Fable XXV. the Fine Lady and the Sun

Wretches there are, and many too, Whose wishes only self pursue; Let partial Fortune deign to grant, Whate'er their whims, or passions want; They value not, should mankind all To sure and swift perdition fall.

A female, more than HELEN fair, Whose beauty was her fav'rite care; Assaulted by meridian heat, Sought out, in vain, a cool retreat; The glowing air now grown intense, Thro' each apartment gave offence; Which caus'd her, so relates our tale, Against the SUN himself to rail.

I wonder, says the dainty dame, That such a vile obnoxious flame, So rude to fashionable eyes, Should ev'ry day ascend the skies; Or quitting of a distant sphere, Be suffer'd to approach so near.

Spotless, as new descended snow, In Winter's happy time, I show; But when the Summer's heat takes place, Six horrid FRECKLES shame my face; Nor dare I paint—oh dire vexation! For fear of dreadful perspiration.

I wish, kind heav'n, eternal night Adorn'd with milder candle-light, Would rule the world, with kindly sway, And banish tell-tale, useless day.

Who hears from love so sweet a sound, As when with friendly darkness crown'd? No needless blushes then disgrace, With aukward shame, a lady's face; How often does this Sun advance, To spoil a game of cards, or dance? What jewels can so brightly blaze, Outlust'red by his rival rays? What charms so faultless can appear, When his revealing light is near? Which never suffers friendly art To play, with kind disguise, its part; 'Tis hence that nymphs upon the green Are to the most advantage seen, And rural beauties oft outvie A W-ldgr-ve—or a C-v-nt-y.

Oh that a kind eclipse would take His pow'r away, for Beauty's sake; And with a mild nocturnal robe, Cloath for my life, at least, the Globe; Or if, ye Gods, he still must rise, Confine him to mechanic eyes: What soul of spirit can endure, To share him with the vulgar poor?

The list'ning Sun, who heard from high, Wing'd on a beam this just reply.

Know, brainless creature, void of sense, Thy railing cannot give offence; The course of Nature's perfect frame, Is proof—against thy feeble blame; Yet to chastise thy empty prate, And end this frothy, pert debate, Hear then, and own thy vacant heart Prompts thee to play an ideot part.

Think'st thou variety is shown, To please, or profit thee alone? Think'st thou the seasons go and come, Like ladies from or to a drum? That Earth and Water, Sky and Air, Are only form'd to make thee fair?

Thou say'st that I am Beauty's foe, Whence comes the Rose's healthful glow? Who paints to thy delighted view, The LILLY white, the VIOLET blue? Who gives the fragrant PINK perfume, Who bids the gaudy TULIP bloom? Whose pow'r the tillage can adorn, With golden crops of wavy corn? Who animates each rural scene, And mantles o'er the fields with green? Whatever grows, or walks, or flies, Without my kind assistance dies; Ev'n thou, vain child of common clay, Without my vivifying ray, Disrob'd of all thy trinkets, must Return with speed to parent dust; There, by thy modish friends forgot, Soon as the poorest slave to rot. Thou little dost, who so much swerve From common sense, advice deserve; Yet hear, unworthy as thou art, While I assume the friendly part, And counsel give, of such a kind, As may correct thy fickle mind; May set thy fetter'd reason loose, And free thy mind from self-abuse.

Instead of lovers at thy toilet, Who only beauty praise to spoil it; Who flutter round like tainting flies, To make thy rifled sweets their prize; Give up to some deserving mate, Thy single, fruitless dang'rous state; Become in time a virtuous wife, And learn to taste a prudent life: For time inverted in its flight, For slothful day, and vicious night; For rambling visits, cards and dice, For pleasures bought at VIRTUE'S price; Let some domestic useful care Thy well applied attention share; Yet, think not that I mean to say, Thou can'st not be with prudence gay; For pleasures most sincere we find, Where prudence is with virtue join'd.

Behold thy lisping infants rise, To fill with joy maternal eyes; On such the truest bliss depends, In them see husband, parents, friends; Behold like tender plants they shoot, Cherish their blossoms into fruit; To rip'ning morals pay regard, Repress the bad, the good reward; Join in their sports, and always try To give a taste of industry; Let calm correction, wanted, prove That justice guides parental love; And rather give thy heart some pain, Than hold the reins of pow'r in vain.

Bless'd in his love, and form'd to bless, Make thine thy husband's happiness; If any ruffle should arise, (For storms may gloom the brightest skies) Smile him with gentle looks to peace, And bid unruly passions cease; Last, shunning empty, lavish pride, Be ev'ry day in dress a bride.

These rules pursu'd, thy sight must be In proper seasons fond of me; And night will only then seem best, When weary Nature calls for rest.