Into that lower space to enter,
Of the large round herself the centre.
Again that single limb or feature
(Such is the cogent force of nature)
Which most did Alma's passion move
In the first object of her love,
For ever will be found confest,
And printed on the amorous breast.
O Abelard,* ill-fated youth,
Thy tale will justify this truth:
But well I weet, thy cruel wrong
Adorns a nobler poet's song.
Dan Pope, for thy misfortune griev'd,
With kind concern and skill has weav'd
A silken web; and ne'er shall fade
Its colours; gently has he laid
The mantle o'er thy sad distress:
And Venus shall the texture bless.
He o'er the weeping nun has drawn
* A writer of eminence, Shenstone, vol. ii. 177, has observed that Pope never mentions Prior, though so handsomely spoken of in this passage. He added, "One might imagine that the latter (Pope), indebted as he was to the former (Prior) for such numberless beauties, should have readily repaid this poetical obligation. This can only be imputed to pride or party-cunning. In other words, to some modification of selfishness." It is certain Pope has been very sparing in his mention of Prior; but he is not, as Shenstone asserts, wholly unnoticed, as his name twice occurs in the Dunciad, B. II. l. 124, 138, though but slightly. Party-cunning could hardly have occasioned it, as the chief of Prior's party were Pope's intimate friends.
Such artful folds of sacred lawn ;
That love, with equal grief and pride,
Shall see the crime he strives to hide ;
And, softly drawing back the veil,
The god shall to his votaries tell
Each conscious tear, each blushing grace,
That deck'd dear Eloisa's face.
Happy the poet, blest the lays,
Which Buckingham has deign'd to praise !
Next, Dick, as youth and habit sways,
A hundred gambols Alma plays.
If, whilst a boy, Jack ran from school,
Fond of his hunting-horn and pole;
Though gout and age his speed detain,
Old John halloos his hounds again :
By his fire-side he starts the hare,
And turns her in his wicker chair:
His feet, however lame, you find,
Have got the better of his mind.
If, while the mind was in her leg,
The dance affected nimble Peg;
Old Madge, bewitch'd at sixty-one,
Calls for Green Sleeves, and Jumping Joan.
In public mask, or private ball,
From Lincoln's-inn, to Goldsmith's-hall,
All Christmas long away she trudges,
Trips it with prentices and judges:
In vain her children urge her stay;
And age or palsy bar the way.
But, if those images prevail
Which whilom did affect the tail,
She still renews the ancient scene,
Forgets the forty years between:
Awkwardly gay, and oddly merry,
Her scarf pale pink, her head-knot cherry;
O'er-heated with ideal rage,
She cheats her son, to wed her page.
If Alma, whilst the man was young,
Slipp'd up too soon into his tongue :
Pleas'd with his own fantastic skill,
He lets that weapon ne'er lie still.
On any point if you dispute,
Depend upon it, he'll confute:
Change sides, and you increase your pain,
For he'll confute you back again.
For one may speak with Tully's tongue,
Yet all the while be in the wrong.
And 'tis remarkable that they
Talk most, who have the least to say.
Your dainty speakers have the curse,
To plead bad causes down to worse:
As dames, who native beauty want,
Still uglier look, the more they paint.
Again: if in the female sex
Alma should on this member fix,
(A cruel and a desperate case,
From which Heaven shield my lovely lass!)
For evermore all care is vain,
That would bring Alma down again.
As, in habitual gout or stone,
The only thing that can be done,
Is to correct your drink and diet,
And keep the inward foe in quiet ;
So, if for any sins of ours
Or our forefathers, higher powers,
Severe though just, afflict our life
With that prime ill, a talking wife;
Till death shall bring the kind relief,
We must be patient, or be deaf.
You know a certain lady, Dick,
Who saw me when I last was sick :
She kindly talk'd, at least three hours,
Of plastic forms, and mental powers;
Describ'd our pre-existing station
Before this vile terrene creation;
And, lest I should be wearied, madam,
To cut things short, came down to Adam;
From whence, as fast as she was able,
She drowns the world, and builds up Babel:
Through Syria, Persia, Greece she goes,
And takes the Romans in the close.
But we'll descant on general nature,
This is a system, not a satire.
Turn we this globe; and let us see
How different nations disagree
In what we wear, or eat and drink ;
Nay, Dick, perhaps in what we think.
In water as you smell and taste
The soils through which it rose and past;
In Alma's manners you may read
The place where she was born and bred.
One people from their swaddling bands
Releas'd their infants' feet and hands:
Here Alma to these limbs was brought ;
And Sparta's offspring kick'd and fought.
Another taught their babes to talk,
Ere they could yet in go-carts walk:
There Alma settled in the tongue,
And orators from Athens
Observe but in these neighbouring lands
The different use of mouths and hands:
As men repos'd their various hopes,
In battles these, and those in tropes.
In Briton's isles, as Heylin notes,
The ladies trip in petticoats;
Which, for the honour of their nation,
They quit but on some great occasion.
Men there in breeches clad you view:
They claim that garment as their due.
In Turkey the reverse appears;
Long coats the haughty husband wears;
And greets his wife with angry speeches,
If she be seen without her breeches.
In our fantastic climes, the fair
With cleanly powder dry their hair:
And round their lovely breast and head
Fresh flowers their mingled odours shed.
Your nicer Hottentots think meet
With guts and tripe to deck their feet:
With downcast looks on Totta's legs
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