The ART of DANCING. A POEM, CANTO I

In the smooth dance to move with graceful mien, Easy with care, and sprightly tho' serene, To mark th' instructions echoing strains convey, And with just steps each tuneful note obey, I teach; be present, all ye sacred Choir, Blow the soft flute, and strike the sounding lyre; When FIELDING bids, your kind assistance bring, And at her feet the lowly tribute fling; Oh may her eyes (to her this verse is due) What first themselves inspir'd, vouchsafe to view!

Hail loveliest art! that can'st all hearts insnare, And make the fairest still appear more fair. Beauty can little execution do, Unless she borrows half her arms from you; Few, like PYGMALION, doat on lifeless charms, Or care to clasp a statue in their arms; But breasts of flint must melt with fierce desire, When art and motion wake the sleeping fire: A Venus, drawn by great Apelles' hand, May for a while our wond'ring eyes command, But still, tho' form'd with all the pow'rs of art, The lifeless piece can never warm the heart; So a fair nymph, perhaps, may please the eye, Whilst all her beauteous limbs unactive lie, But when her charms are in the dance display'd, Then ev'ry heart adores the lovely maid: This sets her beauty in the fairest light, And shews each grace in full perfection bright; Then, as she turns around, from ev'ry part, Like porcupines she sends a piercing dart; In vain, alas! the fond spectator tries To shun the pleasing dangers of her eyes, For, Parthian-like, she wounds as sure behind, With flowing curls, and ivory neck reclin'd: Whether her steps the Minuet's mazes trace, Or the slow Louvre's more majestick pace, Whether the Rigadoon employs her care, Or sprightly Jigg displays the nimble fair, At every step new beauties we explore, And worship now, what we admir'd before: So when Aeneas, in the Tyrian grove, Fair Venus met, the charming queen of Love, The beauteous Goddess, whilst unmov'd she stood, Seem'd some fair nymph, the guardian of the wood; But when she mov'd, at once her heav'nly mien, And graceful step confess bright Beauty's queen, New glories o'er her form each moment rise, And all the Goddess opens to his eyes.

Now haste, my Muse, pursue thy destin'd way, What dresses best become the dancer, say, The rules of dress forget not to impart, A lesson previous to the dancing art.

The soldier's scarlet glowing from afar, Shews that his bloody occupation's war; Whilst the lawn band, beneath a double chin, As plainly speaks divinity within; The milk-maid safe thro' driving rains and snows, Wrapp'd in her cloak, and prop'd on pattens goes; While the soft Belle, immur'd in velvet chair, Needs but the silken shoe, and trusts her bosom bare: The woolly drab, and English broad-cloth warm, Guard well the horseman from the beating storm, But load the dancer with too great a weight, And call from ev'ry pore the dewy sweat; Rather let him his active limbs display In camblet thin, or glossy paduasoy, Let no unwieldy pride his shoulders press, But airy, light, and easy be his dress; Thin be his yielding soal, and low his heel, So shall he nimbly bound, and safely wheel.

But let not precepts known my verse prolong, Precepts which use will better teach, than song; For why should I the gallant spark command, With clean white gloves to fit his ready hand? Or in his fobb enlivening spirits wear, And pungent salts to raise the fainting fair? Or hint, the sword that dangles at his side, Should from its silken bondage be unty'd? Why should my lays the youthful tribe advise, Lest snowy clouds from out their wigs arise: So shall their partners mourn their laces spoil'd, And shining silks with greasy powder soil'd? Nor need I, sure, bid prudent youths beware, Lest with erected tongues their buckles stare, The pointed steel shall oft their stocking rend, And oft th' approaching petticoat offend.

And now, ye youthful fair, I sing to you, With pleasing smiles my useful labours view; For you the silkworms fine-wrought webs display, And lab'ring spin their little lives away, For you bright gems with radiant colours glow, Fair as the dies that paint the heav'nly bow, For you the sea resigns its pearly store, And earth unlocks her mines of treasur'd ore; In vain yet Nature thus her gifts bestows, Unless yourselves with art those gifts dispose.

Yet think not, Nymphs, that in the glitt'ring ball, One form of dress prescrib'd can suit with all; One brightest shines when wealth and art combine, To make the finish'd piece compleatly fine; When least adorn'd, another steals our hearts, And rich in native beauties, wants not arts; In some are such resistless graces found, That in all dresses they are sure to wound; Their perfect forms all foreign aids despise, And gems but borrow lustre from their eyes.

Let the fair Nymph, in whose plump cheeks is seen A constant blush, be clad in chearful green; In such a dress the sportive sea-nymphs go; So in their grassy bed fresh roses blow: The lass whose skin is like the hazle brown, With brighter yellow should o'er-come her own; While maids grown pale with sickness or despair, The sable's mournful dye should chuse to wear; So the pale moon still shines with purest light, Cloath'd in the dusky mantle of the night.

But far from you be all those treach'rous arts, That wound with painted charms unwary hearts, Dancing's a touchstone that true beauty tries, Nor suffers charms that nature's hand denies: Tho' for a while we may with wonder view The rosy blush, and skin of lovely hue, Yet soon the dance will cause the cheeks to glow, And melt the waxen lips, and neck of snow: So shine the fields in icy fetters bound, Whilst frozen gems bespangle all the ground, Thro' the clear crystal of the glitt'ring snow, With scarlet dye the blushing hawthorns glow; O'er all the plains unnumber'd glories rise, And a new bright creation charms our eyes; Till Zephyr breathes, then all at once decay The splendid scenes, their glories fade away, The fields resign the beauties not their own, And all their snowy charms run trickling down.

Dare I in such momentous points advise, I should condemn the hoop's enormous size, Of ills I speak by long experience found, Oft' have I trod th' immeasurable round, And mourn'd my shins bruis'd black with many a wound. Nor shou'd the tighten'd stays, too straitly lac'd, In whale-bone bondage gall the slender waist; Nor waving lappets shou'd the dancing fair, Nor ruffles edg'd with dangling fringes wear; Oft will the cobweb ornaments catch hold On the approaching button rough with gold, Nor force, nor art can then the bonds divide, When once th' intangled Gordian knot is ty'd. So the unhappy pair, by Hymen's pow'r Together join'd in some ill-fated hour, The more they strive their freedom to regain, The faster binds th' indissoluble chain.

Let each fair maid, who fears to be disgrac'd, Ever be sure to tye her garters fast, Lest the loos'd string, amidst the publick ball, A wish'd for prize to some proud fop should fall, Who the rich treasure shall triumphant shew, And with warm blushes cause her cheeks to glow.

But yet, (as fortune by the self-same ways She humbles many, some delights to raise) It happen'd once, a fair illustrious dame By such neglect acquir'd immortal fame. And hence the radiant Star and Garter blue BRITANNIA's nobles grace, if Fame says true: Hence still, PLANTAGENET, thy beauties bloom, Tho' long since moulder'd in the dusky tomb, Still thy lost Garter is thy sov'reign's care, And what each royal breast is proud to wear.

But let me now my lovely charge remind, Lest they forgetful leave their fans behind; Lay not, ye fair, the pretty toy aside, A toy at once display'd, for use and pride, A wond'rous engine, that by magick charms, Cools your own breasts, and ev'ry other's warms. What daring bard shall e'er attempt to tell The pow'rs, that in this little weapon dwell? What verse can e'er explain it's various parts, Its num'rous uses, motions, charms and arts? Its painted folds, that oft extended wide, Th' afflicted fair one's blubber'd beauties hide, When secret sorrows her sad bosom fill, If STREPHON is unkind, or SHOCK is ill: Its sticks, on which her eyes dejected pore, And pointing fingers number o'er and o'er, When the kind virgin burns with secret shame, Dies to consent, yet fears to own her flame; Its shake triumphant, its victorious clap, Its angry flutter, and its wanton tap?

Forbear, my muse, th' extensive theme to sing, Nor trust in such a flight thy tender wing; Rather do you in humble lines proclaim, From whence this engine took its form and name, Say from what cause it first deriv'd its birth, How form'd in heav'n, how thence deduc'd to earth.

Once in Arcadia, that fam'd seat of love, There liv'd a nymph the pride of all the grove, A lovely nymph, adorn'd with ev'ry grace, An easy shape, and sweetly-blooming face, FANNY the damsel's name, as chaste as fair, Each virgin's envy, and each swain's despair, To charm her ear the rival shepherds sing, Blow the soft flute, and wake the trembling string, For her they leave their wand'ring flocks to rove, Whilst FANNY's name resounds thro' ev'ry grove, And spreads on ev'ry tree, inclos'd in knots of love; As FIELDING's now, her eyes all hearts inflame, Like her in beauty, as alike in name.

'Twas when the summer sun, now mounted high, With fiercer beams had scorch'd the glowing sky, Beneath the covert of a cooling shade, To shun the heat, this lovely nymph was lay'd; The sultry weather o'er her cheeks had spread A blush, that added to their native red, And her fair breast, as polish'd marble white, Was half conceal'd, and half expos'd to sight: AEOLUS the mighty God, whom winds obey, Observ'd the beauteous maid, as thus she lay, O'er all her charms he gaz'd with fond delight, And suck'd in poison at the dang'rous sight, He sighs, he burns; at last declares his pain, But still he sighs, and still he wooes in vain; The cruel nymph, regardless of his moan, Minds not his flame, uneasy with her own; But still complains, that he who rul'd the air Wou'd not command one Zephyr to repair Around her face, nor gentle breeze to play Thro' the dark glade, to cool the sultry day; By love incited, and the hopes of joy, Th' ingenious God contriv'd this pretty toy, With gales incessant to relieve her flame; And call'd it FAN, from lovely FANNY's name.