid,
What cannot, may not, will not, love persuade?
See to yon oak how close the woodbine cleaves,
And twines around its luxury of leaves !
Above, the boughs a pleasing darkness shed,
Beneath, a noiseless couch soft fleeces spread,
Or softer herbage forms a living bed.
Do spies approach?-Shrill bells the sound repeat,
And from the entrance screams the conscious gate.
Nor from these walls do rigid bustos frown,
Or philosophic censors threat in stone.
But Venus' self does her own rites approve
In naked state, and through the raptur'd grove
Breathes the sweet madness of excessive love,

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