Fine Sights; or the Countess of C—y, in Elysium

On the banks of the Styx, as a beautiful ghost, In resemblance the shade of the Goddess of Love, Was revolving the days, when a countess and toast She flaunted about in the regions above.

News arriv'd, which soon made all Elysium to ring, That the Fates a great monarch had summon'd to rest, In calling Old England's late father and king To a crown of reward in the realms of the blest.

My lady was vex'd to be robb'd of th' occasion, By dying before him so mal-a-propos, Of seeing his royal young heir's coronation; And making a party herself in the show.

She therefore in haste skipt away to the ferry,— "Here, Charon, you're empty, come take over me; "I'm resolv'd to go back to the world in your wherry, "The only fine sight I e'er miss'd of, to see."

Old Charon most civilly bow'd to my lady; Stept out of his wherry and handed her in; But, finding she wanted a pass, was as ready, Her ladyship roughly to turn out again.

Then skudding away to the court in a hurry, Direct, for a passport, to Pluto she ran; And put madam Proserpine into a flurry, Who thought she was come to seduce her good man.

Gloomy Dis grimly smil'd at the lady's request, But more at her whimsical motive and reason; And, having malignly a mind for a jest, Represented her suit as a thing out of season.

I cannot, said he, lady fair, with a frown, Indulge ev'ry ghost in it's wanton desire, But if for their sakes, wife or husband come down, I then might restore the fond souls they require.

Since Orpheus, however, in risk of his life, Long ago made us stare with his musick and passion, Not a soul hath come down, or for husband or wife; So that journies of this kind are quite out of fashion.

Yet, as you're a beauty, the favour I grant ye; But wherefore again should you covet on earth, To mix with a crowd, that perhaps only want ye To make you the theme of impertinent mirth?

Besides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken, If pleasure you promise yourself in the sight; For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forsaken, There's none will regard an impalpable spright.

Nay, nay, quoth the countess, if that be the case, Take your passport again; I'll have no more chagrin; A fig for fine sights, if unseen one's fine face; What signifies seeing if one is not seen?