CANTO III. (Now let us once again proceed)

Now let us once again proceed, With Madam Fancy, and her breed Of airy visions in the brain: But this much let me first explain; I can't perhaps at all times stay The application to convey, If with the subject I should wax warm.—

Take this, then, as a general axiom: There's not an instance I shall cite, Of Miss Imagination's flight, But tends to prove how, more or less, She cheats us of our happiness. Remember this, and be aware on't, For tho' it often seem apparent, That she on some delight is feeding, Or is with joy and pleasure breeding, She swells, as presently you'll find, Either with water, or with wind; Or else, with many a strange contortion, Brings forth an embrio in abortion.

The only comfort she is skill'd in Is that fine art call'd Castle-building: Pursuing which, sometimes, she'll rise Ten thousand leagues above the skies; And, ere you'd empty Mah'met's pitcher, Find fifty thousand whims bewitch her; There will the busy brain-sick fool Among th' immortals place her stool: But, on so ticklish a foundation, The slightest jog of pain, or passion, Strait tumbles down my anti-mentor, Ten thousand leagues below the center.

Should you demand the reason why She sinks so low, and soars so high, Is strong yet feeble, quick yet slow, I'll tell you, William—when I know.

Anon, invited by the weather, She'll perch upon an ostrich feather; Whence she'll persuade, with wheedling air, Some maid to pin it in her hair: And there, to pay her thanks and duty, She sits and forms the line of beauty; Waves, curtsies, nods, and bows, to please Each well-dress'd passenger she sees; Hoping to find that man in dis-tress Who does not long to kiss her mistress. And, should the dear bewitching maid But take her to a Masquerade, Or jig her tail down at a Court dance, She swells to see her own importance!

The posture which you put your lip in Tells me you think you've caught me tripping: That, vice versa to my plan, I'm proving now my goose a swan. But, though you think you're Signior Sly-boots, I'm coming with a pair of dry puts.

And, first, friend William, pray declare, Had Fancy coax'd the gentle fair Some social duty to sustain, Instead of bidding her be vain And ogle ev'ry petit maitre, Had not her pleasure been much greater?

Again—pray did you never find, From observations on your mind, When you've been dup'd into applause, By crowns and sceptres made of straws, Have ran to seize, hot and impetuous, Some whiz-gig of an ignis-fatuus— Have call'd a council on your cloaths, And plac'd a patch beside your nose, That you might rival certain beaus— To prove yourself the drunkard's match, Have clapt and chorus'd ev'ry catch— And roar'd, and been damnation jolly, Lest you had been outdone in folly— When back conducted, by reflection, To reason, and to recollection; I say, with most abundant gall, Abjur'd you not the midnight brawl? Deplor'd you not your time thus fled, At ev'ry throbbing of your head? And curst, in ev'ry various shape, The fops and fools you strove to ape?

While strenuous, thus, Sir Thomas pleads, Will smiles assent—the Knight proceeds.

Sometimes our minx, of grandeur vain, Is seated in a lady's train, While fops behind, and fops before, Surround, attend her, and adore; And, with a civet cat's assistance, The rabble keep at awful distance. There, like our Monarch, heav'n bless him, When Common-council-men address him, She hears with dignity their speeches, With mildness answers each demand, Then strait presents her lady's hand, And bids them kiss, and grow like leeches.

Or, rather, like, with cannon's rouse, The King proceeding to the House: For thus, with mien majestical, She spreads the flowing garment round, And, as it slowly sweeps the ground, Is drawn in state along the Mall.

But if, her reason to recall, A little rain should chance to fall, Asham'd of her fantastic feats, She shrinks, and hides her in the plaits: Most cursedly chagrin'd to hear, Miss Daggletail hiss in her ear.

Oft, with ad inquirendum big, She squats down on a Judge's wig, And hears, with most affected patience, Rejoinders bully replications; Thinks it behoveth her to stay, Tho' 'twere 'till resurrection day, Most solemnly to hear 'em argu' on— But, tir'd at last of law and jargon, She tells my Lord its very late, Or, tickling, makes him scratch his pate, And shake his well-fill'd wig about her; Then skulks off in a shower of powder.

In graceful shape, you'll sometimes see her, Pendant at Miss or Madam's ear, Sit bragging how she has the art To deck that unimportant part; To prove which farther still she goes, And bobs about a Banyan's nose: But, if a cold should seize her vassal, And rheum should run down sewer nasal, No dog more simple phyz e'er put on, When he was bid beware of mutton.

Of this see more, if you desire, Cantus Secundus, Matthew Prior, Who, to his most harmonious lyre, Sang something like the present song, And sang so various, sweet, and long, I'm troubled, with my notes jejune, To keep from strumming Matthew's tune.

Observe, my friend, before my next Remark, I chuse to change my text; I chuse to call our old parole, IMAGINATION, now, THE SOUL. The dictionary search, you'll find SOUL is synonimous to MIND; And MIND is with IMAGINATION The same thing held, throughout the nation. And seeing, Will, I speak in rhyme Of subjects vulgar and sublime, I'll wrest the word, or phrase, to my sense, That is—I'll take poetic licence.

I tergiverse, as you shall see, But let that rest 'tween you and me, To introduce a similie.

The body's an ingenious house; The soul—a sort of little mouse, That through some chink, or cranny, enters, And seldom into day-light ventures; But duly takes her midnight ramble, In zig-zag motions—skimble skamble: Is found nocturnally eloping, Whene'er the door (the mouth) is open; And scuds and gibbers in the glades, To fright your clownish men and maids; And frisks and glides about the bed, And often makes my Lady dread She hears a thief—or sees a sprite, And ring her bell, and strike a light; When strait the cause of all her fears Jumps down her throat, and disappears.

This mouse herself, both day and night, Is also often in a fright; For, not to mention mynheer rat, She swoons if you should name a cat. By rat and cat, no doubt, you ween; I Hope and Fear, friend William, mean: Who keep such watch, o'er madam's diet, She scarce can mump a crust in quiet; But goes with divers fears and pains to't, Although she's hid behind the wainscot. And though the foe's not under arms, She's always subject to alarms. For why? she oft has felt their claws, When farthest, as she deem'd, from paws; And when she thought to lick her chaps, Has many times been caught in traps When least she dreamt of such mishaps.