MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS, A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE. PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS." WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage, THE ; DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION; A TALF.+ SECLUDED from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life; This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, "The Present State of Learning in Europe, 12mo., 1759;" but was omitted in the second edition, which appeared in 1774. This and the following Poem were published by Dr Goldsmith, in his Volume of Essays, which appeared in 1765. A fellowship at twenty-five Such pleasures unalloy'd with care, Could any accident impair? Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix Our swain, arrived at thirty-six ? O had the archer ne'er come down To ravage in a country town! Or Flavia been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop! O had her eyes forgot to blaze! Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze! O!-but let exclamations cease, Her presence banish'd all his peace. So with decorum all things carried; Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was➡➡ married. Need we expose to vulgar sight The raptures of the bridal night? Need we intrude on hallow'd ground, Or draw the curtains closed around? Let it suffice that each had charms; He clasp'd a goddess in his arins ; And though she felt his usage rough, Yet in a man 'twas well enough. The honey-moon like lightning flew Skill'd in no other arts was she, Could so much beauty condescend In short, by night, 'twas fits for fretting; Thus as her faults each day were known, How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes; Now to perplex the ravelled noose, As each a different way pursues, While sullen or loquacious strife Promised to hold them on for life, That dire disease, whose ruthless power Withers the beauty's transient flower :Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare Levell'd its terrors at the fair; And, rifling every youthful grace, Left but the remnant of a face. The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes; In vain she tries her paste and creams To smooth her skin, or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens; The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And ev❜n the captain quit the field. Poor madam now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present face surpass the old : With modesty her cheeks are dyed, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is seen A person ever neatly clean: No more presuming on her sway, She learns god-nature every day : Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty. A NEW SIMILE IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. LONG had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind who write, In wit, and sense, and nature's spite : Till reading, I forget what day on, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there To suit my purpose to a hair. But let us not proceed too furious, First please to turn to god Mercurius ! You'll find him pictured at full length, In book the second, page the tenth : The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile. Imprimis, Pray observe his hat, Wings upon either side-mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty beaming light; Such as to modern bards decreed; A just comparison,-proceed. In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air: And here my simile unites, For in the modern poet's flights, I'm sure it may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head. Lastly vouchsafe t' observe his hand, Fill'd with a snake-encircled wand; By classic authors term'd caduceus, And highly famed for several uses. To wit-most wondrously endued, No poppy water half so good; For let folks only get a touch, Its soporific virtue's such, Though ne'er so much awake before, That quickly they begin to snore, Add too, what certain writers tell, With this he drives men's souls to hell. Now to apply, begin we then ;His wand's a modern author's pen; The serpents round about it twined, Denote him of the reptile kind, Denote the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venom'd bites, An equal semblance still to keep, Alike too both conduce to sleep, This difference only, as the god Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod, With his goose-quill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself. |