(The text and notes are from "The Poetical Works of John Trumbull” in two volumes, 1820.) THE PROGRESS OF DULNESS1 PART III

OR THE ADVENTURES OF

MISS HARRIET SIMPER

"Come hither, HARRIET, pretty Miss,
Come hither; give your aunt a kiss.
What, blushing? fye, hold up your head,
Full six years old and yet afraid!
With such a form, an air, a grace,
You're not ashamed to show your face!
Look like a lady-bold-my child!
Why ma'am, your HARRIET will be spoil'd.
What pity 'tis, a girl so sprightly
Should hang her head so unpolitely?
And sure there's nothing worth a rush in
That odd, unnatural trick of blushing;
It marks one ungenteelly bred,

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And shows there's mischief in her head. I've heard Dick Hairbrain prove from Paul,

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Eve never blush'd before the fall.
'Tis said indeed, in latter days,
It gain'd our grandmothers some praise;
Perhaps it suited well enough
With hoop and farthingale and ruff;
But this politer generation
Holds ruffs and blushes out of fashion.
"And what can mean that gown so odd?
You ought to dress her in the mode,
To teach her how to make a figure;
Or she'll be awkward when she's bigger,
And look as queer as Joan of Nokes,
And never rig like other folks;
Her clothes will trail, all fashion lost,
As if she hung them on a post,
And sit as awkwardly as Eve's
First pea-green petticoat of leaves.

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“And what can mean your simple whim here

To keep her poring on her primer?
'Tis quite enough for giris to know,
If she can read a billet-doux,
Or write a line you'd understand
Without a cypher of the hand.

1 Part I of the Progress of Dulness is entitled "On the Adventures of Tom Brainless"; Part II, "On the Life and Character of Dick Hairbrain." Both of these characters appear in Part III. These appeared, Part I, Aug., 1772; Part II, Jan., 1773; Part III, July, 1773.

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Why need she learn to write, or spell?
A pothook scrawl is just as well;
Might rank her with the better sort,
For 'tis the reigning mode at court.
And why should girls be learn'd or wise?
Books only serve to spoil their eyes.
The studious eye but faintly twinkles,
And reading paves the way to wrinkles.
In vain may learning fill the head full;
'Tis beauty that's the one thing needful;
Beauty, our sex's sole pretence,
The best receipt for female sense,
The charm that turns all words to witty,
And makes the silliest speeches pretty.
Ev'n folly borrows killing graces
From ruby lips and roseate faces.
Give airs and beauty to your daughter,
And sense and wit will follow after."
Thus round the infant Miss in state
The council of the ladies meet,
And gay in modern style and fashion
Prescribe their rules of education.
The mother once herself a toast,
Prays for her child the self-same post;
The father hates the toil and pother,
And leaves his daughters to their mother;
From whom her faults, that never vary,
May come by right hereditary,
Follies be multiplied with quickness,
And whims keep up the family likeness.
Ye parents, shall those forms so fair,
The graces might be proud to wear,
The charms those speaking eyes display,
Where passion sits in ev'ry ray,
Th' expressive glance, the air refined,
That sweet vivacity of mind,

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Be doom'd for life to folly's sway,
By trifles lur'd, to fops a prey?
Say, can ye think that forms so fine
Were made for nothing but to shine,
With lips of rose and cheeks of cherry,
Outgo the works of statuary,

And gain the prize of show, as victors,
O'er busts and effigies and pictures?
Can female sense no trophies raise,
Are dress and beauty all their praise,
And does no lover hope to find
An angel in his charmer's mind?
First from the dust our sex began,
But woman was refined from man;
Received again, with softer air,
The great Creator's forming care.
And shall it no attention claim
Their beauteous infant souls to frame?

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Shall half your precepts tend the while
Fair nature's lovely work to spoil,
The native innocence deface,

The glowing blush, the modest grace,
On follies fix their young desire,
To trifles bid their souls aspire,

Fill their gay heads with whims of fashion,

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And slight all other cultivation,
Let every useless, barren weed
Of foolish fancy run to seed,
And make their minds the receptacle
Of every thing that's false and fickle;
Where gay caprice with wanton air,
And vanity keep constant fair,
Where ribbons, laces, patches, puffs,
Caps, jewels, ruffles, tippets, muffs,
With gaudy whims of vain parade,
Croud each apartment of the head;
Where stands, display'd with costly pains,
The toyshop of coquettish brains,
And high-crown'd caps hang out the sign,
And beaux as customers throng in;
Whence sense is banish'd in disgrace,
Where wisdom dares not show her face;
Where the light head and vacant brain
Spoil all ideas they contain,

As th' air-pump kills in half a minute
Each living thing you put within it?
It must be so; by ancient rule
The fair are nursed in folly's school,
And all their education done

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Is none at all, or worse than none;
Whence still proceed in maid or wife,
The follies and the ills of life.
Learning is call'd our mental diet,
That serves the hungry mind to quiet,
That gives the genius fresh supplies,
Till souls grow up to common size:
But here, despising sense refined,
Gay trifles feed the youthful mind.
Chameleons thus, whose colours airy
As often as coquettes can vary,
Despise all dishes rich and rare,
And diet wholly on the air;
Think fogs blest eating, nothing finer,
And can on whirlwinds make a dinner;
And thronging all to feast together,
Fare daintily in blust'ring weather.

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Then most the fineries of dress,

Her thoughts, her wish and time possess; She values only to be gay,

And works to rig herself for play; Weaves scores of caps with diff'rent spires,

And all varieties of wires;

Gay ruffles varying just as flow'd
The tides and ebbings of the mode;
Bright flow'rs, and topknots waving high,
That float, like streamers in the sky; 100
Work'd catgut handkerchiefs, whose flaws
Display the neck, as well as gauze;
Or network aprons somewhat thinnish,
That cost but six weeks time to finish,
And yet so neat, as you must own
You could not buy for half a crown.
Perhaps in youth (for country fashion
Prescribed that mode of education,)
She wastes long months in still more
tawdry,

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And useless labours of embroid'ry;
With toil weaves up for chairs together,
Six buttons, quite as good as leather;
A set of curtains tapestry-work,
The figures frowning like the Turk;
A tentstitch picture, work of folly,
With portraits wrought of Dick and
Dolly ;

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A coat of arms, that mark'd her house,
Three owls rampant, the crest a goose;
Or shows in waxwork goodman Adam,
And serpent gay, gallanting madam,
A woful mimickry of Eden,
With fruit, that needs not be forbidden;
All useless works, that fill for beauties
Of time and sense their vast vacuities;
Of sense, which reading might bestow,
And time, whose worth they never know.
Now to some pop'lous city sent,
She comes back prouder than she went;
Few months in vain parade she spares,
Nor learns, but apes, politer airs;
So formal acts, with such a set air,
That country manners far were better.
This springs from want of just discerning,
As pedantry from want of learning;
And proves this maxim true to sight,
The half-genteel are least polite.

Yet still that active spark, the mind
Employment constantly will find,
And when on trifles most 'tis bent,
Is always found most diligent;

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For weighty works men show most sloth in, But labour hard at doing nothing,

A trade, that needs no deep concern,

Or long apprenticeship to learn,

To which mankind at first apply

As naturally as to cry,

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Till at the last their latest groan
Proclaims their idleness is done.
Good sense, like fruits, is rais'd by toil;
But follies sprout in ev'ry soil,
Nor culture, pains, nor planting need,
As moss and mushrooms have no seed.
Thus HARRIET, rising on the stage,
Learns all the arts, that please the age,
And studies well, as fits her station,
The trade and politics of fashion:
A judge of modes in silks and satins,
From tassels down to clogs and pattens;
A genius, that can calculate

When modes of dress are out of date, 220
Cast the nativity with ease

Of gowns, and sacks and negligees,
And tell, exact to half a minute,
What's out of fashion and what's in it;
And scanning all with curious eye,
Minutest faults in dresses spy;
(So in nice points of sight, a flea
Sees atoms better far than we;)
A patriot too, she greatly labours,

To spread her arts among her neighbours,

Holds correspondences to learn
What facts the female world concern,
To gain authentic state-reports
Of varied modes in distant courts,
The present state and swift decays
Of tuckers, handkerchiefs and stays,
The colour'd silk that beauty wraps,
And all the rise and fall of caps.
Then shines, a pattern to the fair,
Of mien, address and modish air,
Of every new, affected grace,
That plays the eye, or decks the face
The artful smile, that beauty warms,
And all th' hypocrisy of charms.

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On sunday, see the haughty maid
In all the glare of dress array'd,
Deck'd in her most fantastic gown,
Because a stranger's come to town.
Heedless at church she spends the day,
For homelier folks may serve to pray, 250
And for devotion those may go,
Who can have nothing else to do.
Beauties at church must spend their care
in

Far other work, than pious hearing;
They've beaux to conquer, bells to rival;
To make them serious were uncivil.
For, like the preacher, they each Sunday
Must do their whole week's work in one
day.

As though they meant to take by blows Th' opposing galleries of beaux.1

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1 Young people of different sexes used then sit in the opposite galleries,

Each man equipp'd on Sunday morn,
With psalm-book, shot and powder-horn;
And look'd in form, as all must grant,
Like th' ancient, true church militant;
Or fierce, like modern deep divines,
Who fight with quills, like porcupines.

Or let us turn the style and see
Our belles assembled o'er their tea;
Where folly sweetens ev'ry theme,
And scandal serves for sugar'd cream. 280

"And did you hear the news? (they cry)
The court wear caps full three feet high,
Built gay with wire, and at the end on't,
Red tassels streaming like a pendant.
Well sure, it must be vastly pretty;
'Tis all the fashion in the city.
And were you at the ball last night?
Well, Chloe look'd like any fright;
Her day is over for a toast;
She'd now do best to act a ghost.
You saw our Fanny; envy must own
She figures, since she came from Boston.
Good company improves one's air-
I think the troops were station'd there.
Poor Cœlia ventured to the place;
The small-pox quite has spoil'd her face,
A sad affair, we all confest:

But providence knows what is best.
Poor Dolly too, that writ the letter

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Of love to Dick; but Dick knew better; 300
A secret that; you'll not disclose it;
There's not a person living knows it.
Sylvia shone out, no peacock finer;
I wonder what the fops see in her.
Perhaps 'tis true what Harry maintains,
She mends on intimate acquaintance."

Hail British lands! to whom belongs
Unbounded privilege of tongues,
Blest gift of freedom, prized as rare
By all, but dearest to the fair;
From grandmother of loud renown,
Thro' long succession handed down,
Thence with affection kind and hearty,
Bequeath'd unlessen'd to poster'ty!
And all ye powers of slander, hail.
Who teach to censure and to rail!
By you, kind aids to prying eyes,
Minutest faults the fair one spies,

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So priests drive poets to the lurch By fulminations of the church, Mark in our title-page our crimes, Find heresies in double rhymes, Charge tropes with damnable opinion, And prove a metaphor, Arminian, Peep for our doctrines, as at windows, And pick out creeds of inuendoes.

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And now the conversation sporting From scandal turns to trying fortune. Their future luck the fair foresee In dreams, in cards, but most in tea. Each finds of love some future trophy In settlings left of tea, or coffee; There fate displays its book, she believes, And lovers swim in form of tea-leaves; Where oblong stalks she takes for beaux, And squares of leaves for billet-doux; Gay balls in parboil'd fragments rise, And specks for kisses greet her eyes.

So Roman augurs wont to pry In victim's hearts for prophecy, Sought from the future world advices, By lights and lungs of sacrifices, And read with eyes more sharp than wizards'

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Fails not to think herself the heroine; 370
For every glance, or smile, or grace,
She finds resemblance in her face,
Expects the world to fall before her,
And every fop she meets adore her.
Thus HARRIET reads, and reading really
Believes herself a young Pamela,
The high-wrought whim, the tender strain
Elate her mind and turn her brain:
Before her glass, with smiling grace,
She views the wonders of her face;
There stands in admiration moveless,
And hopes a Grandison, or Lovelace.2
Then shines she forth, and round her
hovers

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The powder'd swarm of bowing lovers;
By flames of love attracted thither,
Fops, scholars, dunces, cits, together.
No lamp exposed in nightly skies,
E'er gather'd such a swarm of flies;
Or flame in tube electric draws
Such thronging multitudes of straws. 390
(For I shall still take similes
From fire electric when I please.3)

With vast confusion swells the sound,
When all the coxcombs flutter round.
What undulation wide of bows!
What gentle oaths and am'rous vows!
What double entendres all so smart!
What sighs hot-piping from the heart!
What jealous leers! what angry brawls
To gain the lady's hand at balls!
What billet-doux, brimful of flame!
Acrostics lined with HARRIET'S name!
What compliments, o'er-strain'd with tell-
ing

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Sad lies of Venus and of Helen!
What wits half-crack'd with common-

places

On angels, goddesses and graces!
On fires of love what witty puns!
What similes of stars and suns!
What cringing, dancing, ogling, sighing,
What languishing for love, and dying! 410
For lovers of all things that breathe
Are most exposed to sudden death,
And many a swain much famed in rhymes
Hath died some hundred thousand times:
Yet though love oft their breath may
stifle,

'Tis sung it hurts them but a trifle;
The swain revives by equal wonder,
As snakes will join when cut asunder,

Richardson's novels were then in high request. Young misses were enraptured with the love-scenes, and beaux admired the character of Lovelace.

3 Certain small critics had triumphed on dis covering that the writer had several times drawn his similes from the phænomena of electricity, (Author's notes, 1820 Edition.)

And often murder'd still survives; No cat hath half so many lives.

4.20

While round the fair, the coxcombs throng,

With oaths, cards, billet-doux, and song,
She spread her charms and wish'd to gain
The heart of every simple swain;
To all with gay, alluring air,
She hid in smiles the fatal snare,
For sure that snare must fatal prove,
Where falsehood wears the form of love;
Full oft with pleasing transport hung,
On accents of each flattering tongue, 430
And found a pleasure most sincere
From each erect, attentive ear;

For pride was her's, that oft with ease
Despised the man she wish'd to please.
She loved the chace, but scorn'd the prey,
And fish'd for hearts to throw away;
Joy'd at the tale of piercing darts,
And tort'ring flames and pining hearts,
And pleased perused the billet-doux,
That said, "I die for love of you;"
Found conquest in each gallant's sighs
And blest the murders of her eyes.

So doctors live but by the dead,
And pray for plagues, as daily bread;
Thank providence for colds and fevers,
And hold consumptions special favors;
And think diseases kindly made,
As blest materials of their trade.

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The mask of folly on the face,
That awe, that robs our airs of ease,
And blunders, when it hopes to please;
For men of sense will always prove
The most forlorn of fools in love.
The fair esteem'd, admired, 'tis true,
And praised-'tis all coquettes can do.
And when deserving lovers came,
Believed her smiles and own'd their flame,
Her bosom thrill'd, with joy affected
T' increase the list, she had rejected;
While pleased to see her arts prevail,
To each she told the self-same tale.
She wish'd in truth they ne'er had seen her,
And feign'd what grief it oft had giv'n
her,

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And sad, of tender-hearted make,
Grieved they were ruined for her sake.
'Twas true, she own'd on recollection,
She'd shown them proofs of kind affec-
tion:

But they mistook her whole intent,
For friendship was the thing she meant.
She wonder'd how their hearts could
move 'em

So strangely as to think she'd love 'em;
She thought her purity above

The low and sensual flames of love; 500
And yet they made such sad ado,
She wish'd she could have loved them too.
She pitied them, and as a friend

She prized them more than all mankind,
And begg'd them not their hearts to vex,
Or hang themselves, or break their necks,
Told them 'twould make her life uneasy,
If they should run forlorn, or crazy;
Objects of love she could not deem 'em;
But did most marv'lously esteem 'em. 510
For 'tis esteem, coquettes dispense
Tow'rd learning, genius, worth and sense,
Sincere affection, truth refined,
And all the merit of the mind.

But love's the passion they experience
For gold, and dress, and gay appearance.
For ah! what magic charms and graces
Are found in golden suits of laces!
What going forth of hearts and souls
Tow'rd glare of gilded button-holes! 520
What lady's heart can stand its ground
'Gainst hats with glittering edging bound?
While vests and shoes and hose conspire,
And gloves and ruffles fan the fire,
And broadcloths, cut by tailor's arts,
Spread fatal nets for female hearts.

And oh, what charms more potent shine, Drawn from the dark Peruvian mine! What spells and talismans of Venus Are found in dollars, crowns and guineas!

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