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That then she mounts by just degrees
Up to the ancles, legs, and knees;
Next, as the sap of life does rise,
She lends her vigor to the thighs ;
And all these under-regions past,
She nestles somewhere near the waist;
Gives pain or pleasure, grief or laughter,
As we shall show at large hereafter.
Mature, if not improv'd by time,
Up to the heart she loves to climb;
From thence, compelld by craft and age,
She makes the head her latest stage.

“ From the feet upward to the head”-
“Pithy and short,” says Dick,“ proceed."
“ Dick, this is not an idle notion :
Observe the progress of the motion.
First, I demonstratively prove,
That feet were only made to move;
And legs desire to come and go,
For they have nothing else to do.

Hence, long before the child can crawl,
He learns to kick, and wince, and sprawl:
To hinder which, your midwise knows
To bind those parts extremely close ;
Lest Alma, newly enter'd in,
And stunnid at her own christening's din,
Fearful of future grief and pain,
Should silently sneak out again.
Full pileous seems young Alma's case ;
As in a luckless gamester's place,
She would not play, yet must not pass.

Again ; as she grows something stronger,
And master's feet are swath'd no longer,
If in the night too oft he kicks,
Or shows his locomotive tricks;
These first assaults fat Kate repays him;
When half asleep, she overlays him.

* Now mark, dear Richard, from the age
That children tread this worldly stage,
Broom-staff or poker they bestride, ,
And round the parlor love to ride;
Till thoughtful father's pious care
Provides his brood, next Smithfeld Fair,
With supplemental hobby-horses :
And happy be their infant courses!

“ Hence for some years they ne'er stand still:
Their legs, you see, direct their will;
From opening morn till selling sun,
Around the fields and woods they run;
They frisk, and dance, and leap, and play,
Nor heed what Freind or Snape can say.

• To her next stage as Alma flies,
And likes, as I have said, the thighs,
With sympathetic power she warms
Their good allies and friends, the arms;
While Betty dances on the green,
And Susan is at stool-ball seen;
While John for nine-pins does declare,
And Roger loves to pitch the bar:
Both legs and arms spontaneous move;
Which was the thing I meant to prove.

* Another motion now she makes :
O, need I name the seat she takes?
His thought quite chang'd the stripling finds;
The sport and race no more he minds;
Neglected Tray and pointer lie,
And covies unmolested fly.
Sudden the jocund plain he leaves,
And for the nyinph in secret grieves.

In dying accents he complains -
Of cruel fires, and raging pains.
The nymph too longs to be alone,
Leaves all the swains, and sighs for one.
The nymph is warm’d with young desire,
And seels, and dies lo quench his fire.
They meet each evening in the grove;
Their parley but augments their love :
So to the priest their case they tell:
He ties the knot; and all goes well.

“ But, O my Muse, just distance keep;
Thou art a maid, and must not peep.
In ninc months' time, the bodice loose,
And petticoats too short, disclose
That at this age the active mind
About the waist lies most confin'd;
And that young life and quickening sense
Spring from his influence darted thence
So from the middle of the world
The Sun's prolific rays are hurlid:
"Tis from that seat he darts those beams,
Which quicken Earth with genial flames.”

Dick, who thus long had passive sat,
Here strok'd his chin, and cock'd his hat;
Then slapp'd his hand upon the board,
And thus the youth put in his word.
"Love's advocates, sweet sir, would find him
A higher place than you assign'd him."

Loye's advocates! Dick, who are those ?"“ The poets, you may well suppose. I'm sorry, sir, you have discarded The men with whom till now you herded. Prose-men alone, for private ends, I thought, forsook their ancient friends. In cor stillavit, cries Lucretius ; If he may be allow'd to teach us. The self-same thing soft Ovid says, (A proper judge in such a case,) Horace's phrase is, lorrel jecur ; And happy was that curious speaker. Here Virgil 100 has plac'd this passion. What signifies too long quotation ? In ode and epic, plain the case is, That Love holds one of these two places.”

“ Dick, without passion or reflection, I'll straight demolish this objection.

“ Firsi, poeis, all the world agrees,
Write half to profit, half to please.
Matter and figure they produce;
For garnish this, and that for use :
And in the structure of their seasts,
They seek to feed and please their guests :
But one may balk this good intent,
And take things otherwise than meant.
Thus, if you dine with my lord-mayor,
Roast-beef and venison is your fare;
Thence you proceed 10 swan and bustard,
And persevere in tari and custard :
But tulip-leaves and lemon-peel
Help only to adorn the meal;
And painted flags, superb and neal,
Proclaim you welcome to the treat.
The man of sense his meat devours,
But only smells the peel and flowers;
And he must be an idle dreamer,
Who leaves the pie, and gnaws the streamer.

That Cupid goes with bow and arrows,
And Venus keeps her coach and sparrows,
Is all but emblem, to acquaint one,
The son is sharp, the mother wanton.

64

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CANTO I.
ALMA.

Such images have sometimes shown

Keep time with their own trumpet's measure, A mystic sense, but oftener none.

And yield them most excessive pleasure. For who conceives, what bards devise,

“Now, if 'tis chiefly in the heart That Heaven is plac'd in Celia's eyes;

That Courage does itself exert, Or where's the sense, direct and moral,

'Twill be prodigious hard to prove That teeth are pearl, or lips are coral ?

That this is eke the throne of Love. "Your Horace owns, he various writ,

Would Nature make one place the seat As wild or sober maggots bit:

Of fond desire, and fell debate ? And, where too much the poet ranted,

Must people only take delight in The sage philosopher recanted.

Those hours, when they are tir'd of fighting? His grave Epistles may disprove

And has no man, but who has kill'd The wanton Odes he made to Love.

A father, right to get a child ? “ Lucretius keeps a mighty pother

These notions then I think but idle ; With Cupid and his fancied mother;

And Love shall still possess the middle. Calls her great queen of Earth and Air,

“This truth more plainly to discover, Declares that winds and seas obey her;

Suppose your hero were a lover. And, while her honor he rehearses,

Though he before had gall and rage, Implores her to inspire his verses.

Which death or conquest must assuage, “Yet, free from this poetic madness,

He grows dispirited and low; Next page he says, in sober sadness,

He hates the fight, and shuns the foe. That she and all her fellow-gods

“In scornful sloth Achilles slept, Sit idling in their high abodes,

And for his wench, like Tall-boy, wept: Regardless of this world below,

Nor would return to war and slaughter, Our health or hanging, weal or woe;

Till they brought back the parson's daughter. Nor once disturb their heavenly spirits

" Antonius fled from Actium's coast, With Scapin's cheats, or Caesar's merits.

Augustus pressing, Asia lost : “Nor e'er can Latin poets prove

His sails by Cupid's hands unfurld, Where lies the real seat of Love.

To keep the fair, he gave the world. Jecur they burn, and cor they pierce,

Edward our Fourth, rever'd and crown'd, As either best supplies their verse;

Vigorous in youth, in arms renown'd, And, if folks ask the reason for't,

While England's voice, and Warwick's care, Say, one was long, and t'other short.

Design'd him Gallia's beauteous heir, Thus, I presume, the British Muse

Chang'd peace and power for rage and wars, May take the freedom strangers use.

Only to dry one widow's tearsIn prose our property is greater :

“France's fourth Henry we may see Why should it then be less in metre?

A servant to the fair d'Estree; If Cupid throws a single dart,

When, quitting Coutras' prosperous field, We make him wound the lover's heart :

And Fortune taught at length to yield, But, if he takes his bow and quiver,

He from his guards and midnight tent 'Tis sure he must transfix the liver :

Disguis'd o'er hills and valleys went, For rhyme with reason may dispense,

To wanton with the sprightly dame, And sound has right to govern sense.

And in his pleasure lost his fame. “But let your friends in verse suppose,

“Bold is the critic who dares prove What ne'er shall be allow'd in prose;

These heroes were no friends to love ; Anatomists can make it clear,

And bolder he, who dares aver The Liver minds his own affair ;

That they were enemies to war. Kindly supplies our public uses,

Yet, when their thought should, now or never And parts and strains the vital juices;

Have rais'd their heart, or fir'd their liver,
Still lays some useful bile aside,

Fond Alma to those parts was gone,
To tinge the chyle's insipid tide :

Which Love more justly calls his own.
Else we should want both gibe and satire ;

“Examples I could cite you more;
And all be burst with pure good-nature.

But be contented with these four :
Now gall is bitter with a witness,

For when one's proofs are aptly chosen,
And love is all delight and sweetness.

Four are as valid as four dozen.
My logic then has lost its aim,

One came from Greece, and one from Rome;
If sweet and bitter be the same :

The other two grew nearer home.
And he, methinks, is no great scholar,

For some in ancient books delight;
Who can mistake desire for choler.

Others prefer what moderns write :
“The like may of the heart be said;

Now I should be extremely loth,
Courage and terror there are bred.

Not to be thought expert in both.”
All those, whose hearts are loose and low,
Start, if they hear but the tattoo:
And mighty physical their fear is;

CANTO II.
For, soon as noise of combat near is,
Their heart, descending to their breeches,

“But shall we take the Muse abroad Must give their stomach cruel twitches.

To drop her idly on the road ?
But heroes, who o'ercome or die,

And leave our subject in the middle,
Have their hearts hung extremely high,

As Butler did his Bear and Fiddle ?
The strings of which, in battle's heat,

Yet he, consummate master, knew,
Against their very corslets beat;

When to recede, and where pursue :
33

W 2

250

PRIOR.

CANTO II.

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His noble negligences teach
What others' toils despair to reach.
He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope,
And balances your fear and hope:
If, after some distinguish'd leap,
He drops his pole, and seems to slip,
Straight gathering all his active strength,
He rises higher half his length.
With wonder you approve his sleight,
And owe your pleasure to your fright:
But like poor Andrew I advance,
False mimic of my master's dance.
Around the cord awhile I sprawl,
And thence, though low, in earnest fall.

“My preface tells you, I digress'd : He's half absolv'd who has confess'd."

“I like," quoth Dick, “your simile,
And, in return, take two from me.
As masters in the clare obscure
With various light your eyes allure,
A flaming yellow here they spread,
Draw off in blue, or charge in red;
Yet, from these colors oddly mix'd,
Your sight upon the whole is fix'd :
Or as, again, your courtly dames
(Whose clothes returning birth-day claims)
By arts improve the stuffs they vary,
And things are best as most contrary ;
The gown, with stiff embroidery shining,
Looks charming with a slighter lining ;
The out-, if Indian figure stain,
The in-side must be rich and plain.
So you great authors have thought fit
To make digression temper wit:
When arguments too fiercely glare,
You calm them with a milder air:
To break their points, you turn their force,
And furbelow the plain discourse."

“ Richard," quoth Mat," these words of thine
Speak something sly, and something fine :
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may’st praise or blame.

“ As people marry now, and settle,
Fierce Love abates his usual mettle:
Worldly desires, and household cares,
Disturb the godhead's soft affairs:
So now, as health or temper changes,
In larger compass Alma ranges.
This day below, the next above,
As light or solid whimsies move.
So merchant has his house in town,
And country-seat near Bansted-down:
From one he dates his foreign letters,
Sends out his goods, and duns his debtors :
In t'other, at his hours of leisure,
He smokes his pipe, and takes his pleasure.

“And now your matrimonial Cupid,
Lash'd on by Time, grows tir'd and stupid.
For story and experience tell us
That man grows old, and woman jealous.
Both would their little ends secure;
He sighs for freedom, she for power:
His wishes tend abroad to roam,
And hers to domineer at home.
Thus passion flags by slow degrees,
And, ruffled more, delighted less,
The busy mind does seldom go
To those once-charming seats below;
But, in the breast encamp'd, prepares
For well-bred feints and future wars.

The man suspects his lady's crying
(When he last autumn lay a-dying)
Was but to gain him to appoint her
By codicil a larger jointure.
The woman finds it all a trick,
That he could swoon when she was sick;
And knows, that in that grief he reckon'd
On black-ey'd Susan for his second.

“ Thus having strove some tedious years
With feign'd desires, and real fears ;
And, tir'd with answers and replies
Of John affirms, and Martha lies,
Leaving this endless altercation,
The Mind affects a higher station.

“Poltis, that generous king of Thrace, I think, was in this very case. All Asia now was by the ears, And gods beat up for volunteers To Greece and Troy; while Poltis sat In quiet governing his state. * And whence,' said the pacific king, • Does all this noise and discord spring ?' Why, Paris took Atrides' wife.'With ease I could compose this strife : The injur'd hero should not lose, Nor the young lover want a spouse. But Helen chang'd her first condition, Without her husband's just permission. What from the dame can Paris hope? She

may as well from him elope. Again, how can her old good man, With honor, take her back again? From hence I logically gather, The woman cannot live with either. Now, I have two right honest wives, For whose possession no man strives : One to Atrides I will send, And t other to my Trojan friend. Each prince shall thus with honor have What both so warmly seem to crave : The wrath of gods and man shall cease, And Poltis live and die in peace.'

“ Dick, if this story pleaseth thee, Pray thank Dan Pope, who told it me.

“Howe'er swift Alma's flight may vary, (Take this by way of corollary) Some limbs she finds the very same, In place, in dignity, in name : These dwell at such convenient distance, That each may give his friend assistance. Thus he who runs or dances begs The equal vigor of two legs ; So much to both does Alma trust, She ne'er regards which goes the first. Teague could make neither of them stay, When with himself he ran away. The man who struggles in the fight, Fatigues left arm as well as right; For, whilst one hand exalts the blow, And on the earth extends the foe, T'other would take it-wondrous ill, If in your pocket it lay still. And, when you shoot, and shut one eye, You cannot think he would deny To lend the other friendly aid, Or wink as coward, and afraid. No, sir; whilst he withdraws his flame, His comrade takes the surer aim : One moment if his beams recede, As soon as e'er the bird is dead,

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Opening again, he lays his claim

Her tallies useless lie, and idle, To half the profit, half the fame,

If plac'd exactly in the middle : And helps to pocket up the game.

But, forc'd from this unactive state 'Tis thus one tradesman slips away,

By virtue of some casual weight, To give his partner fairer play.

On either side you hear them clatter, "Some limbs again, in bulk or stature

And judge of right and left hand matter. Unlike, and not akin by nature,

“Now, Richard, this coercive force, In concert act, like modern friends,

Without your choice, must take its course ; Because one serves the other's ends.

Great kings to wars are pointed forth, The arm thus waits upon the heart,

Like loaded needles to the north. So quick to take the bully's part,

And thou and I, by power unseen, That one, though warm, decides more slow Are barely passive, and suck'd-in Than t'other executes the blow.

To Henault's vaults, or Celia's chamber, A stander-by may chance to have it,

As straw and paper are by amber. Ere Hack himself perceives he gave it.

If we sit down to play or set, “ The amorous eyes thus always go

(Suppose at ombre or basset) A-strolling for their friends below;

Let people call us cheats or fools, For, long before the squire and dame

Our cards and we are equal tools. Have tête-à-tête reliev'd their flame,

We sure in vain the cards condemn: Ere visits yet are brought about,

Ourselves both cut and shuffled them. The eye by sympathy looks out,

In vain on Fortune's aid rely: Knows Florimel, and longs to meet her,

She only is a stander-by. And, if he sees, is sure to greet her,

Poor men! poor papers! we and they Though at sash-window, on the stairs,

Do some impulsive force obey : At court, nay (authors say) at prayers.

And are but play'd with—do not play. “The funeral of some valiant knight

But space and matter we should blame; May give this thing its proper light.

They palm'd the trick that lost the game. View his two gauntlets; these declare

“Thus, to save further contradiction That both his hands were us’d to war.

Against what you may think but fiction, And from his two gilt spurs 'tis learn’d

I for attraction, Dick, declare : His feet were equally concern'd.

Deny it those bold men that dare. But have you not, with thought, beheld

As well your motion, as your thought, The sword hang dangling o'er the shield ? Is all by hidden impulse wrought : Which shows the breast, that plate was us'd to, Ev'n saying that you think or walk, Had an ally right arm to trust to:

How like a country squire you talk! And, by the peep-holes in his crest,

“ Mark then ;

-Where fancy, or desire, Is it not virtually confest,

Collects the beams of vital fire ; That there his eyes took distant aim,

Into that limb fair Alma slides, And glanc'd respect to that bright dame,

And there, pro tempore, resides. In whose delight his hope he center'd,

She dwells in Nicolini's tongue, And for whose glove his life was ventur'd ? When Pyrrhus chants the heavenly song. “Objections to my general system

When Pedro does the lute command, May rise, perhaps; and I have mist them ; She guides the cunning artist's hand. But I can call to my assistance

Through Macer's gullet she runs down, Proximity (mark that!) and distance;

When the vile glutton dines alone. Can prove, that all things, on occasion,

And, void of modesty and thought, Love union, and desire adhesion;

She follows Bibo's endless draught. That Alma merely is a scale,

Through the soft sex again she ranges, And motives, like the weights, prevail.

As youth, caprice, or fashion, changes. If neither side turn down nor up,

Fair Alma, careless and serene, With loss or gain, with fear or hope,

In Fanny's sprightly eyes is seen; The balance always would hang even,

While they diffuse their infant beams, Like Mab'met's tomb, 'twixt Earth and Heaven. Themselves not conscious of their flames “This, Richard, is a curious case :

Again fair Alma sits confest Suppose your eyes sent equal rays

On Florimel's experter breast ; Upon two distant pots of ale,

When she the rising sigh constrains, Not knowing which was mild or stale :

And, by concealing, speaks her pains. In this sad state your doubtful choice

In Cynthia's neck fair Alma glows, Would never have the casting voice ;

When the vain thing her jewels shows : Which best or worst you could not think, When Jenny's stays are newly lac'd, And die you must for want of drink;

Fair Alma plays about her waist : Unless some chance inclines your sight,

And when the swelling hoop sustains Setting one pot in fairer light;

The rich brocade, fair Alma deigns Then you prefer or A, or B,

Into that lower space to enter, As lines and angles best agree:

Of the large round herself the centre. Your sense resolv'd impels your will:

“ Again: that single limb or feature, She guides your hand-s0 drink your fill.

(Such is the cogent force of Nature,) "Have you not seen a baker's maid

Which most did Alma's passion move Between two equal panniers sway'd ?

In the first object of her love,

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For ever will be found confest,
And printed on the amorous breast.

“ 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 colors; 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
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 Goldsmiths'-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 whenco, 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 sprung,

“Observe but in these neighboring lands
The different use of mouths and hands;
As men repos’d their various hopes,
In battles these, and those in tropes.

“ In Britain's isles, as Heylin notes,
The ladies trip in petticoats ;
Which, for the honor 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 odors shed.
Your nicer Hottentots think meet
With guts and tripe to deck their feet :
With downcast looks on Totta's legs
The ogling youth most humbly begs
She would not from his hopes remove
At once his breakfast and his love :
And, if the skittish nymph should fly,
He in a double sense must die.

“We simple toasters take delight To see our women's teeth look white,

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