Category Archives: Poems

Mary Leapor, “The Fox and the Hen. A Fable”

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MARY LEAPOR

“The Fox and the Hen. A Fable”

 

‘Twas on a fair and healthy Plain,
There liv’d a poor but honest Swain,
Had to his Lot a little Ground,
Defended by a quick-set Mound:
‘Twas there he milk’d his brindled Kine,                               5
And there he fed his harmless Swine:
His Pigeons flutter’d to and fro,
And bask’d his Poultry in a Row:
Much we might say of each of these,
As how his Pigs in Consort wheeze;                                      10
How the sweet Hay his Heifers chew,
And how the Pigeons softly coo:
But we shall wave this motley Strain,
And keep to one that’s short and plain:
Nor paint the Dunghill’s feather’d King,                               15
For of the Hen we mean to sing.

A Hen there was, a strange one too,
Cou’d sing (believe me, it is true)
Or rather (as you may persume)
Wou’d prate and cackle in a Tune:                                         20
This quickly spread the Pullet’s Fame,
And Birds and Beasts together came:
All mixt in one promiscuous Throng,
To visit Partlet and her Song.
It chanc’d there came amongst the Crew,                             25
Of witty Foxes not a few:
But one more smart than all the rest,
His serious Neighbour thus addrest:
“What think you of this Partlet here?
‘Tis true her Voice is pretty clear:                                            30
Yet without pausing I can tell,
In what much more she wou’d excel:
Methinks she’d eat exceeding well.”
This heard the list’ning Hen, as she
Sat perch’d upon a Maple-tree.                                               35

The shrewd Proposal gall’d her Pride,
And thus to Reynard she reply’d:
“Sir , you’re extremely right I vow,
But how will you come at me now?
You dare not mount this lofty Tree,                                        40
So there I’m pretty safe, you see.
From long ago, (or Record lies)
You Foxes have been counted wise:
But sure this Story don’t agree
With your Device of eating me.                                               45
For you, Dame Fortune still intends
Some coarser Food than singing Hens:
Besides e’er you can reach so high.
Remember you must learn to fly.

I own ‘tis but a scurvy way,
You have as yet to seize your Prey,                                       50
By sculking from the Beams of Light,
And robbing Hen-roosts in the Night:
Yet you must keep this vulgar Trade
Of thieving till your Wings are made.

Had I the keeping of you tho’,                                        55
I’d make your subtle Worship know,
We Chickens are your Betters due,
Not fatted up for such as you:
Shut up in Cub with rusty Chain,
I’d make you lick your Lips in vain:                                        60
And take a special Care, be sure,
No Pullet shou’d come near your Door:
But try if you cou’d feed or no,
Upon a Kite or Carrion Crow.”
Here ceas’d the Hen. The baffl’d Beast                                 65
March’d off without his promis’d Feast.

NOTES:

4 quick-set Mound Likely a raised boundary “formed of living plants, esp. thorny ones such as hawthorne” (OED).

15 the Dunghill’s feather’d King A rooster, or “cock.”

21 Pullet “A young domestic hen” (OED).

23 Throng “A large densely packed gathering of people or animals” (OED).

24 Partlet “A name traditionally applied to a hen” (OED).

37 Reynard “A proper name applied traditionally (chiefly in literature) to a fox” (OED).

59 Cub “A stall, pen, or shed” for farm animals (OED).

64 Kite “A bird of prey” (OED).

SOURCE: Poems Upon Several Occasions (London, 1748), pp. 97-100. [Google Books]

Edited by Josh Hernandez

 

Mary Barber, “Written for a Gentlewoman in Distress. To her Grace ADELIDA, Dutchess of Shrewsbury”

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[MARY BARBER]

“Written for a Gentlewoman in Distress. To her Grace ADELIDA, Dutchess of Shrewsbury”

Might I inquire the Reasons of my Fate,
Or with my Maker dare expostulate;
Did I, in prosp’rous Days, despise the Poor,
Or drive the friendless Stranger from my Door?
Was not my Soul pour’d out for the Distress’d?                          5
Did I not vindicate the Poor oppress’d?
Did not the Orphan’s Cry with me prevail?
Did I not weep the Woes I could not heal?
Why then, Thou gracious, Thou all-pow’rful God,
Why do I feel th’ Oppressor’s Iron Rod?                                         10
Why thus the Scorners cruel Taunts endure,
Who basely fret the Wounds, they will not cure?
O Thou, whose Mercy does to All extend,
Say, shall my Sorrows never, never, end?
Let not my Tears for ever, fruitless, flow;                                     15
Commiserate a Wretch, o’erwhelm’d with Woe;
No longer let Distress my Bosom tear:
O shield me from the Horrors of Despair!

Forgive me, Madam, that I thus impart
The Throbs, the Anguish, of a breaking Heart.                            20
Oft, when my weary’d Eyes can weep no more,
To sooth my Woes, I read your Letters o’er.
Goodness, and Wit, and Humour, there I find;
And view with Joy those Pictures of your Mind;
With Pleasure on the lov’d Resemblance gaze,                            25
Till peaceful Slumbers on my Eye-lids seize.
Then, then, Imagination glads my Sight
With transient Images of past Delight;
My aking Heart of ev’ry Care beguiles;
Then TALBOT lives, and ADELIDA smiles.                                       30

Delightful Forms! why will you fleet away,
And leave me to the Terrors of the Day?
In vain from Reason I expect Relief;
For sad Reflection doubles ev’ry Grief.
Some of my Friends in Death’s cold Arms I see;                            35
Others, tho, living, yet are dead to me?
Of Friends, and Children both, I am bereft,
And soon must lose the only Blessing left;
A Husband form’d for Tenderness and Truth,
The lov’d, the kind Companion of my Youth;                                  40
With him, thro’ various Storms of Fate I pass’d;
Relentless Fate!—And must we part at last?
O King of Terrors, I invoke thy Pow’r;
Oh! stand between me and that dreadful Hour;
From that sad Hour thy wretched Suppliant save;                         45
Oh! shield me from it!—Hide me in the Grave!

NOTES:

Title ADELIDA, Dutchess of Shrewsbury Adelhilda Talbot (née Palleotti) (1660-1726), married Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, in 1705.

2 expostulate “To argue or debate” (OED).

10 Iron Rod “A symbol of power or tyranny” (OED).

16 Wretch “A miserable, unhappy, or unfortunate person” (OED).

30 TALBOT Charles Talbot, Duke and twelfth Earl of Shrewsbury (1660-1718). English statesman and leading figure in the Glorious Revolution, in support of William and Mary.  Also played a key role in the “peaceful succession” of George I in 1714 (Britannica).

43 King of Terrors “Death personified” (OED).

45 Suppliant “A person who makes a humble or earnest plea to another, especially to a person in power or authority” (OED).

SOURCE: Mary Barber, Poems on Several Occasions (London,1735), pp. 51-53. [Google Books]

Edited by Madelyn Yukich

Laurence Whyte, “The Inchantment. A Tale”

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LAURENCE WHYTE

“The Inchantment. A Tale”

In nova sert animus mutatas dicere Formas
Corpora.                                                               Ovid.        

‘Tis thine, O Muse! to sing or set a Song,
To spin a Tale, to make it short or long,
To give a Flow of Thoughts, with Numbers sweet,
That Sense and Metre in each stanza meet,
And from the Chaos of Imaginations,                                                5
To range Ideas in their proper stations.
Lo! here is Matter void of Spleen or Gall,
With all the Humours, innocent as Paul,
Who by his Stars, alas! was used so scurvy,
To be inchanted and turned topsy turvy,                                          10
Who, metamorphos’d, flew away astonish’d;
Then stood corrected, lectur’d, and admonish’d,
Be thou, O Muse! propitious to our Tale,
To help us out, when Wit and Humour fail.
Two Mendicants of late, with open Palms,                                  15
Came to a Pastry school to seek for Alms;
The Elder was a Graduate in the Trade,
The Younger was as bashful as a Maid,
But strong enough to bear a heavy Sack,
To lift and toss it on his humble Back;                                                20
Was sent abroad a Novice with his Brother,
For they must learn the Trade from one another.
The Elder on the threshold fixt his Toes,
And thus harangu’d the Ladies thro’ the Nose!
“Can you afford us Flour, Meal, or Paste,                                             25
Which you so often throw away and waste,
The welfare of your Souls be your Concern,
And Charity’s a Lesson you shou’d learn.”
Bless us, O Lord! Quoth they, pray who is that,
That comes to beg, new clad, so sleek and fat?                                 30
For by his Voice it shou’d be F—r Paul,
Not he indeed says one, no not at all,
For he’s a shotten Herring, thin and meagre,
The next degree in Colour to a Neagre,
Or something like it, of Mollotto Hue,                                                   35
Down right Egyptian, or a wand’ring Jew.
Quoth he, “you’re not mistaken in the Man,
He did, some Years ago, look thin and wan,
By too long fasting, watching, Midnight Pray’rs,
By Pilgrimage, and Study, many Years;                                                  40
Old Age at length got him a writ of Ease,
From these hard Duties, in declining Days,
Now he’s grown Young, ‘tis well you see him thrive,
But to St. F—s, pray what will you give,
’Tis true we’re glad to see you plump and full,                                    45
But how can you, from Kids, or Goats get Wool,
’Tis strange that you shou’d wander from your Road,
Who has been us’d so long to beg abroad,
If on that Errand now you come to crave,
Instead of Pence, we’ll give you what we have,                                   50
And though we cannot fill a Sack or Sieve,
Our flour in handfuls thus we freely give.”
The Elder they attack’d in front and rear,
The poor young Novice comes in for his Share,
Both were half choak’d and blinded in the strife,                               55
The coal black Wig was powder’d to the Life.
No Millers whiter, all from Head to Toe,
Nor did they know which way to turn or go;
Amaz’d a while, and mute as any Post,
They stood like Statues, gastly as a Ghost,                                            60
When they recover’d from that silent Trance,
Paul shook his Head–“I have it all at once!
’Tis all Inchantment,—-all we see are Fairies,
Or else they cou’d not not play such wild Fegaries,
There! there! you see the little Fairy Queen,                                        65
With golden Locks, her Gown and Mantle green,
Dress’d in her Silks—-a Vengance light upon her,
The rest you see, are Nymphs, her Maids of Honour,
Dress’d up with Ribbons all so prim and gay,
Satan avoid!—-then touch them not I say,                                          70
We must not handle any Fairy Treasure,
Lest we incur St. F—-s his Displeasure,
For punishment he suffer’d us to stray,
And left those Imps to cross us in our Way,
Too sure I am, they’re not of human kind,                                          75
That cou’d by Magick Powder strike us blind.”
At length they groap’d, and scrambl’d from the Door,
Leaving behind,—their Blessings to be sure,
The Nymphs pursu’d and drudg’d them in their Flight,
And were so kind t’escorte them out of Sight,                                      80
They sent them off well roasted, and well basted,
When all their Ammunition was quite wasted,
When they beheld each other in his Plight,
And saw their Colour change from Grey to white,
They bless’d themselves, and thrice each other blest,                        85
And each, with lifted Eyes, thrice knock’d his Breast.
Quoth Paul, “I tremble lest that where we stand
Is still within the Bounds of Fairy Land,
Our Friends at home will scarce believe this Story,
But must allow it was our Purgatory,                                                     90
If they should say, ‘twas all a dream or Fancy,
Then by this Hand—-I’ll swear ‘twas Necromancy,
’Tis Satan’s Work,—-all Sorcery indeed!
From his Illusions let us fly with Speed.”
No yellow Dragoon from the Boyn cou’d run,                               95
So fast as these two Mendicants have done,
Until they got within the Convent Gate,
And all their strange Adventures did relate,
Whate’er was added, nothing was diminish’d,
For ev’ry Tale that travels is replenish’d.                                               100
To whom the Gu—n, laughing in his Sleeve,
“You don’t belong to Adam nor to E—-,
Can you expect to have admittance here,
This is no Colour for a Cordelier,
Now by that Hand, you on your Body bear,                                         105
(That favourite Oath which you so often swear,)
In Dom—k’s Livr’y here you shall not stay,
Go forth to B—street, without more Delay,
Not stand one Flash of Powder, without Ball,
You and that Novice have disgrac’d us all;                                            110
As for the Tale which you relate re vera,
’Tis all extracted from your own Chimera,
I hope it varies from the Truth a little,
But sure I am, it has not lost one Tittle.
Too long indeed to be exactly true,                                                       115
If so it is the better still for you;
There are such Things we call Deceptio Visus,
That doth sometimes deceive us, and surprize us,
Our Senses never are to be our Guide,
While Faith and Reason over them preside,                                         120
And if I must with you philosophize,
We are not always to believe our Eyes;
Some Men we find are govern’d by the Moon,
They seldom thrive, but often are undone,
Sure some unlucky Planet rul’d this Day,                                              125
Caus’d you to wander, and to run astray,
What Spirit drove you to those Fairy dances,
To change your Habit and forsake St. F—-s?”
What brought you there unless you were besotted,
’Twas well you were not pickl’d, bon’d or potted;                                 130
I wish they had anatomiz’d you there,
To string you up, as Geese and Wood-Cocks are;
Sure in your Looks, they cou’d not be mistaken,
Old Carron was not fit for Brawn, or Bacon,
You cou’d not bear being sous’d, or well preserv’d,                           135
To be dissected, collar’d up, or carv’d;
What can we say, when we sum up the whole,
They cou’d make nothing of you, Fish or Fowl;
For in the Battle you made no resistance,
And in your Flight you hardly sav’d your Distance,                              140
Then to conclude, we may with Reason say,
You’re neither fit to fight or run away,
Now, to your Cells retire, to fast and pray.

NOTES:

Epigraph “My mind inclines me to tell of bodies changed into new forms;” the opening lines of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

7 Spleen “To regard with anger;” Gall “Bitterness” (OED).

8 Humours “In ancient and medieval physiology and medicine: any of four fluids of the body (blood, phlegm, choler, and so-called melancholy or black bile) believed to determine, by their relative proportions and conditions, the state of health and the temperament of a person” (OED).

13 propitious “Gracious; merciful, lenient” (OED).

15 Mendicant “A member of any of the Christian religious orders whose members originally lived solely on alms” (OED).

31 F–r Friar.

33 shotten Herring Figurative for “a person who is exhausted by sickness or destitute of strength or resources” (OED).

35 Mollotto “Mulatto; a person with one white and one black parent” (OED).

44 St. F—s Francis of Assisi (1181or 82-1226); Franciscans were mendicants, dependent on alms.

64 Fegaries Pranks (OED).

79 drudg’d Repressed (OED).

84 Grey to white “Qui Color ater erat nunc est contrarius atro” [Author’s note; “What once was black, is now the opposite” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book 2, line 541).]  Franciscan robes were grey or brown.

87 Quoth Paul “Heu fuge crudeles terras” [Author’s note; “O flee this cruel land” (Virgil, Aeneid, Book 3, line 46).]

92 Necromancy “Sorcery, witchcraft” (OED).

95 No yellow Dragoon from the Boyn cou’d run  A “dragoon” was “a species of cavalry soldier” that also fought on foot in this period (OED). More generally, Whyte appears to be referencing the cowardice of James II’s Irish soldiers during the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, many of whom deserted after the order to retreat.

101 Gu—-n Likely the guardsman of the “Convent Gate” (l. 97).

102 E—- Eve.

104 Cordelier “A Franciscan friar…so called from the knotted cord which they wear round the waist” (OED).

107 Dom–k’s Livr’y Dominican robes, which were white.

108 B—street Bridge St. The Dominicans had a “chapel on the east side of Bridge St.” in Dublin during this period (Nuala Burke, “A Hidden Church?: The Structure of Catholic Dublin in the Mid-Eighteenth Century,” Archivium Hibernicum, vol. 32 (1974), p. 82).

111 re vera “In truth.”

112 Chimera “A mere wild fancy; an unfounded conception” (OED).

114 Tittle “Any minute point” (OED).

117 Deceptio Visus “Deceptive vision.”

129 besotted “Mentally or morally stupid” (OED).

131 anatomiz’d Dissected (OED).

134 Brawn “The flesh of the boar” (OED).

135 sous’d “To prepare or preserve meat…by steeping in some kind of pickle, esp. one made with vinegar or other tart liquor” (OED).

SOURCE:  Original Poems on Various Subjects, Second Edition (Dublin, 1742), pp. 170-75. [Google Books]

Edited by Casey Ingham

William Farquhar, “Death, a Poem”

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WILLIAM FARQUHAR

 “Death, a Poem”

 

To dignify the trifles of their brain,
The Muses heavenly aid whilst some invoke;
Be it my task, in solemn verse, to paint
The gloomy horrors which attendant wait
On Death, their king, whose still insatiate scythe,                                         5
The young, the gay, the rich, the wise, cuts off.
Young as I am, my breast has felt the shock
His direful stroke can give; my second sire,
The dear, dear guardian of my infant years,
E’er yet his worth I knew, Death’s ruthless arm                                            10
Snatch’d from my eager grasp, and ever hid
In dark recess of the gloomy grave.
Far, far away, amid the burning plains
Of Florida, while yet a child, my sire
From me, from his lov’d family, retir’d!                                                           15
But while an Uncle’s fondness still remain’d,
Scarce could we feel our loss—Death! cruel Death!
How could you pierce that heart, where virtue join’d
With mild benevolence, still smil’d to view
The peace, the pleasure, of his fellow men.                                                  20
But hold, my Muse, the elegiac strain
Departed virtue scorns, her worth is grav’d
Deep in the mem’ry of all human kind.
The pompous column, and the bust, She scorns,
And, conscious of her innate power to please,                                             25
For deathless fame leans on herself alone.
Death, thou’rt the touch-stone of all human Virtue!
If, with a cowardly, an unmanly fear
We fly thy stroke, then ‘tis, alas! too certain
Some future ill our conscience bids us dread.                                              30
But if, with firmness, thy near approach
Unmov’d we can behold; then are we sure
Self-approbation can alone support us
In that dread awful moment! when thy dart
Has pierc’d our panting breast, to separate                                                  35
These dear companions, who so long have liv’d
In perfect unity, in perfect peace.
Into the grave, as useless lumber, drops
Then senseless carcase; and the soul swift wings
Back to her great original, her flight.                                                              40
Thro’ life’s wild scenes where’er I thoughtful turn
Far as my eye can reach, ‘tis tumult all,
And maddest opposition; foe meets foe
With discord dire, and jarring interests clash
Loud as thro’ heaven’s wide arch the thunders roar,                                   45
O man! vile man! how long deceiv’d by vice,
With senseless folly wilt thou devious stray,
In paths unpleasing to thy Maker’s eye?
Hear how he calls, invites thee to his breast,
And offers endless pleasures to thy grasp.                                                     50
Thus by his prophets spoke th’ Eternal’s voice:
“ Come to my bosom, ye who loudly groan
Beneath the burthen which tyrannic sin
Has o’er you whelm’d, behold me ever glad,
The worst, the basest, of your race to save.”                                                      55
And shall mankind the gracious offer spurn?
Forbid it, virtue, gratitude, and love!
Man, youngest child of heaven, full often needs
To feel his father’s kind afflictive rod,
Which wounds to heal, as the physician’s probe                                           60
May pain the patient, while it aids his cure.
Did not afflictions, thro’ life’s chequerd scene,
Walk with kind hand to warn us of our end;
Man would forget he were to die at all,
And scorn the terrors of the gloomy grave.                                                   65
Hope, with contracted wing, no more would mount
To the empyrean heaven for endless bliss;
But, stooping, snatch the empty joys of sense,
And quick contracting all her broad desires,
Sit down, contented with the scanty joys                                                      70
Which the vile empire of the brute confers.
See the warm youth, even in his rosy bloom,
When mounting blood and passion fire his breast,
Pierc’d by thy dart, drops cold and lifeless down,
And moulders in the murky silent grave.                                                      75
Behold the beauteous maid, whose rosy cheek
Charms and attracts the roving eye of youth;
While something whispers to her heaving breast,
That Nature gave not her these softening powers
Her crimson cheek, her ruby lip, in vain.                                                       80
Even in the moment, when her raptur’d soul
Clings to the bosom of some darling youth,
Death, with one cruel stroke, forever blasts
Love’s dawning bliss, and stretches her a corse,
A cold pale corse, amid her weeping friends!                                                85
To grasp her much lov’d son, the mother spreads
Her anxious arms,—behold! he faints, he dies!
And stiffens in the cold embrace of death!
See, how to heaven she sorrowing lifts her eyes!
See, how her bosom heaves, thick beats her heart                                       90
With anguish, with parental fondness torn!
How vain, how fleeting, are the joys of time!
How idly foolish he who leans upon them
For steady comfort, or for endless bliss!
Behold, at one dire stroke of death’s huge scythe,                                         95
Fathers and sisters, friends and lovers, fall!

NOTES:

14 Florida Reference to the territory of North America named after Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon’s arrival in the area during the “season of flowers” (Britannica).

33 Self-approbation The feeling of self-satisfaction or “approval” (OED).

62 chequerd  “Diversified in character; full of constant alternation” (OED).

67 empyrean “The highest or most exalted part or sphere of heaven” (OED).

75 moulders “To decay to dust; to rot” (OED).

84 corse Archaic spelling of “corpse,” “a dead body” (OED).

 Source: William Farquhar, Poems on Several Occasions (Edinburgh, 1794), pp. 102-105. [Google Books]

 Edited by Joshua Navarro

Priscilla Pointon, “Enigma, Extempore”

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PRISCILLA POINTON

“Enigma, Extempore”

Ladies, with these you’ll find out my name,
Tho’ I from subterraneous dwellings came;
When ADAM he existed here on earth,
Aspiring Man attempted not my birth,
In peaceful shades my infant days I past,                                     5
‘Till MAN, destructive MAN, found me at last;
Transported raised me from my silent bed,
And strait my fame thro’ all the world was spread.
Without my aid no nation can be won,
And it is true, I hundreds have undone,                                        10
For with me now no monarch sure can vie,
Or justly boast so many slaves as I;
Poets have sung in soft melodious strain,
To gain my smiles, but oft have sung in vain.
To me, ye Fair, your charms are frequent due,                            15
To me you are oblig’d for lovers too;
Tho’ Nature’s form’d you like VENUS fair,
And in your mind you every virtue wear,
Without me these are seldom known to do,
It is for me they mostly sigh and woo.                                            20
Such matchless charms does in my person center,
That me to gain, their lives will thousands venture.

Ladies, by this, no doubt, my name you guess,
And sighing, wish my power on earth was less;
But sighs and tears will ineffectual prove,                                      25
There’s nought like me the heart of man can move.

NOTES:

3 ADAM “The first human in the biblical account of the creation of the world” (OED).

11 vie “To display, advance, practise, etc., in competition or rivalry with another person or thing; to contend or strive” (OED).

17 VENUS “The ancient Roman goddess of beauty and love (esp. sensual love)” (OED).

Source:  Poems on Several Occasions. By Miss Priscilla Pointon, of Lichfield, (Birmingham, 1770), pp. 5-6. [Google Books]

Edited by Skylar DeAnda-Grey

Jane Cave, “Written by Desire of a Lady, on an angry, petulant Kitchen-Maid”

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JANE CAVE

“Written by Desire of a Lady, on an angry, petulant Kitchen-Maid”

 

Good Mistress Dishclout, what’s the matter?
Why here—the spoon, and there—the platter?
What demon causes all this low’ring,
Black as the pot you oft are scow’ring?
Hot as the fire you daily light,                                                                                    5
Your speech with low invectives blight,
While rage impregnates ev’ry vein,
And dies the face one crimson stain.
Sure some one has a word misplac’d,
Or look’d not equal to your taste,                                                                              10
Or, is this just the time you’ve chose,
Your great acquirements to disclose,
Display the graces of your tongue,
Shew with what eloquence ‘tis hung,
As dog, rogue, scoundrel, scrub, what not,                                                               15
And twenty more, I’ve quite forgot;
Which prove to a demonstration
You’ve had a lib’ral education;
Such titles must enchant the ear,
And make the bounteous donor dear;                                                                       20
But while these bounties are dispensing,
I wish I’d learn’d the art of fencing,
Least while at John you aim to throw,
My nob should chance to catch the blow;
Then I should get a broken pate,                                                                                  25
And marks of violence I hate.
Good Mistress Dishclout condescend
To hear the counsel of a friend;
When next you are dispos’d to brawl,
Pray let the scull’ry hear it all,                                                                                        30
And learn to know, your fittest place
Is with the dishes and the grease,
And when you are inclin’d to battle,
Engage the skimmer, spit, or kettle,
Or any other kitchen guest,                                                                                            35
Which you in wisdom might think best.

NOTES:

1  Mistress Dishclout  Proverbial for a kitchen-maid; a dishclout is a  “cloth used for washing dishes” (OED).

3  low’ring  “Frowning, scowling, sullenness” (OED).

6  invectives  “A violent attack in words” (OED).

14  Shew  Show.  Johnson notes that the word is “frequently written shew; but since it is always pronounced and often written show…[he has] adjusted the orthography to the pronunciation” (Johnson).

15  rogue  “A dishonest, unprincipled person” (OED);  scrub Of low birth, base, “a mean fellow” (Johnson).

 20  dear  “Beloved” (OED).

24  nob  Colloquially, “the head” (OED).

25  pate  “The head. Now commonly used in contempt or ridicule” (Johnson).

30  scull’ry  “The place where common utensils, as kettles or dishes, are cleaned and kept” (Johnson).

34  skimmer  “A shallow vessel with which the scum is taken off” (Johnson);  spit  “Long prong on which meat is driven to be turned before the fire” (Johnson);  kettle  “A pot or caldron” (OED).

SOURCE:  Poems on Various Subjects, Entertaining, Elegiac, and Religious, (Winchester, 1783), pp. 49-51.  [Hathi Trust]  

Edited by Kristine Van Dusen

Mary Leapor, “The Power of Beauty”

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MARY LEAPOR

“The Power of Beauty”

O Goddess of eternal Smiles,
Bright Cythera the fair,
Who taught Sabina’s pleasing Wiles,
By which she won Bellair.

Bellair, the witty and the vain,                                                5
Who laugh’d at Beauty’s Pow’r;
But now the conquer’d humble Swain
Adores a painted Flow’r.

With Delia’s Art my Song inspire,
Whose Lips of rosy Hue                                                   10
Can ne’er the partial Audience tire,
Tho’ wiser Claudia’s do.

Tho’ Claudia’s Wit and Sense refin’d,
Flows easy from her Tongue;
Her Soul but coarsely is enshrin’d,                                        15
So Claudia’s in the wrong.

Hark, Delia speaks—that blooming Fair,
See Crowds are gathering round
With open Mouths: and wildly stare
To catch the empty Sound.                                               20

See Lelia with a Judgement clear,
With manly Wisdom blest;
Wit, Learning, Prudence, all appear
In that unruffled Breast.

But yet no Beau for Lelia dies,                                                  25
No Sonnets pave her way;
Say, Muse, from whence these Evils rise,
Why Lelia’s Teeth decay.

Then, why do rev’rend Sages rail
At Woman’s wanton Pride?                                                30
If Wisdom, Wit, and Prudence fail,
Let meaner Arts be try’d.

Those Arts to please are only meant;
But with an angry Frown,
The Queen of Wisdom lately sent                                             35
This Proclamation down:

Minerva, with the azure Eyes,
And thus the Statute runs,
If you wou’d have your Daughters wise,
Take care to mend your Sons.                                             40

NOTES:

2 Cythera Venus, the goddess of love (OED).

3 Sabina’s This and subsequent names at lines 9, 12, and 21 were common women’s names in pastoral poetry.

7 Swain A shepherd in pastoral poetry.

29 Sages Men of “profound wisdom” (OED).

30 wanton “Reckless” (OED).

35 Queen of Wisdom Minerva, the goddess of wisdom (OED).

Source:  Poems upon Several Occasions (London, 1748), pp. 229-231. [Google Books]

Edited by Liliana Marusic

Aphra Behn, “The Golden Age”

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APHRA BEHN

“The Golden Age”
A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French

I.
Blest Age! when ev’ry Purling Stream
Ran undisturb’d and clear,
When no scorn’d Shepherds on your Banks were seen,
Tortur’d by Love, by Jealouise, or Fear;
When an Eternal Spring drest ev’ry Bough,                                                              5
And Blossoms fell, by new ones dispossest;
These their kind Shade affording all below;
And those a Bed where all below might rest.
The Groves appear’d all drest with Wreaths of Flowers,
And from their Leaves dropt Aromatick Showers,                                                   10
Whose fragrant Heads in Mystick Twines above,
Exchang’d their Sweets, and mix’d with thousand Kisses,
As if the willing Branches strove
To beautifie and shade the Grove
Where the young wanton Gods of Love                                                            15
Offer their Noblest Sacrifice of Blisses. 

II.
Calm was the Air, no Winds blew fierce and loud,
The Skie was dark’ned with no sullen Cloud:
But all the Heav’ns laugh’d with continued Light,
And scatter’d round their Rays serenely bright.                                                        20
No other Murmurs fill’d the Ear
But what the Streams and Rivers purl’d
When Silver Waves o’er Shining Pebbles curl’d;
Or when young Zephirs fan’d the Gentle Breez,
Gathering fresh Sweets from Balmy Flow’rs and Trees,                                      25
Then bore ’em on their Wings to perfume all the Air:
While to their soft and tender Play,
The Gray-Plum’d Natives of the Shades
Unwearied sing till Love invades,
Then Bill, then sing agen, while Love and Musick makes the Day.                         30

III.
The stubborn Plough had then,
Made no rude Rapes upon the Virgin Earth;
Who yielded of her own accord her plentious Birth,
Without the Aids of men;
As if within her Teeming Womb,                                                                            35
All Nature, and all Sexes lay,
Whence new Creations every day
Into the happy World did come:
The Roses fill’d with Morning Dew,
Bent down their loaded heads,                                                                            40
T’Adorn the careless Shepherds Grassy Beds
While still young opening Buds each moment grew
And as those withered, drest his shaded Couch a new;
Beneath who’s boughs the Snakes securely dwelt,
Not doing harm, nor harm from others felt;                                                             45
With whom the Nymphs did Innocently play,
No spightful Venom in the playful wantons lay;
But to the touch were Soft, and to the sight were Gay.

IV.
Then no rough sound of Wars Alarms,
Had taught the World the needless use of Arms:                                                     50
Monarchs were uncreated then,
Those Arbitrary Rulers over men;
Kings that made Laws, first broke ’em, and the Gods
By teaching us Religion first, first set the World at Odds:
Till then Ambition was not known,                                                                          55
That Poyson to Content, Bane to Repose;
Each Swain was Lord o’er his own will alone,
His Innocence Religion was, and Laws.
Nor needed any troublesome defence
Against his Neighbours Insolence.                                                                          60
Flocks, Herds, and every necessary good
Which bounteous Nature had design’d for Food,
Whose kind increase o’er spread the Meads and Plaines,
Was then a common Sacrifice to all th’ agreeing Swaines.

V.
Right and Property were words since made,                                                            65
When Power taught Mankind to invade:
When Pride and Avarice became a Trade;
Carri’d on by discord, noise and wars,
For which they barter’d wounds and scarrs;
And to Inhaunce the Merchandize, miscall’d it Fame,                                                  70
And Rapes, Invasions, Tyrannies,
Was gaining of a Glorious Name:
Stiling their salvage slaughters, Victories;
Honour, the Error and the Cheat
Of the Ill-natur’d Bus’ey Great,                                                                                  75
Nonsence, invented by the Proud,
Fond Idol of the slavish Crowd,
Thou wert not known in those blest days
Thy Poyson was not mixt with our unbounded Joyes;
Then it was glory to pursue delight,                                                                            80
And that was lawful all, that Pleasure did invite,
Then ’twas the Amorous world injoy’d its Reign;
And Tyrant Honour strove t’usurp in Vain.

VI.
The flowry Meads the Rivers and the Groves,
Were fill’d with little Gay-wing’d Loves:                                                                      85
That ever smil’d and danc’d and Play’d,
And now the woods, and now the streames invade,
And where they came all things were gay and glad:
When in the Myrtle Groves the Lovers sat
Opprest with a too fervent heat;                                                                             90
A Thousand Cupids fann’d their wings aloft,
And through the Boughs the yielded Ayre would waft:
Whose parting Leaves discovered all below,
And every God his own soft power admir’d,
And smil’d and fann’d, and sometimes bent his Bow;                                             95
Where e’er he saw a Shepherd uninspir’d.
The Nymphs were free, no nice, no coy disdain,
Deny’d their Joyes, or gave the Lover pain;
The yielding Maid but kind Resistance makes:
Trembling and blushing are not marks of shame,                                                   100
But the Effect of kindling Flame:
Which from the sighing burning Swain she takes,
While she with tears all soft, and down-cast eyes,
Permits the Charming Conqueror to win the prize.

VII.
The Lovers thus, thus uncontroul’d did meet,                                                          105
Thus all their Joyes and Vows of Love repeat:
Joyes which were everlasting, ever new
And every Vow inviolably true:
Not kept in fear of Gods, no fond Religious cause,
Nor in Obedience to the duller Laws.                                                                        110
Those Fopperies of the Gown were then not known,
Those vain those Politick Curbs to keep man in,
Who by a fond mistake Created that a Sin;
Which freeborn we, by right of Nature claim our own.
Who but the Learned and dull moral Fool                                                                115
Could gravely have forseen, man ought to live by Rule?

VIII.
Oh cursed Honour! thou who first didst damn,
A Woman to the sin of Shame;
Honour! that rob’st us of our Gust,
Honour! that hindred mankind first,                                                                      120
At Loves Eternal Spring to squench his amorous thirst.
Honour! who first taught lovely Eyes the art,
To wound, and not to cure to heart:
With Love to invite, but to forbid with Awe,
And to themselves prescribe a Cruel Law;                                                                125
To Veil ’em from the Lookers on,
When they are sure the slave’s undone,
And all the Charmingst part of Beauty hid;
Soft Looks, consenting Wishes, all deny’d.
It gathers up the flowing Hair,                                                                                 130
That loosely plaid with wanton Air.
The Envious Net, and stinted order hold,
The lovely Curls of Jet and shining Gold,
No more neglected on the Shoulders hurl’d:
Now drest to Tempt, not gratify the World,                                                                  135
Thou Miser Honour hord’st the sacred store,
And starv’st thy self to keep thy Votaries poor.

IX.
Honour! that put’st our words that should be free
Into a set Formality.
Thou base Debaucher of the generous heart,                                                             140
That teachest all our Looks and Actions Art;
What love design’d a sacred Gift,
What Nature made to be possest,
Mistaken Honour made a theft,
For Glorious Love should be confest:                                                                    145
For when confin’d, all the poor Lover gains,
Is broken Sighs, pale Looks, Complaints and Pains.
Thou Foe to Pleasure, Nature’s worst Disease,
Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings,
What mak’st thou here in Shepherds Cottages;                                                         150
Why troublest thou, the quiet Shades and Springs?
Be gone, and make thy Fam’d resort
To Princes Pallaces;
Go Deal and Chaffer in the Trading Court,
That busie Market for Phantastick Things;                                                                   155
Be gone and interrupt the short Retreat,
Of the Illustrious and the Great;
Go break the Politicians sleep,
Disturb the Gay Ambitious Fool,
That longs for Scepters, Crowns, and Rule,                                                         160
Which not his Title, nor his Wit can keep;
But let the humble honest Swain go on,
In the blest Paths of the first rate of man;
That nearest were to Gods Alli’d,
And form’d for love alone, disdain’d all other Pride.                                                   165

X.
Be gone! and let the Golden age again,
Assume its Glorious Reign;
Let the young wishing Maid confess,
What all your Arts would keep conceal’d:
The Mystery will be reveal’d,                                                                                        170
And she in vain denies, whilst we can guess,
She only shows the Jilt to teach man how,
To turn the false Artillery on the Cunning Foe.
Thou empty Vision hence, be gone,
And let the peaceful Swain love on;                                                                      175
The swift pac’d hours of life soon steal away:
Stint not yee Gods his short liv’d Joy.
The Spring decays, but when the Winter’s gone,
The Trees and Flowers a new comes on
The Sun may set, but when the night is fled,                                                                180
And gloomy darkness does retire,
He rises from his Watry Bed:
All Glorious, Gay, all drest in Amorous Fire.
But Sylvia when your Beauties fade,
When the fresh Roses on your Cheeks shall die,                                                          185
Like Flowers that wither in the Shade,
Eternally they will forgotten lye,
And no kind Spring their sweetness will supply.
When Snow shall on those lovely Tresses lye
And your fair Eyes no more shall give us pain,                                                             190
But shoot their pointless Darts in vain.
What will your duller honour signifie?
Go boast it then! And see what numerous Store
Of Lovers, will your Ruin’d Shrine Adore.
Then let us Sylvia yet be wise,                                                                               195
And the Gay hasty minutes prize:
The Sun and Spring receive but our short Light,
Once sett, a sleep brings an Eternal Night.

NOTES:

24 Zephirs “The west wind, frequently personified” (OED).

25 Balmy “Delicately and deliciously fragrant” (OED).

30 Bill “To caress, make show of affection” (OED).

44 boughs Branches.

57 Swain “A country or farm labourer, frequently a shepherd; a countryman, rustic” (OED).

63 Meads “Meadows” (OED).

70 Inhaunce “Enhance” (OED).

73 salvage One of several Anglo-Norman spellings for “savage” in use during this period (OED).

135 Miser “A person who hoards wealth and lives miserably in order to do so” (OED).

137 Votaries “A person who has made a particular vow” (OED).

140 Debaucher “A corrupter or seducer” (OED).

154 Chaffer “To bargain, haggle about terms or price” (OED).

160 Scepters “An ornamental rod…a symbol of regal authority” (OED).

SOURCE:  Mrs. A. Behn, Poems upon Several Occasions: with a Voyage to the Island of Love (London, 1684), pp. 1-12. [EBBO]

Edited by ENG 690 students (Fall 2020)

 

 

 

[William Mason], “The Plow-Boy’s Dream”

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[WILLIAM MASON]

“The Plow-Boy’s Dream”

 

I am a Plow-boy stout and strong,
As ever drove a team;
And three years since asleep in bed
I had a dreadful dream:
And, as that dream has done me good,                                  5
I’ve got it put in rhyme;
That other boys may read and sing
My dream, when they have time.

Methought I drove my master’s team,
With Dobbin, Ball, and Star;                                               10
Before a stiff and handy plough,
As all my master’s are:
But found the ground was bak’d so hard,
And more like brick than clay,
I could not cut my furrow clean,                                               15
Nor would my beasts obey.

The more I whipt, and lash’d, and swore
The less my cattle stirr’d;
Dobbin laid down, and Ball, and Star
They kick’d and snorted hard:                                            20
When lo! above me a bright youth
Did seem to hang in air,
With purple wings and golden wand,
As Angels painted are.

“Give over, cruel wretch,” he cry’d,                                             25
“Nor thus thy beasts abuse;
Think, if the ground was not too hard,
Would they their work refuse?
Besides I heard thee curse and swear
As if dumb beasts could know                                            30
What all thy oaths and curses meant,
Or better for them go.

But tho’ they know not, there is One,
Who knows thy sins full well,
And what shall be thy after doom,                                            35
Another shall thee tell.”
No more he said, but light as air
He vanish’d from my sight;
And with him went the sun’s bright beams,
And all was dark midnight.                                                  40

The thunder roar’d from under ground,
The earth it seem’d to gape;
Blue flames broke forth, and in those flames
A dire gigantic shape.
“Soon shall I call thee mine,” it cry’d,                                          45
With voice so dread and deep,
That quiv’ring like an aspin leaf
I waken’d from my sleep.

And tho’ I found it but a dream,
It left upon my mind                                                             50
That dread of sin, that fear of GOD,
Which all should wish to find;
For since that hour I’ve never dar’d
To use my cattle ill,
And ever fear’d to curse and swear,                                          55
And hope to do so still.

Now ponder well ye Plow-boys all
The dream that I have told;
And if it works such change in you,
‘Tis worth its weight in gold;                                               60
For should you think it false or true,
It matters not one pin,
If you but deeds of mercy shew,
And keep your souls from sin.

NOTES:

Title This poem, signed “M.”, was one of two by William Mason (1724-1797) that Hannah More (1745-1833) accepted for publication in her Cheap Repository Tract scheme.  Mason’s authorship is confirmed in a letter More wrote to her sister in which she explains why she rejected four of the six poems Mason submitted before noting that “two, one of which was called the ‘Ploughboy’s Dream,’ will do very well” (William Roberts, Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs. Hannah More, third edition [1835], vol. 2, p. 430).  G. H. Spinney dates publication of this tract in August, 1795 (“Cheap Repository Tracts:  Hazard and Marshall Edition,” The Library, 4th series, 20:3 [1939], p. 320).

6 rhyme Corrected from “ryhme,” a printer’s error.

10 Dobbin, Ball, and Star Common names for draft or farm horses.

18 cattle “A collective term for live animals held as property,” often applied to horses in this period (OED).

60 its Corrected from “it’s,” a printer’s error.

62 not one pin Very little.

Source:  “The Plow-Boy’s Dream,” single sheet, (London and Bath, [1795]).  [ESTC]

Edited by Bill Christmas

Jane Cave, “On the Marriage of a Lady, to whom the Author was Bride-Maid”

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JANE CAVE 

“On the Marriage of a LADY, to whom the Author was Bride-Maid”

 

As the light bark on the tempestuous sea,
Toss’d to and fro, from dangers never free;
Dismay’d with fear, and mov’d with ev’ry blast,
Till in a port her anchor’s firmly cast;
So oft is mov’d Man’s fluctuating mind,                                          5
Till it in wedlock a safe anchor find;
Here, if the soul but meets her destin’d mate,
Her joys are full, her happiness compleat.

Be this your happy lot, my lovely friend,
Whose nuptial rites I this glad morn attend;                                  10
Whose humble, gentle mind for peace was born,
Whom virtue, love, and innocence adorn.
Celestial graces dignify thy soul,
While pure religion all thy ways controul.
These noble virtues, which in thee abound,                                   15
Are haply in thy lov’d PHILANDER found.
His heart sincere, his temper soft and mild,
Nor torn by anger, nor with art beguil’d.
Such gentle hearts alone should join their hands,
And find that Hymen’s chains are silken bands.                             20
Their emulation’s not who’ll reign supreme,
But who shall love the most, —be most serene.
Remote from vanity and worldly toys,
Each seeks with each for more substantial joys.
Tranquillity shall in their borders dwell,                                           25
Nor discord once approach their peaceful cell,
But mutually each other’s grief they’ll bear,
As mutually each other’s joys will share.

Thus, thus, my friend, may you for ever prove,
The soft delight of harmony and love;                                              30
May ev’ry blessing you can ask of Heav’n,
To constitute your happiness be giv’n.
If Heav’n bestows, with joy receive the prize,
If Heav’n withholds, ’tis best what Heav’n denies.
Thus sweetly may you pass your future life,                                    35
Nor once repent that you became a wife;
That you declin’d the pleasing name of B——M,
And that alone preferr’d of H—RAG—M.

NOTES:

16 PHILANDER Pastoral name for a male lover.

20 Hymen “In Greek and Roman mythology: The god of marriage, represented as a young man carrying a torch and veil” (OED).

37-38 B—M…H—RAG—M Identified in a later edition as “Bloom” and “Harragoom” respectively (Poems on Various Subjects, Entertaining, Elegiac, and Religious, fourth edition [Bristol, 1794], p. 21). Neither name appears in the lengthy list of subscribers included with the 1783 first edition.

Source: Poems on Various Subjects: Entertaining, Elegiac, and Religious (Winchester, 1783), pp. 21-24.  [Google Books]

Edited by Audry Hernandez