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النشر الإلكتروني

Then came the god with solemn gait,
Whose ev'ry word was big with fate;
His hand a flaming taper bore,
That sacred symbol, fam'd of yore:
Virtue, adorn'd with every charm,
Sustain'd the god's incumbent arm:
Beauty improv'd the glowing scene
With all the roses of eighteen:
Youth led the gaily smiling fair,
His purple pinions wav'd in air:
Wealth, a close hunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With vulture-claw, and eagle-eye,
Who three-score years had seen, or more,
('Tis said his coat had seen a score);

Proud was the wretch, though clad in rags,
Presuming much upon his bags.

A female next her arts display'd,
Poets alone can paint the maid:

Trust me, Hogarth, (though great thy fame)
'Twould pose thy skill to draw the same;
And yet thy mimic pow'r is more
Than ever painter's was before:

Now, she was fair as cygnet's down;
Now, as Matt Prior's Emma brown;
And changing as the changing flow'r,
Her dress she varied every hour:
'Twas Fancy, child!-You know the fair,
Who pins your gown, and sets your hair

M

Hard by I saw a graceful sage,
His locks were frosted o'er by age;
His garb was plain, his mind serene,
And wisdom dignify'd his mien.

With curious search his name I sought,

And found 'twas Hymen's fav'rite-Thought.

A

Apace the giddy crowds advance,

And a lewd satyr led the dance:

I griev'd to see whole thousands run,

For oh! what thousands are undone!

The sage, when these mad troops he spy'd,
In pity flew to join their side:
The discontented pairs began

To rail against him, to a man;

Vow'd they were strangers to his name,
Nor knew from whence the dotard came.
But mark the sequel—for this truth
Highly concerns impetuous youth:
Long ere the honey-moon could wane,
Perdition seiz'd on ev'ry twain;
At every house, and all day long,
Repentance ply'd her scorpion thong;
Disgust was there with frowning mien,
And every wayward child of spleen.
Hymen approach'd his awful fane,
Attended by a num'rous train:

Love, with each soft and nameless grace,
Was first in favour and in place:

Then came the god with solemn gait,
Whose ev'ry word was big with fate;
His hand a flaming taper bore,
That sacred symbol, fam'd of yore:
Virtue, adorn'd with every charm,
Sustain❜d the god's incumbent arm:
Beauty improv'd the glowing scene
With all the roses of eighteen:
Youth led the gaily smiling fair,
His purple pinions wav'd in air:

Wealth, a close hunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With vulture-claw, and eagle-eye,

Who three-score years had seen, or more, ('Tis said his coat had seen a score); Proud was the wretch, though clad in rags, Presuming much upon his bags.

A female next her arts display'd,
Poets alone can paint the maid:

Trust me, Hogarth, (though great thy fame)
'Twould pose thy skill to draw the same;
And yet thy mimic pow'r is more
Than ever painter's was before:
Now, she was fair as cygnet's down;
Now, as Matt Prior's Emma brown;
And changing as the changing flow'r,
Her dress she varied every hour:
'Twas Fancy, child!--You know the fair,
Who pins your gown, and sets your hair

M

Lo! the god mounts his throne of state, And sits the arbiter of fate;

His head, with radiant glories drest,
Gently reclin'd on Virtue's breast:
Love took his station on the right,
His quiver beam'd with golden light.
Beauty usurp'd the second place,
Ambitious of distinguish'd grace;
She claim'd this ceremonial joy,
Because related to the boy;

(Said it was hers to point his dart,
And speed its passage to the heart)
While on the god's inferior hand
Fancy and Wealth obtain'd their stand.
And now the hallow'd rites proceed,
And now a thousand heart-strings bleed.
I saw a blooming, trembling bride,
A toothless lover join'd her side;
Averse she turn'd her weeping face,
And shudder'd at the cold embrace.
But various baits their force impart;
Thus titles lie at Celia's heart:
A passion much too foul to name,
Costs supercilious prudes their fame:
Prudes wed to publicans and sinners,
The hungry poet weds for dinners.

The god with frown indignant view'd
The rabble covetous or lewd;

By ev'ry vice his altars stain'd,

By ev'ry fool his rites profan'd:

When Love complain'd of Wealth aloud,
Affirming Wealth debauch'd the crowd;
Drew up in form his heavy charge,
Desiring to be heard at large.

The god consents, the throng divide,
The young espous'd the plaintiff's side;
The old declar'd for the defendant,
For age is money's sworn attendant.

Love said, that wedlock was design'd
By gracious Heaven to match the mind;
To pair the tender and the just,
And his the delegated trust:

That Wealth had play'd a knavish part,

And taught the tongue to wrong the heart;
But what avails the faithless voice?

The injur❜d heart disdains the choice.

Wealth straight reply'd, that Love was blind,

And talk'd at random of the mind;

That killing eyes, and bleeding hearts,
And all th' artillery of darts,
Were long ago exploded fancies,
And laugh'd at even in romances:
Poets indeed style love a treat,
Perhaps for want of better meat;
And love might be delicious fare,
Could we, like poets, live on air.

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