The Gentleman's Magazine/Volume 1/Issue 4/Poetry
PROLOGUE to Eurydice, a Tragedy Written by Aaron Hill, Esq; Spoken by Mr. Wilks.
IN Youth, when modesty and merit meet,
How rare the union! and the force how sweet!
Tho' at small praise our humble author aims,
His friend may give him what his blush disclaims.
Ladies! to you he makes his chief address,
Form'd to be pray'd to, and even born to bless!
He feels your power himself, and makes it felt;
His scenes will teach each stubborn heart to melt:
And each fair eye, that now shines softly here,
Anon shall shine still softer thro' a tear.
Let not constraint your gen'rous sighs repress,
Nor veil compassion, nor repel distress.
Your sex's strength is in such weakness found;
And sighs and tears but help your charms to wound.
Of all the wonders taught us by the fair,
'Tis strangest, Tragedy should lose their care!
Where love, soft tyrant, in full glory reigns,
And sovereign beauty holds the World in chains.
Less polisht, and more bold, the comic Muse
Unkings your Cupid, or obstructs his views,
Upholds presuming Wit's familiar claim,
And blots out Awe from Love's diminish'd flame,
Finds, or makes faults, and sets 'em strong in sight,
And dares draw Woman false, or vain, or light.
While Tragedy, your servant try'd and true,
Still to your fame devoted, and to You!
Enslav'd to Love, subdu'd ambition brings,
Firms Beauty's power, and crowns it king of kings.
Let wish'd attention grace our scene to night,
And mourn'd afflictions move refin'd delight.
Each tender light of life we recommend;
Wife, husband, subject, parent, son, and friend!
All your impassion'd interests shall engage,
And hopes and fears, and pity fire the stage.
Then, when soft sorrow swells the fair one's breast,
And sad impressions mix with nightly rest,
Pleasing remembrance shall our scene supply
And the sweet saddening influence never die.
How rare the union! and the force how sweet!
Tho' at small praise our humble author aims,
His friend may give him what his blush disclaims.
Ladies! to you he makes his chief address,
Form'd to be pray'd to, and even born to bless!
He feels your power himself, and makes it felt;
His scenes will teach each stubborn heart to melt:
And each fair eye, that now shines softly here,
Anon shall shine still softer thro' a tear.
Let not constraint your gen'rous sighs repress,
Nor veil compassion, nor repel distress.
Your sex's strength is in such weakness found;
And sighs and tears but help your charms to wound.
Of all the wonders taught us by the fair,
'Tis strangest, Tragedy should lose their care!
Where love, soft tyrant, in full glory reigns,
And sovereign beauty holds the World in chains.
Less polisht, and more bold, the comic Muse
Unkings your Cupid, or obstructs his views,
Upholds presuming Wit's familiar claim,
And blots out Awe from Love's diminish'd flame,
Finds, or makes faults, and sets 'em strong in sight,
And dares draw Woman false, or vain, or light.
While Tragedy, your servant try'd and true,
Still to your fame devoted, and to You!
Enslav'd to Love, subdu'd ambition brings,
Firms Beauty's power, and crowns it king of kings.
Let wish'd attention grace our scene to night,
And mourn'd afflictions move refin'd delight.
Each tender light of life we recommend;
Wife, husband, subject, parent, son, and friend!
All your impassion'd interests shall engage,
And hopes and fears, and pity fire the stage.
Then, when soft sorrow swells the fair one's breast,
And sad impressions mix with nightly rest,
Pleasing remembrance shall our scene supply
And the sweet saddening influence never die.
EPILOGUE to Eurydice. By Aaron Hill, Esq; Spoken by Miss Robinson, in Boys Cloths, tripping in hastily.
O Gentlemen! I'm come, but was not sent for
A voluntier. Pray does my fizz entice ye?
Man, I am yours--Sex! blest as heaven can make ye,
And from this time, weak Woman! I forsake ye.
Who'd be a wife when each new Play can teach us?
To what find ends these Lords of ours beseech us?
At first whate'r they do they do so charming
By mark what follows, frightful! and alarming!
They feed too fast on Love, then sick'ning tell us,
They can't, forsooth, be kind-because they're jealous,
Who would be woman then, to sigh & suffer,
And wish, and wait, for the slow-coming proffer!
Not I. Farewel to petticoats and stitching,
And welcome dear, dear breeches! most bewitching.
Henceforth, new moulded, I'll rove, love, and wander,
And fight, and storm, and charm, like Poriander.
Born for this dapper Age, pert, short, and clever;
If e'er I grow a Man,--'tis now or never.
Well, but what conduct suits this transformation?
I'll copy some smart soul of conversation,
Should there be war; I'd talk of Fields and trenches,
Should there be peace, I'd toast ten fav'rite wenches!
Should I be lov'd, gad so! how then? no matter,
I'll bow as you do, and look foolish at her.
And so, who knows, that never means to prove ye
But I'm as good a Man as any of ye?
Well, 'tis a charming project, and I'll do't,
Sirs, have I your consent? what say ye to't?
Yet hold, perhaps they'll dread a rival Beau,
I may be what I seem, for aught they know.
Ladies farewel, I should be loth to leave ye,
Could an increase of pretty fellows grieve ye,
Each like myself, devoted ne'r to harm ye,
And full as fit, no doubt, to serve and charm ye.
A voluntier. Pray does my fizz entice ye?
Man, I am yours--Sex! blest as heaven can make ye,
And from this time, weak Woman! I forsake ye.
Who'd be a wife when each new Play can teach us?
To what find ends these Lords of ours beseech us?
At first whate'r they do they do so charming
By mark what follows, frightful! and alarming!
They feed too fast on Love, then sick'ning tell us,
They can't, forsooth, be kind-because they're jealous,
Who would be woman then, to sigh & suffer,
And wish, and wait, for the slow-coming proffer!
Not I. Farewel to petticoats and stitching,
And welcome dear, dear breeches! most bewitching.
Henceforth, new moulded, I'll rove, love, and wander,
And fight, and storm, and charm, like Poriander.
Born for this dapper Age, pert, short, and clever;
If e'er I grow a Man,--'tis now or never.
Well, but what conduct suits this transformation?
I'll copy some smart soul of conversation,
Should there be war; I'd talk of Fields and trenches,
Should there be peace, I'd toast ten fav'rite wenches!
Should I be lov'd, gad so! how then? no matter,
I'll bow as you do, and look foolish at her.
And so, who knows, that never means to prove ye
But I'm as good a Man as any of ye?
Well, 'tis a charming project, and I'll do't,
Sirs, have I your consent? what say ye to't?
Yet hold, perhaps they'll dread a rival Beau,
I may be what I seem, for aught they know.
Ladies farewel, I should be loth to leave ye,
Could an increase of pretty fellows grieve ye,
Each like myself, devoted ne'r to harm ye,
And full as fit, no doubt, to serve and charm ye.
EPIGRAMS on various Subjects.
AS Sh——— was pleading for Bribes and for Pensions;
Thus W———e explain'd the good Man's Intentions:
By the River whilst trembling stood each Eaton Dunce,
G———d d——— ye (cry'd Sh———) e'en plunge in at once,
At School and in S———te the same he appears.
The Man, like the Boy, souse o'er Head and Ears.
Thus W———e explain'd the good Man's Intentions:
By the River whilst trembling stood each Eaton Dunce,
G———d d——— ye (cry'd Sh———) e'en plunge in at once,
At School and in S———te the same he appears.
The Man, like the Boy, souse o'er Head and Ears.
Another
As Sh———k at Temple was taking a Boat,
The Waterman ask'd him which way he would float;
Which way! (says the Dr.) why, Fool, with the Stream,
To Paul's, or to Lambeth,———'t was all one to him.
The Waterman ask'd him which way he would float;
Which way! (says the Dr.) why, Fool, with the Stream,
To Paul's, or to Lambeth,———'t was all one to him.
Dialogue between a Vestry Man and a Rev. Dr.
V. From our Vestry I come, Sir, a favour to crave,
D. O! the Sermon I promis'd;———yes, that you shall have.
V. No, Sir, with submission—you my Business mistake,
You're desir'd not to preach, e'en for Charity's sake.
Your Audience, like Members, without Pension or Pay,
Would remain Independent on all you can say.
D. O! the Sermon I promis'd;———yes, that you shall have.
V. No, Sir, with submission—you my Business mistake,
You're desir'd not to preach, e'en for Charity's sake.
Your Audience, like Members, without Pension or Pay,
Would remain Independent on all you can say.
To Caleb D'Anvers, Esq. on the Peace.
What this Treaty will prove thou can'st not divine;
His Peace Reben holds, pry'thee Caleb hold thine.
His Peace Reben holds, pry'thee Caleb hold thine.
Design'd for the Monument of Sir Isaac Newton.
APproach ye wise'ot Soul! with Awe divine,
'Tis Newton's Name that consecrates this Shrine;
That Son of Knowledge, whose Meridian Ray,
Kindled the Gloom of Nature into Day!
That Soul of Science! that unbounded Mind!
That Genius which exalted Human Kind!
Confest Supreme of Men! his Country's Pride!
And half esteem'd an Angel———till he dy'd.
Who in the Eye of Heaven like Enoch stood,
And, thro' the Paths of Knowledge walk'd with God.
Who made his Fame a Sea without a Shore,
And but forsook one World to know the Laws of more.
'Tis Newton's Name that consecrates this Shrine;
That Son of Knowledge, whose Meridian Ray,
Kindled the Gloom of Nature into Day!
That Soul of Science! that unbounded Mind!
That Genius which exalted Human Kind!
Confest Supreme of Men! his Country's Pride!
And half esteem'd an Angel———till he dy'd.
Who in the Eye of Heaven like Enoch stood,
And, thro' the Paths of Knowledge walk'd with God.
Who made his Fame a Sea without a Shore,
And but forsook one World to know the Laws of more.
Another.
Sir ISAAC NEWTON.
More than his NAME were less--'Twou'd seem to fear,
He, who increas'd HEAVEN's fame, cou'd want it here.
Yet———, when the SUNS, he lighted up, shall fade,
And all the WORLDS he found, are first decay'd;
Then void and waste, ETERNITE shall lie,
And TIME and NEWTON's Name together die!
He, who increas'd HEAVEN's fame, cou'd want it here.
Yet———, when the SUNS, he lighted up, shall fade,
And all the WORLDS he found, are first decay'd;
Then void and waste, ETERNITE shall lie,
And TIME and NEWTON's Name together die!
The Amorous DUELISTS.
Writ on a Quarrel for Miss Steele.
TWO British heroes, proud of ancient blood,
For polish'd Beauty eager Rivals stood;
Both deeply pierc'd, their rankling wounds confest,
And painted Beauty cag'd in either breast.
What shou'd they do? no partnership's in Love;
No middle way contending Rivals prove,
'Tis radient Steele must end the fierce Dispute,
And falling Reason glitt'ring Arms confute.
Brave they engage, but yet with caution brave,
Each wou'd enjoy, yet each his Life wou'd save,
Inglorious Action! base, unworthy Deed!
Big in their Words, yet fear for Love to Bleed.
Such dullard Souls a Fate severe shou'd feel,
And die untimely by some rusty Steele.
For polish'd Beauty eager Rivals stood;
Both deeply pierc'd, their rankling wounds confest,
And painted Beauty cag'd in either breast.
What shou'd they do? no partnership's in Love;
No middle way contending Rivals prove,
'Tis radient Steele must end the fierce Dispute,
And falling Reason glitt'ring Arms confute.
Brave they engage, but yet with caution brave,
Each wou'd enjoy, yet each his Life wou'd save,
Inglorious Action! base, unworthy Deed!
Big in their Words, yet fear for Love to Bleed.
Such dullard Souls a Fate severe shou'd feel,
And die untimely by some rusty Steele.
The Inscription over Duke Scholberg's Vault in St Patrick's Church Dublin, written by Dean Swift.
Hic infra
Situm est Corpus
Frederici Ducis de Scholberg Ad
Bubindam Occisi
A.D. 1690.Decanus & Capitulam maximopere etiam atque etiam petierunt, ut Hæredes Ducis in memoriam parentis Monumentum quantumvis exile, erigi curarent; sed postquam, per Epistolas, per Amicos, diu ac sæpe orando, nil profecere, hunc Lapidem, indignabundi, posuerunt; saltem ut scias, huspes, Quantilla in Cellulæ, tanti Ductoris Gineres, in Opprobrium Hæredum delitescunt. Plus valuit Virtutis samæ apud Alienos, quam Sanguinis proximitas apud suos. A.D. 1731.
Translated thus.
The Dean and Chapter of St. Patrick's did most earnestly over and over again request, that the Heirs of the Duke wou'd be pleas'd to erect a Monument, however plain and small, to his Memory; but when by long and frequent Solicitations, both by Letters and by Friends, they found nothing could be obtain'd, griev'd for the Indignity offer'd to the memory of so great a Man, they fixed up this Stone, that thou, O Stranger, mightest know in how poor a Cell the Ashes of so great a General lie neglected, to the Reproach of his Heirs. So much could the Admiration of his Virtues avail with Strangers, more than the nearest Ties of Blood could with his Relations.
BATH BEAUTIES.
You ask, dear Harry, how my time I spend,
Remote from country sports, my home, and friend,
What joys I find midst these sulphureous steams,
Why Ausis's banks prefer to gentle Toames.
If crowds delight me! or the eternal rounds
Or balls and play, with which this place abound?
Believe me, no! the cause. (if you'll attend)
Of my stay here, in humble strains I send,
And on your friendship for the faults depend.
Herbert's good nature gives me constant joy,
Her virtue might the ablest pen employ
Easy to all, obliging to her friend,
Averse to censure, ready to commend,
Artless she seems, yet has the surest art
At once to conquer and secure a heart,
Indulgent nature has each grace supply'd,
Nor equal form to inward soul deny'd.
Fair Nightingale in blooming youth appears,
Form'd to delight both these and future years,
An open freedom smiles around her face,
Adorns each look, and elevates each grace.
Thrice happy sure is Walter in a bride,
Who would not thus in hymens bands be ty'd?
With native innocence and artless smile,
She'd anxious days or sharpest pain beguile.
A generous freedom every hour she shows,
And all her words a virtuous heart disclise,
From heroes sprung she emulates their fame,
And scorns to glory only in their name.
Nature o'er-bounteous show's on Lethullier
Charms which midst numbers beauties would appear;
A form so lovely, with a voice so sweet,
Wou'd rouse the humble, and subdue the great;
If in the dance the moves, the crouded room
Give sure applause, and strike e'en envy dumb.
Gay but not giddy, merry yet not mad,
If free not forward, and if grave not sad.
Crowiny with all the goods of fortune blest,
Of every virtue of the fool Possest;
None can repine at the decrees of heav'n,
When wealth to bounteous hands is largely giv'n.
Pleas'd she obeys the almighty's great command
And scatters blessings thro' an hungry land.
Wheeler is beauteous still, tho' long a wife,
And seems to bloom in the noon of life,
Bramston's good sense will certainly prevail;
When artful girls with silly triflings fail.
Hunter and Grey unseperable pair,
In panegyricks have undoubted share,
Pleasure to all unartfully they give,
'Tis to the joy of humane kind they live.
With gentle voice and modest down cast eyes,
Miss French with ease makes many a heart her prize,
Woodward in bloom and glowing youth surveys
Mankind at distance, nor is mad for praise.
Then wonder not dear Harry that I stay,
From hounds, from home, from thee, my friend, away.
Silent I stand, and casting round my eyes,
Esteem each fair one as a glorious prize:
Unknown my self, and unobserv'd, I view
With joy those dames who steady paths pursue;
From noise and art and giddy crowds I turn,
And where I can't applaud in silence moun.
Thus from the summit of some cow'ring rock,
On different objects all around we look.
Here polish'd gardens, flowery fields we spy,
There rude uncultivated deserts lye;
Admire the first, but from the latter fly.
Remote from country sports, my home, and friend,
What joys I find midst these sulphureous steams,
Why Ausis's banks prefer to gentle Toames.
If crowds delight me! or the eternal rounds
Or balls and play, with which this place abound?
Believe me, no! the cause. (if you'll attend)
Of my stay here, in humble strains I send,
And on your friendship for the faults depend.
Herbert's good nature gives me constant joy,
Her virtue might the ablest pen employ
Easy to all, obliging to her friend,
Averse to censure, ready to commend,
Artless she seems, yet has the surest art
At once to conquer and secure a heart,
Indulgent nature has each grace supply'd,
Nor equal form to inward soul deny'd.
Fair Nightingale in blooming youth appears,
Form'd to delight both these and future years,
An open freedom smiles around her face,
Adorns each look, and elevates each grace.
Thrice happy sure is Walter in a bride,
Who would not thus in hymens bands be ty'd?
With native innocence and artless smile,
She'd anxious days or sharpest pain beguile.
A generous freedom every hour she shows,
And all her words a virtuous heart disclise,
From heroes sprung she emulates their fame,
And scorns to glory only in their name.
Nature o'er-bounteous show's on Lethullier
Charms which midst numbers beauties would appear;
A form so lovely, with a voice so sweet,
Wou'd rouse the humble, and subdue the great;
If in the dance the moves, the crouded room
Give sure applause, and strike e'en envy dumb.
Gay but not giddy, merry yet not mad,
If free not forward, and if grave not sad.
Crowiny with all the goods of fortune blest,
Of every virtue of the fool Possest;
None can repine at the decrees of heav'n,
When wealth to bounteous hands is largely giv'n.
Pleas'd she obeys the almighty's great command
And scatters blessings thro' an hungry land.
Wheeler is beauteous still, tho' long a wife,
And seems to bloom in the noon of life,
Bramston's good sense will certainly prevail;
When artful girls with silly triflings fail.
Hunter and Grey unseperable pair,
In panegyricks have undoubted share,
Pleasure to all unartfully they give,
'Tis to the joy of humane kind they live.
With gentle voice and modest down cast eyes,
Miss French with ease makes many a heart her prize,
Woodward in bloom and glowing youth surveys
Mankind at distance, nor is mad for praise.
Then wonder not dear Harry that I stay,
From hounds, from home, from thee, my friend, away.
Silent I stand, and casting round my eyes,
Esteem each fair one as a glorious prize:
Unknown my self, and unobserv'd, I view
With joy those dames who steady paths pursue;
From noise and art and giddy crowds I turn,
And where I can't applaud in silence moun.
Thus from the summit of some cow'ring rock,
On different objects all around we look.
Here polish'd gardens, flowery fields we spy,
There rude uncultivated deserts lye;
Admire the first, but from the latter fly.
Writ on the Tomb-stone of an Infant.
Read this and weep———but not for me;
Lament thy longer Misery.
My life was short, my grief the less;
Blame not my haste to happiness.
Lament thy longer Misery.
My life was short, my grief the less;
Blame not my haste to happiness.
On Wit.
To fetter Wit's a vain intent,
It gets more Fame by Punishment.
It gets more Fame by Punishment.
On WIT. From the Grubstreet Journal.
True wit is like the brilliant stone,
Dug from the Indian mine;
Which boasts two various powers in one
To cut as well as shine.
Dug from the Indian mine;
Which boasts two various powers in one
To cut as well as shine.
Genius, like this, if polish'd right,
With the same gifts abounds:
Appears at once both keen and bright,
And sparkles while it wounds.
With the same gifts abounds:
Appears at once both keen and bright,
And sparkles while it wounds.