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fresh in pay,
Hard exercise, and harder fare
15 Hear sounds harmonious from the skies. Such is the
poet (The third night's profits of his play); His morning draughts till noon can swill Among his brethren of the quill :
20 With good roast beef his belly full, Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull, Deep funk in plenty and delight, What poet e’er could take his flight? Or, stuff?d with phlegm up to the throat, What poet e'er could fing a note? Nor Pegasus could bear the load Along the high celestial road; The steed, oppress’d, would break his girth To raise the lumber from the earth.
30 But view him in another scene, When all his drink is Hippocrene, His money spent, his patrons fail, His credit out for cheese and ale ; His two-year's coat so smooth and bare,
35 Thro' ev'ry threed it lets in air ; With hungry meals his body pin'd, His guts and belly full of wind; And, like a jockey for a race, His flesh brought down to flying cafe :
40 Now his exalted spirit loaths Incumbrances of food and cloaths ; And up he rises like a vapour, Supported high on wings of paper ; He singing fies, and flying fings,
45 While from below all Grubiireet rings.
The PROGRESS of BEAUTY.
Written in the year 1720.
JHEN forft Diana leaves her bed,
Vapours and steams her look disgrace, A frowzy dirty colour'd red
Sits on her cloudy wrinkled face :
Her artificial face appears
Her spots are gone, her visage clears.
All parallels exactly run:
Alas, the nymph would be undone !
To see her from her pillow rise,
All reeking in a cloudy steam,
Poor Strephon, how would he blafpheme !
Three colours, black, and red, and white,
So graceful in their proper place, Remove them to a diff'rent site,
They form a frightful hideous face:
For instance, when the lily skips
Into the precincts of the rose, And takes poffeffion of the lips,
Leaving the purple to the nose. So Celia went entire to bed,
All her complexion safe and sound ;
But when she rose, white, black, and red,
Tho' ftill in fight, had chang'd their ground.
The black, which would not be confin'd,
A more inferior station seeks, Leaving the fiery red behind,
And mingles in her muddy cheeks.
But Celia can with eafe reduce,
By help of pencil, paint, and brush, Each colour to its place and use,
And teach her cheeks again to blush.. She knows her early self no more;
But fill'd with admiration stands, As other painters oft adore
The workmanship of their own hands.
Thus, after four important hours,
Celia's the wonder of her sex:
Could cause such marvellous effects ?
Venus, indulgent to her kind,
Gave women all their hearts could wish, When firft she taught them where to find
White lead and Lufitanian * dish.
Love with white lead cements his wings :
White lead was sent us to repair Two brightest, brittleft earthly things,
A lady's face, and China ware.
She ventures now to lift the fash;
The window is her proper fphere : Ah lovely nymph! be not too rash,
Nor let the beaux approach too near:
Take pattern by your fifter star ;
Delude at once, and bless our fight; When you are seen, be seen from far, And chiefly chuse. to shine by night.
But art no longer can prevail,
When the materials all are gone; The best mechanic hand must fail,
Where nothing's left to work upon.
Matter, as wise logicians say,
Cannot without a form subift; And form, fay I, as well as they,
Must fail, if matter brings no grist,
And this is fair Diana's case;
For all astrologers maintain, Each night a bit drops off her face,
When mortals say she's in her wane :
Efficient of the moon's decay,
Attacks her in the milky way:
But Gadbury *, in art profound,
From her pale cheeks pretends to show, That swain Endymion,t is not found,
Or else that Mercury's her foe.
But, let the cause be what it will,
In half a month the looks so thin, That Flamstead can, with all his skill,
See but her forehead and her chin.
* Partridge and Gadbury wrote each an ephemeris. Hawker.
† Endymion, a young thepherd, of whom Diana was feigned to be enamoured. Hawkes.
Yet, as she wastes, she grows difereet,
85 Till midnight never shews her head : So rotting Celia frolls the street,
When sober folks are all abed.
For sure, if this be Luna's fate,
Poor Celia, but of mortal race, In vain expects a longer date
To the materials of ber face..
When Mercury her tresses mows,
To think of black-lead combs is vain : No painting can restore a noje,
Nor will her teeth return again.
Ye pow'rs who over love preside!
Since mortal beauties drop so soon, If you would have us well fupplyd,
Send us new nymphs with each new moon.
PET HOX THE GREAT..
Written in the year 1723.
ROM Venus börn, thy beauty shows;
But who thy father, no man knows :
claim The high descent from whence you came ;