There gaily comic scenes delight,
And hold true mirrors to our fight.
Virtue, in charming dress array'd,
Calling the paffions to her aid,
When moral scenes juft actions join,
Takes shape, and fhews her face divine.
Mufic has charms, we all may find,
Ingratiate deeply with the mind.
When art does found's high pow'r advance,
To mufic's pipe the paffions dance;
Motions unwill'd its pow'rs have fhewn,
Tarantulated by a tune.
Many have held the foul to be
Nearly ally'd to harmony.
Her have I known indulging grief,
And fhunning company's relief,
Unveil her face, and looking round,
Own, by neglecting forrow's wound,
The confanguinity of found.
In rainy days keep double guard,
Or Spleen will furely be too hard;
Which, like those fish by failors met,
Fly higheft, while their wings are wet.
In fuch dull weather, fo unfit
To enterprize a work of wit,
When clouds one yard of azure sky,
That's fit for fimile, deny,
I dress my face with ftudious looks,
And shorten tedious hours with books.
But if dull fogs invade the head,
That mem'ry minds not what is read,
I fit in window dry as ark,
And on the drowning world remark:
Or to fome coffee-house I ftray
For news, the manna of a day,
And from the hipp'd difcourfes gather,
That politics go by the weather:
Then feek good-humour'd tavern chums,
And play at cards, but for fmall fums
Or with the merry fellows quaff,
And laugh aloud with them that laugh;
Or drink a joco-ferious cup
With fouls who've took their freedom up,
And let my mind, beguil'd by talk,
In Epicurus' garden walk,
Who thought it heav'n to be ferene ;
Pain, hell; and purgatory, Spleen.
Sometimes I drefs, with women sit,
And chat away the gloomy fit;
Quit the stiff garb of serious sense,
And wear a gay impertinence,
Nor think, nor fpeak with any pains,
But lay on fancy's neck the reins;
Talk of unufual fwell of waist
In maid of honour loosely lac'd,
And beauty borr'wing Spanish red,
And loving pair with sep❜rate bed,
And jewels pawn'd for lofs of game,
And then redeem'd by lofs of fame;
Of Kitty (aunt left in the lurch
By grave pretence to go to church)
Perceiv'd in hack with lover fine,
Like Will and Mary on the coin:
And thus in modifh manner we,
In aid of fugar, fweeten tea.
Permit, ye fair, your idol form Which e'en the coldeft heart can warm, May with its beauties grace my line, While I bow down before its fhrine, And your throng'd altars with my lays Perfume, and get by giving praise.
With speech fo fweet, so sweet 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 kiss;
By Celia's pat, on their report,
The grave-air'd foul, inclin'd to sport,
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
Encompafs'd with Satellite beams.
But when blue eyes, more foftly bright,
Diffuse benignly humid light,
We gaze, and see the smiling lovės,
And Cytherea's gentle doves,
And raptur'd fix in fuch a face,
Love's mercy-feat, and throne of grace.
Shine but on age, you melt its snow;
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 leaft!
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,
Defift, 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;
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