Poems, a Tale

Venus, of laughter queen and love, The greatest demirep above, Who scorn'd restriction, hated custom, Knew her own sex too well to trust 'em, Proceeded on the noble plan, At any rate, to have her man; Look'd on decorum, as mere trash, And liv'd like *** and ***, From Paphos, where they her revere As much as we do Caelia here, Or from Cythera, where her altars Are deck'd with daggers, true-love halters, Garters yclept, and other trophies, Which prove that man in love an oaf is, According to appointment came To see CAECILIA, tuneful dame, Whose praise by Dryden's Ode is grown Bright and immortal as his own, And who hath been for many years The chief directress of the spheres.

Thomas, who rode behind the car, And for a flambeau held a star, Who, in the honest way of trade, Hath forg'd more horns, and cuckold's made, Than Vulcan and his brawny dolts Ever for Jove forg'd thunderbolts, Slipt gently down, and ran before 'em, Ringing the bell with due decorum.

But, truth to say, I cannot tell Whether it Knocker was or Bell, (This for vertù an anecdote is,) Which us'd to give CAECILIA notice, When any lady of the sky Was come to bear her company. But this I'm sure, be which it will, Thomas perform'd his part with skill.

Methinks I hear the reader cry— His part with skill? why, You or I, Or any body else, as well As Thomas, sure, could ring a bell, Nor did I ever hear before Of skill in knocking at a door.

Poor low-liv'd creature! I suppose, Nay, and am sure, you're one of those Who, at what door soe'er they be, Will always knock in the same key. Thinking that Bell and Knocker too Were found out nothing else to do, But to inform the house, no doubt, That there was somebody without, Who, if they might such favour win, Would rather chuse to be within.

But had our servants no more sense, Lord! what must be the consequence? Error would error still pursue, And strife and anarchy ensue, Punctilio from her altar hurl'd, Whence she declares unto the world Whate'er by fancy is decreed, Thro' all her niceties must bleed.

For if there was not to be found Some wholesome difference of sound, But the same rap foretold th' approach Of him who walk'd, or rode in coach, A poor relation now and then, Might to my lord admittance gain, When his good lordship hop'd to see Some rascal of his own degree; And, what is more unhappy still, The stupid wretch, who brings a bill, Might pass thro' all the motley tribe, As free as one, who brings a bribe.

My lady too might pique her grace Wich carriage stiff, and formal face, Which, she deceiv'd, had taken care For some inferior to prepare. Or might some wretch from Lombard-street With greater ease and freedom meet, Than sense of honour will admit Between my lady and a cit.

Those evils wisely to prevent, And root out care and discontent, Ev'ry gay smart, who rides behind, With rose and bag in taste refin'd, Must musick fully understand, Have a nice ear and skilful hand; At ev'ry turn be always found A perfect connoissour in sound; Thro' all the gamut skilful fly Varying his notes, now low, now high, According as he shifts his place; Now hoarsely grumbling in the base, Now turning tenor, and again To treble railing his shrill strain; So to declare, where'er he be, His master's fortune and degree, By the distinguishing address Which he'll upon the door express.

Thomas, whom I have nam'd before As ringing at CAECILIA'S door, Was perfect master of this art, And vers'd alike in ev'ry part: So that Caecilia knew, before Her footman came unto the door, And in due form had told her so, That Madam VENUS was below.

The doors immediate open flew, The GODDESS, without more ado, Displaying beauty's thousand airs, Skim'd thro' the hall, and trip'd up stairs.

CAECILIA met her with a smile Of great delight, when all the while If her false heart could have been seen, She wish'd she had at Cyprus been.

But ladies, skill'd in forms and arts, Don't in their faces wear their hearts, And those above, like those below, Deal frequently in outside show, And always, to keep up parade, Have a smile by them ready-made.

The forms, which ladies when they meet Must for good-manners' sake repeat, As humble servant, how d'you do, And in return, pray how are you? Enrich'd at ev'ry proper space With due integuments of lace, As Madam, Grace, and Goddeship, Which we for brevity shall skip, Happily past, in elbow-chair At length our ladies seated are.

Indiff'rent subjects first they chusc. And talk of weather and the news. That done, they sit upon the state, And snarl at the decrees of fate, Invectives against Jove are hurl'd, And They alone should rule the world.

Dull politicks at length they quit, And by ill-nature shew their wit; For hand in hand, too well we know, These intimates are said to go, So that where either doth preside T'other's existence is implied. The man of wit, so men decree, Must without doubt ill-natur'd be; And the ill-natur'd scarce forgets To rank himself among the wits.

Malicious VENUS, who by rote Had ev'ry little anecdote, And most minutely could advance Each interesting circumstance, Which unto all intrigues related, Since Jupiter the world created, Display'd her eloquence with pride, Hinted, observ'd, enlarged, applied, And not the reader to detain With things impertinent and vain, She did, as ladies do on earth Who cannot bear a rival's worth, In such a way each tale rehearse As good made bad, and bad made worse.

CAECILIA too, with saint-like air, But lately come from evening pray'r, Who knew her duty, as a saint, Always to pray, and not to faint, And, rain or shine, her church ne'er mist, Prude, devotee, and methodist, With equal zeal the cause promoted, Misconstru'd things, and words misquoted, Misrepresented, misapplied, And, inspiration being her guide, The very heart of man dissected, And to his principles objected. Thus, amongst us, the sanctified, In all the spirituals of pride, Whose honest consciences ne'er rested, Till, of carnalities diverted, They knew and felt themselves t'inherit A double portion of the spirit: Who from one church to t'other roam, Whilst their poor children starve at home, Consid'ring they may claim the care Of Providence, who sent them there, And therefore certainly is tied To see their ev'ry want supplied; Who unto preachers give away, That which their creditors should pay, And hold that chosen vessels must Be generous before they're just, And that their charity this way Shall bind o'er heaven their debts to pay, And serve their temp'ral turn, no doubt, Better than if they'd put it out, Whilst nought hereafter can prevent, Their sure reward of cent. per cent. Who honest labour scorn, and say None need to work who love to pray, For heaven will satisfy their cravings, By sending of Elijah's ravens, Or rain down, when their spirits fail, A dish of manna, or a quail; Who from Moorfields to Tottenham Court In furious fits of zeal resort, Praise what they do not understand, Turn up the eye, stretch out the hand, Melt into tears, whilst—blows The twang of nonsense thro' his nose, Or—deals in speculation, Or—hums his congregation, Or—talks with the lord of hosts, —with pillars and with posts; Who strictly watch, lest Satan shou'd, Roaring like lion for his food, Ensnare their feet his fatal trap in, And their poor souls be taken napping; Who strictly fast, because they find, The flesh still wars against the mind, And flesh of saints, like sinner's, must Be mortified, to keep down lust; Who, four times in the year at least, Join feast of love to love of feast, Which, tho' the profligate and vain In terms of blasphemy prophane, Yet all the ceremony here is Pure as the mysteries of Ceres; Who, God's elect, with triumph feel Within themselves salvation's seal, And will not, must not, dare not doubt, That heav'n itself can't blot it out; After they've done their holy labours, Return to scandalize their neighbours, And think they can't serve heav'n so well, As with its creatures filling hell, So that, inflam'd with holy pride, They save themselves, damn all beside. For persons, who pretend to feel The glowings of uncommon zeal, Who others scorn, and seem to be Righteous in very great degree, Do, 'bove all others, take delight To vent their spleen in tales of spite, And think they raise their own renown By pulling of a neighbour's down; Still lying on with most success, Because they charity profess, And make the out-side of religion, Like Mahomet's inspiring pigeon, To all their forgeries gain credit, 'Tis enough sure that—said it.

But what can all this rambling mean? Was ever such a hodge-podge seen? VENUS, CAECILIA, Saints, and Whores, Thomas, Vertù, Bells, Knockers, Doors, Lords, Rogues, Relations, Ladies, Cits, Stars, Flambeaus, Thunderbolts, Horns, Wits, Vulcan, and Cuckold-maker, Scandal, Music, and Footmen, Ear of Handel, Weather, News, Envy, Politicks, Intrigues, and Women's Thousand Tricks, Prudes, Methodists, and Devotees, Fastings, Feasts, Pray'rs, and Charities, Ceres, with her mysterious train, —, —, —, and—, Flesh, Spirit, Love, Hate, and Religion, A Quail, a Raven, and a Pigeon, All jumbled up in one large dish, Red-Herring, Bread, Fowl, Flesh, and Fish.

Where's the connection, where's the plan? The devil sure is in the man. All in an instant we are hurl'd From place to place all round the world, Yet find no reason for it—mum There, my good critic, lies the hum— Well, but methinks, it wou'd avail To know the end of this—A TALE.