OCCASIONED BY FOUR VERSES IN
'THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.'
In vain you boast poetic names of yore;
And cite those SAPPHOS we admire no more!
Fate doomed the fall of every Female Wit;
But doomed it then, when first ARDELIA writ!
Of all examples, by the World confest,
I knew ARDELIA could not quote the best!
Who, like her Mistress on BRITANNIA'S throne,
Fights, and subdues, in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise, you but, in vain, essay!
Even while you write, you take that praise away!
Light to the stars, the sun does thus restore;
And shines himself, till they are seen no more!
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING VERSES.
DISARMED with so genteel an Air,
The contest I give o'er!
Yet, ALEXANDER! have a care,
And shock the Sex no more!
We rule the World, our life's whole race!
Men but assume that right:
First, slaves to ev'ry tempting face;
Then, martyrs to our spite!
You, of one ORPHEUS, sure, have read!
Who would like you have writ,
Had he in London town been bred,
And polished too his wit.
But he, poor soul! thought all was well,
And great should be his fame!
When he had left his Wife in Hell;
And birds and beasts could tame.
Yet vent'ring then, with scoffing rhymes,
The women to incense;
Resenting heroines of those Times
Soon punished his offence!
And as the Hebrus rolled his skull
And harp besmeared with blood;
They, clashing as the waves grew full,
Still harmonized the flood.
But you, our follies gently treat,
And spin so fine the thread;
You need not fear his awkward fate!
The Lock won't cost the head!
Our admiration you command,
For all that 's gone before;
What next we look for at your hand,
Can only raise it more!
Yet soothe the Ladies, I advise!
(As me too, pride has wrought!)
We're born to wit; but to be wise,
By admonitions taught.
PERSUADE me not, there is a grace
Proceeds from SILVIA'S voice, or lute,
Against MIRANDA's charming face,
To make her hold the least dispute!
Music, which tunes the Soul for Love,
And stirs up all our soft desires,
Does but the growing flame improve,
Which powerful Beauty first inspires.
Thus, whilst with art she plays and sings, I, to MIRANDA, standing by,
Impute the music of the strings;
And all the melting words apply!
In such a night, when every louder wind
Is to its distant cavern safe confined,
And only gentle ZEPHYR fans his wings;
And lonely PHILOMEL, still waking, sings,
Or from some tree famed for the owl's delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the wand'rer right;
In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
Or thinly veil the heavens' mysterious face;
When, in some river, overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
When freshened grass now bears itself upright,
And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite ;
Whence spring the woodbine and the bramble-rose,
And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
While now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes;
When scattered glowworms, but in twilight fine,
Shew trivial beauties, watch their hour to shine;
Whilst Salisb'ry stands the test of every light
In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright;
When odours, which declined repelling day,
Through temp'rate air uninterrupted stray;
When darkened groves their softest shadows wear,
And falling waters we distinctly hear;
When through the gloom more venerable shows
Some ancient fabric, awful in repose;
While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale;
When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads, Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads; Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear, Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear;
When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
And unmolested kine re-chew the cud;
When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
And to her straggling brood the partridge calls
Their short-lived Jubilee the creatures keep,
Which but endures whilst tyrant Man does sleep;
When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something too high for syllables to speak;
Till the free Soul, to a compos'dness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks it like her own:
In such a night, let me abroad remain,
Till morning breaks, and all 's confused again!
Our cares, our toils, our clamours, are renewed;
Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.
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