« ПретходнаНастави »
upon the Stage. — Preserved by MACROBIUS.
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. A TALE.
SECLUDED from domestic strife, So with decorum all things carried ; Jack Book-worm led a college life; Miss frowned and blushed, and then was A fellowship at twenty-five
--married. Made him the happiest man alive;
Need we expose to vulgar sight He drank his glass, and cracked his joke, The raptures of the bridal night ? And freshmen wondered as he spoke. Need we intrude on hallowed ground,
Such pleasures, unalloyed with care, Or draw the curtains closed around? Could any accident impair?
Let it suffice, that each had charms : Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix He clasped a goddess in his arms; Our swain, arrived at thirty-six
And, though she felt his usage rough, O! had the archer ne'er come down Yet in a man 'twas well enough. To ravage in a country town !
The honey-moon like lightning flew; Or Flavia been content to stop
The second brought its transports too ; At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop. A third, a fourth, were not amiss; O, had her eyes forgot to blaze !
The fifth was friendship mixed with bliss: Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze ;
But, when a twelvemonth passed away, 0! -But let exclamations cease, Jack found his goddess made of clay; Her presence banished all his peace. Found half the charms that decked her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace : Now to perplex the ravelled noose,
Skilled in no other arts was she, Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power And, just as humour rose or fell,
Withers the beauty's transient flowerBy turns a slattern or a belle.
Lo! the small pox, whose horrid glare 'Tis true she dressed with modern grace,
Levelled its terrors at the fair; Half naked at a ball or race;
And, rifling every youthful grace, But when at home, at board or bed, Left but the remnant of a face. Five greasy night-caps wrapped her head. The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Could so much beauty condescend Reflected now a perfect fright; To be a dull domestic friend?
Each former art she vainly tries Could any curtain lectures bring
To bring back lustre to her eyes; To decency so fine a thing?
In vain she tries her paste and creams, In short, by night 'twas fits or fretting;
To smooth her skin or hide its seams; By day 'twas ga lding or coquetting. Her country beaux and city cousins, Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens ; Of powdered coxcombs at her levy : The 'squire himself was seen to yield, The’squire and captain took their stations, And even the captain quit the field. And twenty other near relations :
Poor madam, now condemned to hack Jack sucked his pipe and often broke The rest of life with anxious Jack, A sigh in suffocating smoke ;
Perceiving others fairly flown, While all their hours were passed between Attempted pleasing him alone. Insulting repartee or spleen.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold Thus as her faults each day were known, Her present face surpass the old : He thinks her features coarser grown ; With modesty her cheeks are dyed ; He fancies every vice she shows
Humility displaces pride ;
A person ever neatly clean:
She learns good-nature every day :
A NEW SIMILE. IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.
LONG had I sought in vain to find
Imprimis, pray observe his hat, A likeness for the scribbling kind; Wings upon either side-mark that. The modern scribbling kind, who write Well! what is it from thence we gather? In wit, and sense, and nature's spite ; Why, these denote a brain of feather. Till reading, I forget what day on, A brain of feather! very right, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, With wit that's flighty, learning light ; I think I met with something there Such as to modern bard's decreed; To suit my purpose to a hair:
A just comparison,--proceed. But let us not proceed too furious,
In the next place, his feet peruse, First please to turn to God Mercurius ! Wings grow again from both his shves; You'll find him pictured at full length Designed, no doubt, their part to bear, In book the second, page the tenth : And wast his godship through the air : The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And here my simile unites ; And now proceed we to our simile. For in the modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Now to apply begin we then :-
Denote the rage with which he writes ;
And here my simile almost tript,
DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER.
WHERE the Red Lion, flaring o'er the way,
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
GOUD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song ;
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
Around from all the neighbouring streets To comfort friends and foes;
The wondering neighbours ran, The naked every day he clad,
And swore the dog had lost his wits, When he put on his clothes.
To bite so good a man. And in that town a dog was found, The wound it seemed both sore and sad As many dogs there be,
To every Christian eye ; Both mongrel, puppy, whe!p, and hound, And while they swore the dog was mad, And curs of low degree.
They swore the man would die. This dog and man at first were friends; But soon a wonder came to light, But when a pique began,
That showed the rogues they lied; The dog, to gain some private ends, The man recovered of the bite, Went mad, and bit the man.
The dog it was that died. .
STANZAS. ON WOMAN.
When lovely Woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom—is, to die.
THE GIFT. TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.
IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, Dear mercenary beauty,
My rivals give—and let 'em ; What annual offering shall I make If gems, or gold, impart a joy, Expressive of my duty ?
I'll give them—when I get 'em. My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
I'll give—but not the full-blown rose, Should I at once deliver,
Or rose-bud more in fashion ;
A transitory passion.
Not less sincere than civil :
I'll give thee—to the devil.
EPILOGUE TO “ THE SISTER."
SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY.
WHAT? five long acts-and all to make us wiser !
[To Boxes, Pit, and Galliry.