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CLEORA.

Of Happiness unfound I too complain,
Sought in a diff'rent path, but sought in vain!
I sigh'd for fame, I languish'd for renown,

I would be flatter'd, prais'd, admir'd, and known.
On daring wing my mounting spirit soar'd,
And Science through her boundless fields ex-
plored:

I scorn'd the salique laws of pedant schools,
Which chain our genius down by tasteless rules:
I long'd to burst these female bonds, which held
My sex in awe, by vanity impell'd:

To boast each various faculty of mind,

Thy graces, Pope! with Johnson's learning join'd:

Like Swift, with strongly pointed ridicule,
To brand the villain, and abash the foo! :
To judge with taste, with spirit to compose,
Now mount in epic, now descend to prose;
To join, like Burke, the Beauteous and Sublime,
Or build, with Milton's art," the lofty rhyme;'
Thro' Fancy's fields I rang'd; I strove to hit
Melmoth's chaste style, and Prior's easy wit:
Thy classic graces, Mason, to display,
And court the Muse of Elegy with Gray :

I rav'd of Shakspeare's flame and Dryden's rage,
And ev'ry charm of Otway's melting page.
I talk'd by rote the jargon of the schools,
Of critic laws, and Aristotle's rules!

Of passion, sentiment, and style, and grace,
And unities of action, time, and place.
The daily duties of my life forgot,
To study fiction, incident, and plot:
Howe'er the conduct of my life might err,
Still my dramatic plans were regular.

URANIA.

Who aims at ev'ry science, soon will find The field how vast, how limited the mind!

CLEORA.

Abstruser studies soon my fancy caught,
The poet in th' astronomer forgot:

The schoolmen's systems now my mind employ'd,
Their crystal Spheres, their Atoms, and their Void,
Newton and Halley all my soul inspir'd,
And numbers less than calculations fir'd;
Descartes, and Euclid, shar'd my varying breast,
And plans and problems all my soul possess'd.
Less pleas'd to sing inspiring Phoebus' ray,
Than mark the flaming comet's devious way.
The pale moon dancing on the silver stream,
And the mild lustre of her trembling beam,
No more could charm my philosophic pride,
Which sought her influence on the flowing tide.
No more ideal beauties fir'd my thought,
Which only facts and demonstrations sought.
Let common eyes, I said, with transport view
The earth's bright verdure, or the heaven's soft blue,
False is the pleasure, the delight is vain,
Colours exist but in the vulgar brain.
I now with Locke trod metaphysic soil,
Now chas'd coy Nature thro' the tracts of Boyle;
To win the wreath of Fame, by Science twin'd,.
More than the love of Science fir'd my mind.
I seized on Learning's superficial part,
And title-page and index got by heart;
Some learn'd authority I still would bring
To grace my talk, and prove-the plainest thing:
This the chief transport I from science drew,
That all might know how much Cleora knew.
Not love, but wonder I aspir'd to raise,
And miss'd affection, while I grasp'd at praise.

PASTORELLA.

To me, no joys could pomp or fame impart ; Far softer thoughts possess'd my virgin heart. No prudent parent form'd my ductile youth, Nor led my footsteps in the paths of truth. Left to myself to cultivate my mind, Pernicious novels their soft entrance find: Their pois nous influence led my mind astray: I sigh'd for something,-what, I could not say. I fancy'd virtues which were never seen, And died for heroes who have never been; I sicken'd with disgust at sober sense, And loath'd the pleasures worth and truth dispense: I scorn'd the manners of the world I saw ; My guide was fiction, and romance my law. Distemper'd thoughts my wand'ring fancy fill, Each wind a zephyr, and each brook a rill;

I found adventures in each common tale, And talk'd and sigh'd to every passing gale; Convers'd with echoes, woods, and shades, and bowers, [flowers. Cascades, and grottos, fields, and streams, and Retirement, more than crowds, had learn'd to

please;

For treach'rous Leisure feeds the soft disease.
There, plastic Fancy ever moulds at will
Th' obedient image with a dang'rous skill;
The charming fiction, with alluring art,
Awakes the passions, and infects the heart.
A fancy'd heroine, an ideal wife;

I loath'd the offices of real life.

These all were dull and tame, I long'd to prove
The gen'rous ardours of unequal love;
Some marvel still my wayward heart must strice,
Or prince, or peasant, each had charms alike:
Whate'er inverted nature, custom, law,
With joy I courted, and with transport saw.
In the dull walk of Virtue's quiet round,
No aliment my fever'd fancy found,
Each duty to perform observant still

But those which God and Nature bade me fill.

ELIZA (to Urania.)

O save me from the errors of deceit, And all the dangers wealth and beauty meet.

PASTORELLA.

Reason perverted, Fancy on her throne,
My soul to all my sex's softness prone;

I neither spoke nor look'd as mortal ought;
To sense abandon'd and by Folly taught':
A victim to Imagination's sway,

Which stole my health, and rest, and peace away:
Professions, void of meaning, I receiv'd,

And still 1 found them false-and still believ'd:
Imagin'd all who courted me approv'd;

Who prais'd, esteem'd me; and who flatter'd lov'd.
Fondly I hop'd, (now vain those hopes appear,)
Each man was faithful, and each maid sincere.
Still Disappointment mock'd the ling'ring day;
Still new-born wishes led my soul astray.

When in the rolling year no joy I find,

I trust the next; the next will sure be kind.
The next, fallacious as the last appears,
And sends me on to still remoter years.
They come, they promise-but forget to give ;
I live not, but I still intend to live.

At length, deceiv'd in all my schemes of bliss,
I join'd these three in search of Happiness.

ELIZA.

Is this the world of which we want a sight? Are these the beings who are call'd polite?

SYLVIA.

If so, O gracious Heaven! hear Sylvia's prayer⚫ Preserve me still in humble virtue here! Far from such baneful pleasures may I live, And keep, O keep, me from the taint they give!

LAURINDA.

No love of Fame my torpid bosom warms,
No Fancy soothes me, and no Pleasure charms!
Yet still remote from Happiness I stray,
No guiding star illumes my trackless way.
My mind, nor wit misleads, nor passion goads,
But the dire rust of indolence corrodes;
This eating canker, with malignant stealth,
Destroys the vital powers of moral health.

Till now, I've slept on Life's tumultuous tide,
No principle of action for my guide.
From Ignorance my chief misfortunes flow;
I never wish'd to learn, or cared to know.
With every folly slow-paced time beguiled:
In size a woman, but in soul a child.
In slothful ease my moments crept away,
And busy trifles fill'd the tedious day;
I lived extempore, as Fancy fired,
As Chance directed, or Caprice inspired:
Too indolent to think, too weak to choose,
Too soft to blame, too gentle to refuse;
My character was stamp'd from those around;
The figures they, my mind the simple ground.
Fashion, with monstrous forms, the canvas stain'd,
Till nothing of my genuine self remain'd;
My pliant soul from Chance received its bent,
And neither good perform'd, or evil meant.
From right to wrong, from vice to virtue thrown,
No character possessing of its own.

To shun fatigue I made my only law;
Yet every night my wasted spirits saw.
No plan e'er mark'd the duties of the day,
Which stole in tasteless apathy away:
No energy inform'd my languid mind!
No joy the idle e'er must hope to find.
Weak indecision all my actions sway'd;
The day was lost before the choice was made.
Though more to folly than to guilt inclined,
A drear vacuity possess'd my mind.
Too old with infant sports to be amused,
Unfit for converse, and to books unused,"
The wise avoided me, they could not hear
My senseless prattle with a patient ear.

I sought retreat, but found, with strange surprise,
Retreat is pleasant only to the wise;

The crowded world by vacant minds is sought, Because it saves th' expense and pain of thought. Disgusted, restless, every plan amiss,

I come with these in search of Happiness.

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HAIL, artless Simplicity, beautiful maid, In the genuine attractions of Nature array'd; [vain, Let the rich and the proud and the gay and the Still laugh at the graces that move in thy train.

No charm in thy modest allurements they find; The pleasures they follow a sting leave behind. Can criminal passion enrapture the breast Like virtue, with peace and serenity blest?

Oh, would you Simplicity's precepts attend, Like us, with delight at her altar you'd bend; The pleasures she yields would with joy be embraced; [taste. You'd practise from virtue, and love them from

The linnet enchants us the bushes among, Though cheap the musician, yet sweet is the song; We catch the soft warbling in air as it floats, And with ecstacy hang on the ravishing notes.

Our water is drawn from the clearest of springs, And our food, nor disease nor satiety brings; Our mornings are cheerful, our labours are blest Our evenings are pleasant, our nights crown'd with rest.

From our culture yon garden its ornament finds, And we catch at the hint for improving our minds; To live to some purpose we constantly try, And we mark by our actions the days as they fly.

Since such are the joys that Simplicity yields, We may well be content with our woods and our fields:

How useless to us, then, ye great, were your wealth, When without it we purchase both pleasure and health! [They retire into the Cottage.

SCENE-A Rural Entertainment.

Florella, Euphelia, Cleora, Laurinda, Pastorella.

FLORELLA (sings).

WHILE Beauty and Pleasure are now in their

prime,

And Folly and Fashion expect our whole tirne,
Ah! let not those phantoms our wishes engage:
Let us live so in youth, that we blush not in age.

Though the vain and the gay may allure us awhile,

Yet let not their flattery our prudence beguile :
Let us covet those charms that will never decay,
Nor listen to all that deceivers can say.

"How the tints of the rose, and the jasmine's perfume,

The eglantine's fragrance, the lilac's gay bloom,
Though fair and though' fragrant, unheeded may
lie,
For that neither is sweet when Florella is by."

I sigh not for beauty, nor languish for wealth,
But grant me, kind Providence, virtue and health;
Then, richer than kings, and as happy as they
My days shall pass sweetly and swiftly away.

When age shall steal on me, and youth is no

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Esteem none happy by their outward air; All have their portion of allotted care. Though Wisdom wear the semblance of Content. When the full heart with agony is rent, Secludes its anguish from the public view, And by secluding, learns to conquer too; Denied the fond indulgence to complain, The aching heart its peace may best regain. By love directed, and in mercy meant, Are trials suffer'd, and afflictions sent; To stem impetuous Passion's furious tide, To curb the insolence of prosperous Pride, To wean from earth, and bid our wishes soar To that blest clime where pain shall be no more : Where weary'd Virtue shall for refuge fly, And every tear be wiped from every eye.

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Taught by his precepts, by his practice taught Her will submitted, and resigned her thought, Through faith she looks beyond this dark abode, To scenes of glory near the throne of God.

Enter Urania, Sylvia, Eliza.

URANIA.

Since, gentle Nymphs, my friendship to obtain,
You've sought with eager step this peaceful plain,
My honest counsel with attention hear,
Though plain, well meant; imperfect, yet sincere ;
What from maturer years alone I've known,
What time has taught me and experience shown.
No polish'd phrase my artless speech will grace,
But unaffected candour fill its place:

My lips shall Flattery's smooth deceit refuse;
And truth be all the eloquence I'll use.

Know then, that life's chief happiness and wo,
From good or evil education flow;
And hence our future dispositions rise;
The vice we practise, or the good we prize.
When pliant nature any form receives,
That precept teaches or example gives,

The yielding mind with virtue should be graced,
For first impressions seldom are effaced.
Then holy habits, then chastised desires,
Should regulate disorder'd Nature's fires.
If Ignorance then, her iron sway maintain,
If Prejudice preside, or Passion reign,
If Vanity preserve her native sway,
If selfish tempers cloud the opening day,
If no kind hand impetuous pride restrain,
But for the wholesome curb we give the rein;
The erring principle is rooted fast,

And fix'd the habit that through life may last.

PASTORELLA.

With heartfelt penitence we now deplore Those squander'd hours, which time can ne'er

restore.

URANIA.

Euphelia sighs for flattery, dress, and show;
Too common sources these of female wo!
In Beauty's sphere pre-eminence to find,
She slights the culture of th' immortal mind:
I would not rail at Beauty's charming power,
I would but have her aim at something more;
The fairest symmetry of form or face,
From intellect receives its highest grace;
The brightest eyes ne'er dart such piercing fires
As when a soul irradiates and inspires.
Beauty with reason needs not quite dispense,
And coral lips may sure speak common sense;
Beauty makes Virtue lovelier still appear:
Virtue makes Beauty more divinely fair!
Confirms its conquests o'er the willing mind,
And those your beauties gain, your virtues bind.
Yet would Ambition's fire your bosom fill,
Its flames repress not-be ambitious still;
Let nobler views your best attention claim,
The object changed, the energy the same;
Those very passions which our heart invade,
If rightly pointed, blessings may be made.
Indulge the true ambition to excel

In that best art-the art of living well.
But first extirpate from your youthful breast
That rankling torment which destroys your rest:
All other faults may take a higher aim,
But hopeless Envy must be still the same.
Some other passions may be turn'd to good,
But Envy must subdue, or be subdued.
This fatal gangrene to our moral life,
Rejects all palliatives, and asks the knife:
Excision spared, it taints the vital part,
And spreads its deadly venom to the heart.

EUPHELIA.

Unhappy those to bliss who seek the way, In power superior, or in splendour gay! Inform'd by thee, no more vain man shall find The charm of flattery taint Euphelia's mind; By thee instructed, still my views shall rise, Nor stop at any mark beneath the skies.

URANIA.

In fair Laurinda's uninstructed mind, The want of culture, not of sense, we find: Whene'er you sought the good, or shunn'd the ill, ' was more from temper than from principle:

Your random life to no just rules reduced, 'Twas chance the virtue or the vice produced. The casual goodness Impulse has to boast, Like morning dews, or transient showers is lost While Heaven-taught virtue pours her constant tide,

Like streams by living fountains still supplied.

Be wisdom still, though late, your earnest care,
Nor waste the precious hours in vain despair :
Associate with the good, attend the sage,
And meekly listen to experienced age.
What, if acquirements you have fail'd to gain
Such as the wise may want, the bad attain;
Yet still Religion's sacred treasures lie
Inviting, open, plain to every eye.
For every age, for every genius fit,
Nor limited to science nor to wit;

Not bound by taste, to genius not confined,
But all may learn the truths for all designed.
Though low the talents, and th' acquirements
The gift of grace divine is free to all;
She calls, solicits, courts you to be blest,
And points to mansions of eternal rest.

[smail,

And when, advanced in years, matured in sense, Think not with further care you may dispense; "Tis fatal to the interests of the soul

To stop the race before we've reach'd the goal;
For nought our higher progress can preclude
So much as thinking we're already good.
The human heart ne'er knows a state of rest,
Bad leads to worse, and better tends to best.
We either gain or lose, we sink or rise,
Nor rests our struggling nature till she dies;
Then place the standard of Perfection high,
Pursue and grasp it, e'en beyond the sky.

LAURINDA.

O that important Time could back return Those mis-spent hours whose loss I deeply mourn Accept, just Heaven, my penitence sincere, My heartfelt anguish, and my fervent prayer!

URANIA.

I pity Pastorella's hapless fate,
By nature gentle, generous, mild, and great:
One false propension all her powers confined,
And chain'd her finer faculties of mind;
Yet every virtue might have flourish'd there
With early oulture and maternal care.

If good we plant not, Vice will fill the place,
And rankest weeds the richest soils deface.
Learn, how ungovern'd thoughts the mind per-
vert,

And to disease all nourishment convert.
Ah! happy she, whose wisdom learns to find
A healthful fancy, and a well-train'd mind!
A sick man's wildest dreams less wild are found
Than the day-visions of a mind unsound.
Disorder'd phantasies indulged too much,
Like harpies, always taint whate'er they touch.
Fly soothing Solitude! fly vain Desire!

Fly such soft verse as fans the dangerous fire!
Seek action; 'tis the seene which virtue loves:
The vigorous sun not only shines, but moves.
From sickly thoughts with quick abhorrence start,
And rule the fancy if you'd rule the heart:
By active goodness, by laborious schemes,
Subdue wild visions, and delusive dreams.
No earthly good a Christian's views should bound,
For ever rising should his aims be found.
Leave that fictitious good your fancy feigns
For scenes where real bliss eternal reigns:
Look to that region of immortal joys,
Where fear disturbs not, nor possession cloys;
Beyond what Fancy forms of rosy bowers,
Or blooming chaplets of unfading flowers;
Fairer than e'er imagination drew,
Or poet's warmest visions ever knew.
Press eager onward to those blissful plains
Where life eternal, joy perpetual reigns.

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Why found her merit on a foreign claim?
Why lose a substance to acquire a name?
Let the proud sex possess their vaunted powers;
Be other triumphs, other glories, ours!
The gentler charms which wait on female life,
Which grace the daughter and adorn the wife,
Be these our boast; yet these may well admit
Of various knowledge, and of blameless wit:
Of sense, resulting from a nurtured mind,
Of polish'd converse, and of taste refined."
Of that quick intuition of the best,

Which feels the graceful, and rejects the rest;
Which finds the right by shorter ways than rules:
An art which Nature teaches-not the schools.
Thus conquering Sevigne the heart obtains,
While Dacier only admiration gains.

Know, fair Aspirer, could you even hope
To speak like Stonhouse, or to write like Pope,
To all the wonders of the Poet's lyre,
Join all that taste can add, or wit inspire,
With every various power of learning fraught,
The flow of style and the sublime of thought;
Yet if the milder graces of the mind,
Graces peculiar to the sex design'd,

Good nature, patience, sweetness void of art;
If these embellish'd not your virgin heart,
You might be dazzling, but not truly bright;
Might glare, but not emit an useful light;
A meteor, not a star, you would appear;
For Woman shines but in her proper sphere.

Accomplishments by Heaven were sure designed,
Less to adorn than to amend the mind:
Each should contribute to this general end,
And all to virtue, as their centre, tend.

Th' acquirements, which our best esteem invite,
Should not project, but soften, mix, unite:
In glaring light not strongly be display'd,
But sweetly lost, and melted into shade.

CLEORA.

Confused with shame, to thy reproofs I bend, Thou best adviser, and thou truest friend! From thee I'll learn to judge and act aright, Humility with Knowledge to unite : The finish'd character must both combine, The perfect woman must in either shine.

URANIA.

Florella shines adorn'd with every grace,
Her heart all virtue, as all charms her face:
Above the wretched, and below the great,
Kind Heaven has fix'd her in a middle state;
The demon Fashion never warp'd her soul,
Her passions move at Piety's control;

Her eyes the movements of her heart declare,
For what she dares to be, she dares appear;
Unlectured in Dissimulation's school,
To smile by precept, and to blush by rule,
Her thoughts ingenuous, ever open lie,
Nor shrink from close Inspection's keenest eye;
No dark disguise about her heart is thrown;
'Tis Virtue's interest fully to be known;
Her natural sweetness every heart obtains;
What Art and Affectation miss, she gains.
She smooths the path of my declining years,
Augments my comforts, and divides my cares.

PASTOR ELLA.

O sacred Friendship! O exalted state! The choicest bounty of indulgent fate!

URANIA.

Let Woman then her real good discern, And her true interests of Urania learn: As some fair violet, loveliest of the glade, Sheds its mild fragrance on the lonely shade, Withdraws its modest head from public sight, Nor courts the Sun, nor seeks the glare of light; Should some rude hand profanely dare intrude, And bear its beauties from its native wood, Exposed abroad its languid colours fly, Its form decays, and all its odours die; So Woman born to dignify retreat, Unknown to flourish, and unseen be great, To give domestic life its sweetest charm, With softness polish, and with virtue warm, Fearful of Fame, unwilling to be known, Should seek but Heaven's applauses and her own; Hers be the task to seek the lonely cell Where modest want and silent anguish dwell: Raise the weak bead, sustain the feeble knees, Cheer the cold heart, and chase the dire disease.

The splendid deeds which only seek a name,
Are paid their just reward in present fame;
But know, the awful all-disclosing day,
The long arrear of secret worth shall pay;
Applauding Saints shall hear with fond regard,
And He, who witness'd here, shall there reward.
EUPHELIA.

With added grace she pleads Religion's cause,
Who from her life her virtuous lesson draws.

URANIA.

In vain, ye fair, from place to place you roam For that true peace which must be found at home. Nor change of fortune, nor of scene can give The bliss you seek, which in the soul must live. Then look no more abroad; in your own breast Seek the true seat of happiness and rest. Nor small, my friends! the vigilance I ask; Watch well yourselves, this is the Christian's task. The cherish'd sin by each must be assail'd, New efforts added, where the past have fail'd; The darling error check'd, the will subdued, The heart by penitence and pray'r renew'd. Nor hope for perfect happiness below; Celestial plants on earth reluctant grow: HR who our frail mortality did bear, Though free from sin was not exempt from care.

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URANIA.

In its true light this transient life regard:
This is a state of trial, not reward.
Though rough the passage, peaceful is the port,
The bliss is perfect, the probation short.
Of human wit beware the fatal pride;
An useful follower, but a dangerous guide:
On holy Faith's aspiring pinions rise;
Assert your birth-right, and assume the skies.
Fountain of Being! teach us to devote

To Thee each purpose, action, word, and thought?
Thy grace our hope, thy love our only boast,
Be all distinction in the Christian lost!
Be this in every state our wish alone,
Almighty, Wise and Good, Thy will be done!

ODE TO CHARITY.

TO BE PERFORMED BY THE CHARACTERS OF THE PRECEDING PIECE.

O CHARITY, divinely wise,

Thou meek-ey'd Daughter of the skies
From the pure fountain of eternal light,
Where fair, immutable, and ever bright,
The beatific vision shines,

Where Angel with Archangel joins
In choral songs to sing his praise,
Parent of Life, Ancient of Days,
Who was ere Time existed, and shall be
Thro' the wide round of vast Eternity,
O come, thy warm celestial beams impart,
Enlarge my feelings, and expand my heart!

Descend from radiant realms above,
Thou effluence of that boundless love
Whence joy and peace in streams unsully'd flow,
O deign to make thy lov'd abode below!

Tho' sweeter strains adorn'd my tongue
Than Saint conceiv'd or Seraph sung,
And tho' my glowing Fancy caught
Whatever Art or Nature taught,
Yet if this hard unfeeling heart of mine
Ne'er felt thy force, O Charity divine!
An empty shadow Science would be found:
My knowledge ignorance, my wit a sound!

Tho' my prophetic spirit knew
To bring futurity to view,

Without thy aid e'en this would nought avail,
For Tongues shall cease, and Prophecies shall fail.
Come then, thou sweet immortal guest,
Shed thy soft influence o'er my breast,
Bring with thee Faith, divinely bright,
And Hope, fair harbinger of light,

To clear each mist with their pervading ray,
To fit my soul for Heaven, and point the way;
There Perfect Happiness her sway maintains;
For there the God of peace for ever reigns.

THE BAS BLEU:

OR, CONVERSATION.

Addressed to Mrs. Vesey.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following Trifle owes its birth and name to the mistake of a Foreigner of Distinction, who gave the literal appellation of the Bas-bleu to a small party of friends, who had been often called, by way of pleasantry, the Blue Stockings. These little Societies have been sometimes misrepresented. They were composed of persons distinguished, in general, for their rank, talents, or respectable character, who met frequently at Mrs Vesey's and at a few other houses, for the sole purpose of conversation, and were different in no respect from other parties, but that the company did not play at cards.

May the Author be permitted to bear her grateful testimony (which will not be suspected of flattery now that most of the persons named in this Poem are gone down to the grave) to the many pleasant and instructive hours she had the honour to pass in this company; in which learning was as little disfigured by pedantry, good taste as little tinctured by affectation, and general conversation as little disgraced by calumny, levity, and the other censurable errors with which it is too commonly tainted, as has perhaps been known in any Society.

VESEY of Verse the judge and friend!
Awhile my idle strain attend:

Not with the days of early Greece,

I mean to ope my slender piece;

The rare Symposium to proclaim

Which crown'd th' Athenians' social name;

Or how Aspasia's parties shone,

The first Bas-bleu at Athens known;

Where Socrates unbending sat,

With Alcibiades in chat;

And Pericles vouchsafed to mix
Taste, wit, and mirth, with politics.
Nor need I stop my tale, to show,
At least to readers such as you,
How all that Rome esteem'd polite,
Supp'd with Lucullus every night;
Lucullus, who, from Pontus come,

Brought conquests, and brought cherries home.
Name but the suppers in th' Apollo,
What classic images will follow!

How wit flew round, while each might take
Conchylia from the Lucrine lake;
And Attic Salt, and Garum Sauce,
And Lettuce from the isle of Cos;

The first and last from Greece transplanted;
Used here-because the rhyme I wanted.
How Pheasants' heads, with cost collected,
And Phenicopters stood neglected,
To laugh at Scipio's lucky hit,
Pompey's bon-mot, or Cæsar's wit.
Intemperance, listening to the tale,
Forgot the mullet growing stale;
And Admiration balanced hung

"Twixt Peacocks' brains and Tully's tongue.
I shall not stop to dwell on these,
But be as epic as I please,
And plunge at once in medias res.
To prove the privilege I plead,
I'll quote some Greek I cannot read ;
Stunn'd by Authority, you yield,
And I, not reason, keep the field.

Long was Society o'er-run
By Whist, that desolating Hun;
Long did Quadrille despotic sit,
That Vandal of colloquial wit;
And Conversation's setting light
Lay half obscured in Gothic night;
At length the mental shades decline,
Colloquial wit begins to shine;

Seneca says, that in his time the Romans were arrived at such a pitch of luxury, that the mullet was reckoned stale which did not die in the hands of the guest.

Genius prevails, and Conversation
Emerges into Reformation.
The vanquish'd triple crown to you,
Boscawen sage, bright Montagu,
Divided, fell; your cares in haste
Rescued the ravaged realms of Taste;
And Lyttelton's accomplish'd name,
And witty Pulteney shared the fame;
The Men, not bound by pedant rules,
Nor Ladies Precieuses ridicules;
For polish'd Walpole show'd the way,
How Wits may be both learn'd and gay;
And Carter taught the female train,
The deeply wise are never vain;

And she, who Shakspeare's wrongs redrest,
Proved that the brightest are the best.
This just deduction still they drew,
And well they practised what they knew;
Nor taste, nor wit, deserves applause,
Unless still true to Critic laws;
Good Sense, of faculties the best,
Inspire and regulate the rest.

O! how unlike the wit that fell,
Rambouillett at thy quaint Hotel;
Where point, and turn, and equivoque,
Distorted every word they spoke!
All so intolerably bright,

Plain Common Sense was put to flight;
Each speaker, so ingenious ever,
'Twas tiresome to be quite so clever;
There twisted Wit forgot to please,
And Mood and Figure banish'd ease;
No votive Altar smoked to thee,
Chaste Queen, divine Simplicity!
But forced Conceit, which ever fails,
And stiff Antithesis prevails;
Uneasy rivalry destroys

Society's unlaboured joys;

Nature, of stilts and fetters tired,

Impatient from the Wits retired;

Long time the Exile, houseless stray'd,

Till Sevigne received the maid.

Though here she comes to bless our isle,

Not universal is her smile.

Muse! snatch the lyre which Cambridge strung,

When he the empty ball-room sung;

'Tis tuned above thy pitch, I doubt,

And thou no music would'st draw out;
Yet, in a lower note presume

To sing the full, dull Drawing-room.‡
Where the dire Circle keeps its station,
Each common phrase is an oration;
And cracking fans, and whispering Misses,
Compose their Conversation blisses.
The Matron marks the goodly show,
While the tall daughter eyes the Beau-
The frigid Beau! Ah! luckless fair,
'Tis not for you that studied air;
Ah! not for you that sidelong glance,
And all that charming nonchalance;
Ah! not for you the three long hours
He worshipp'd the "Cosmetic powers;"
That finish'd head which breathes perfume,
And kills the nerves of half the room;
And all the murders meant to lie
In that large, languishing, grey eye;
Desist-less wild the attempt would be,
To warm the snows of Rhodope:
Too cold to feel, too proud to feign,
For him you're wise and fair in vain;
In vain to charm him you intend,
Self is his object, aim, and end.

Chill shade of that affected Peer,
Who dreaded Mirth, come safely here!

See Moliere's Comedy.

The Society at the Hotel de Rambouillet, though composed of the most polite and ingenious persons in France, was much tainted with affectation and false taste. See Voiture, Menage, &c.

The late Earl of Mansfield told the Author, that when he was Ambassador at Paris, he was assured that it had not been unusual for those persons of a purer taste, who frequented these Assemblies, to come out from their Society so weary of wit and laboured ingenuity, that they used to express the comfort they felt in their emancipation, by saying,"Allons faisons! des solecismes!"

These grave and formal parties now scarcely exist, having been swallowed up in the reigning multitudinous Assemblies.

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