In this, I own, your aunt is clear; I sent you what I well might spare: For when I see you, (without joking) Your eyes, lips, breasts, are so provoking; They set my heart more cock-a-hoop, Than could whole seas of cray-fish soup.
ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA,
WHAT ecstasies her bosom fire!
How her eyes languish with desire!
How bless'd, how happy should I be,
Were that fond glance bestow'd on me!
New doubts and fears within me war:
What rival's near? a China jar.
China's the passion of her soul;
A cup, a plate, a dish, a bowl,
Can kindle wishes in her breast,
Inflame with joy, or break her rest.
Some gems collect; some medals prize,
And view the rust with lovers' eyes;
Some court the stars at midnight hours,
Some dote on Nature's charms in flowers;
But every beauty I can trace
In Laura's mind, in Laura's face;
My stars are in this brighter sphere;
My lily and my rose is here.
Philosophers, more grave than wise,
Hunt science down in butterflies ;
Or, fondly poring on a spider,
Stretch human contemplation wider.
Fossils give joy to Galen's soul,
He digs for knowledge like a mole;
In shells so learn'd, that all agree
No fish that swims knows more than he
In such pursuits if wisdom lies,
Who, Laura! shall thy taste despise ?
When I some antique jar behold,
Or white, or blue, or speck'd with gold,
Vessels so pure, and so refined,
Appear the types of womankind:
Are they not valued for their beauty,
Too fair, too fine for household duty?
With flowers, and gold, and azure, dyed,
Of every house the grace and pride?
How white, how polish'd, is their skin,
And valued most when only seen!
She who before was highest prized,
Is for a crack or flaw despised.
I grant they're frail, yet they're so rare,
The treasure cannot cost too dear!
But man is made of coarser stuff,
And serves convenience well enough;
He's a strong earthen vessel made,
For drudging, labour, toil, and trade;
And when wives lose their other self,
With ease they bear the loss of delf.
Husbands, more covetous than sage,
Condemn this china-buying rage;
They count that woman's prudence little,
Who sets her heart on things so brittle.
But are those wise men's inclinations
Fix'd on more strong, more sure foundations?
If all that's frail we must despise,
No human view or scheme is wise,
Are not Ambition's hopes as weak?
They swell like bubbles, shine and break.
A courtier's promise is so slight,
'Tis made at noon, and broke at night.
What pleasure's sure? The miss you keep
Breaks both your fortune and your sleep.
The man who loves a country life,
Breaks all the comforts of his wife;
And if he quit his farm and plough,
His wife in town may break her vow.
Love, Laura! love, while youth is warm,
For each new winter breaks a charm ;
And woman's not like china sold,
But cheaper grows in growing old:
Then quickly choose the prudent part,
Or else you break a faithful heart.
AN EPISTLE FROM A DOG AT TWICKENHAM TO A DOG AT COURT.
To thee, sweet Fop! these lines I send,
Who, though no spaniel, am a friend.
Though once my tail, in wanton play,
Now frisking this and then that way,
Chanced, with a touch of just the tip,
To hurt your lady-lap-dog-ship,
Yet thence to think I'd bite your head off,
Sure Bounce is one you never read of.
Fop! you can dance and make a leg,
Can fetch and carry, cringe and beg
And (what's the top of all your tricks)
Can stoop to pick up strings or sticks.
We country dogs love nobler sport,
And scorn the pranks of dogs at court.
Fie, naughty Fop! where'er you come
To fart and piss about the room;
To lay your head in every lap,
And when they think not of you-snap:
The worst that Envy or that Spite
E'er said of me is, I can bite;
That sturdy vagrants, rogues in rags,
Who poke at me, can make no brags;
And that to touze such things as flutter,
To honest Bounce is bread and butter.
While you and every courtly fop
Fawn on the devil for a chop,
I've the humanity to hate
A butcher, though he brings me meat:
And let me tell you, have a nose,
(Whatever stinking Fops suppose)
That under cloth of gold or tissue
Can smell a plaister or an issue.
Your pilfering lord, with simple pride
May wear a picklock at his side;
My master wants no key of state,
For Bounce can keep his house and gate.
When all such dogs have had their days,
As knavish Pams and fawning Trays;
When pamper'd Cupids, beastly Venies,
And motley squinting Harlequinies'
Shall lick no more their lady's breech,
Shall die of looseness, claps, or itch;
1 Alii legunt Harvequinies.
Fair Thames from either echoing shore
Shall hear and dread my manly roar.
See, Bounce, like Berecynthia, crown'd
With thundering offspring all around,
Beneath, beside me, and a-top,
A hundred sons! and not one Fop.
Before children set your beef,
Not one true Bounce will be a thief;
Not one without permission feed,
(Though some of J-ns hungry breed)
But whatsoe'er the father's race,
From me they suck a little grace;
While your fine whelps learn all to steal,
Bred up by hand on chick and veal.
My eldest born resides not far,
Where shines great Strafford's glittering star;
My second (child of Fortune!) waits
At Burlington's Palladian gates ;-
A third majestically stalks,
(Happiest of dogs!) in Cobham's walks ;
One ushers friends to Bathurst's door,
One fawns at Oxford's on the poor.
Nobles whom arms or arts adorn,
Wait for my infants yet unborn.
None but a peer of wit and grace,
Can hope a puppy of my race.
And, oh! would Fate the bliss decree
To mine (a bliss too great for me)
That two my tallest sons might grace
Attending each with stately pace,
Iülus' side, as erst Evander's',
To keep off flatterers, spies, and panders;
2 Virg. Æn. 8.
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