The Gentleman's Magazine/Volume 1/Issue 2/Poetry
The Universal Spectator, Saturday, February, 6, No. 122.
A new Session of the POETS, for the Year, 1730.
WITH bombast, with doggrell, and nonsense quite cloy'd,His laws all despis'd, his prerogative void,Apollo, thought fit from these isles to elope,But left his commission with Swift and with Pope.Full bent was his bow, and unstrung was his lyre,When with him the Nine were oblig'd to retire.How pale was the sun! how unpleasant the day!How heavy old time runs, since he went away.
Soon Dullness, great goddess, usurp'd his command,And publish'd her edicts all over the land,For electing a Laureat, a Sessions to keep,In the room of the late———who shall quietly sleep.
Enthron'd sat the goddess, her subjects stood round,And subject to Dullness, what numbers abound;Came witlings, and dunces, and wrongheads so many,Came some that were rich, more worth not a penny.There was S-el-y, R-ch, W-ls-d, Concan-, and W-dCharles J-ns-n, and C-mm-ns the Gloucestershire bard.Old Dennis was cryer, and call'd out to order,John H-y was town clerk, Giles Jacob recorder.Each candidate brought the best sample he had,Some tragedies merry, some comedies sad:Some brought in whole volumes of clenches and puns,And one, by mistake, brought a parcel of duns:Some with the meer weight of their own works did blunder,And one sent an Ass, heavy loaden with plunder;Ev'n T-k-l and T-p came for sake of the pension,Tom Southern, and others, I care not to mention:First a Beau, clad in silk, produc'd his course stuff.The goddess declar'd he had merit enough;But bid him one instance from history bring,Of the son of a Footman advanc'd to a King:Dennis told him he treated his muse like a jade,Since he drest her in Fustian, himself in Brocade.
Whose petition is that? my trusty friend C-k's;I honour him much for his dullest of books.Some other protection I wish him to seek,For I'll never give this to a dabbler in Greek.So C-mm-ns was call'd, who was bred near her throne,But he had forgotten his Cassock and Gown:So for once was asham'd, and shrunk back for fear,And miss'd being created a spiritual Peer.
Then T-b-d came newly emerg'd from his Cave,Well known to the Court for a Critick most grave;The goddess rose up, and said, this was the man,But him I've already crown'd King of a Clan.
Next P-pe appeared, and enter'd his plea,But his works did not all, with her standard agree, How dares he, says she, approach to my shrine,Who deny's such a thing as a Power divine!D———s made a remark, that it wasn't so oddHe should own her a goddess who believ'd not a———But commended him much for a poet so mild,He knew not a fitter to sing to a Child.
Dick S———ge came pleading that he was undone,She declar'd he was not her legitimate son:And tho' C———r a precedent was of his side,Yet she ne'er made a Judge of a Criminal try'd.Nick Am———t came next———but sir R——— appear'd,And soon got him expell'd; so well he was heard:He swore to his ruin, the rebel to follow,For secret intelligence held with Apollo.With Torches, with Flambeaux, and abundance of fire,T———g enter'd the hall, but was bid to retire;She confess'd that his plays might pass for good things,But his Satyr too much abounded with stings.Poor Gay tho' he had not one friend in the Court,Came like a bold Begger, and made his claim for't;But soon he was told with a deal of grimace,If he'd part with the pension, he might have the place.The goddess at last quite impatient was grown,And said, I declare for a Son of my own:My C———y alone is deserving the bays,He suck'd at these breafts, and he publish'd these plays:In Hibernian shades, where I'm wont to retire,A mortal comprest me, Mac Fleckno's his sire:To plunder from Shakespear, or Fletcher he's free,And he shall be always assisted by me:C———y C——— no more, but Querno his name,Thro' all my dominions, see publish the same.
Just then he came singing, Reginam amamus,And produced to the goddess the Royal mandamus,You need not, she said, have ran upon score,For what I had gratis design'd you before.So rejecting each supplicant's humble petition,She with her own mark sign'd and seal'd his commission;Soon as known to Apollo he sent his protest,And decreed from hence forward the place but a jest.
From the Weekly Register, Feb. 6, No. 43.
The Gentleman's Aversion. A Riddle.
THere's a being in nature, as light as a feather;As fickle as wind, as inconstant as weather.Now humble, then proud; now sweet and then sour;Never wears the same humour, or conduct an hour,'Tis a Lyon, a Lamb, an Eagle, a Dove;All tameness, all fierceness, all hate or all love.It can swear and protest; but it's oaths are so frail,That he who rely's on't takes an Eel by the tail.Shou'd a modern Coquet unriddle my riddle,She may toss up her nose, and kiss my bumfiddle.
A Winter's Thought
By Mr. E———
All Seasons and their Change, &c.
Milton.
I.The man whose constitution's strong and free from vexing care hismin,As changing seasons pass along, Can in them all a pleasure find.
II.Not only in the teeming bud, The opening leaf, and lively bloom,(Urg'd by the sap's ascending flood) and fruit fair-knitting in its room.
III.Not only when the smiling fields, In all their gaiety appear,And the perfume their bosom yields, On balmy wings the Zephyr's bear,
IV.In morning fair, and evening mild, The murm'ring brook, and cooling shade,The notes of birds in confort mild, And philomela's serenade.
V.Not only in the waving ear, And branches bending with their loadOr while the produce of the year, Is gather'd in and safely stow'd.
VI.Pleas'd in the year's decline, he sees The fading leaf diversify'd,With various colours, and the trees Strip and stand forth in naked pride.
VII.Each hollow blast, and hasty shower, The rattling hail and fleecy snow,The candy'd rhime, and scatter'd hoar, And isicles which downward grow.
VIII.The shining pavement of the flood, To which the youthful tribes resort;And game, which the discover'd wood Exposes to the fowler's sport.
IX.The greens which winter's blasts defy, Thro' native strength or humane careIn hedge, or soft orangery, All a new source of pleasure are.
X.The sun which from the northern signs Scorch'd with unsufferable heat,Now in a milder glory shines, And every glancing ray is sweet.
XI.The silver moon, and every star, Now forth to full advantage shine,And, by the richest scene, prepare For noblest thoughts the enlarged mind.
XII.Ev'n when the mornings slowest rise, Sweetly the nights can pass away,In lucubrations with the wise, Or social pleasures with the gay.
XIII.And when the winter tedious grows, And length'ning days cold stronger bring,An unexhausted pleasure flows From expectation of the spring.
XIV.So he, whose faculties are sound, His heart upright, and conscience clean,Agreeably can pass the round Of life in every changing scene.
XV.Not only in his youthful bloom, And while his strength continues firm,But when the days of evil come, And age prepares him for the worm.
XVI.Thankfulness gives his comforts weight And patience lightens ev'ry ill,And in what ever ground he's set, Hope does with pleasing prospects fill.
XVIIFaith in a father's changeless love, Whose Christ will speedily appear,And make eternal spring above, Does all his damps and darkness clear.
The Midsummer Wish.
By Mr. Stephen Duck.
WAft me some soft and cooling breeze, To Windsor's shady kind retreat,Where Sylvan scenes, wide spreading trees, Repell the raging dog star's heat:Where tufted grass, and mossy beds, Afford a rural calm repose,Where Woodbines hang their dewy heads And fragrant sweets around disclose.
His chrystal current Thames displays,Thro' meadows sweet by flowers made, Along the smiling valley plays:And bubbling springs refresh the glade. His fertile banks with herbage green,His purling stream with plenty swells. Where e'er his coursing tide is seen,The god of health and pleasure dwells.
Let me thy pure thy yielding wave,With naked arm once more divide; In thee my glowing bosom lave,And gently stem thy rolling tide, Lay me with damask roses crown'd,Beneath thy Osier's verdant shade, Where water lillies paint the ground,And bubbling springs refresh the glade.
Let chaste Clarinda too be there, With azure mantle lightly drest.Ye nymphs, bind up her silken hair, Ye zephirs fan her panting breast,Oh! haste away fair maid, and bring Harmonious songs the voice of love,To thee alone my muse shall sing. And warble through the vocal grove.
The Gossip's Tale; under the Rose.
TWO Gossips they merrily met, At nine in the morn before noon.And they were resolv'd for a whet, To keep their sweet voices in tune.Away to the tavern they went, Quoth Joan, I do vow and protest,That I have a crown never spent. Come let's have a cup of the best.
And I have another perhaps, A piece of the very same sort:Why should we sit thrumming of caps, Come drawer and fill us a quart,And let it be liquor of life, Canary that sparkling wine.As I am buxom young wife, I love to be gallant and fine.
The drawer as blithe as a bird, Came skipping with cap in his hand,Dear ladies, I'll give you my word. The best shall be at your command,A quart of canary he drew, Joan fill'd up her glass and begun,Here's, Gossip, a bumper to you, I'd pledge thee, girl, were it a tun.
And pray, Gossip, did you not hear The common report of the town,A man of five hundred a year, Is married to Dell o' the crown,A draggle tail'd slut o' my word, Her cloaths hanging ragged and foul,In troth he wou'd fain have a bird, That wou'd give a groat for an owl.
And she had a sister last year, Whose name they call draggle tail Pegg.She'd take up a straw with her ear, I'll warrant her right as my leg:A brewer he got her with child, But e'en let them brew as they bake,I know she was wanton and wild, But I'll neither meddle nor make.
Nor I, gossip Joan, by my troth, Tho' nevertheless I've been told,She stole seven yards of broad cloth, A ring and a locket of gold;A smock, and a new pair of shoes, A flourishing Madam was she,But Margery told me the news, And it ne'er shall go further for me.
I was at a gossipping club, Where we had a chiruping cup.Of good humming liquor, strong bubb, Your husband's name there it was up,For bearing a powerful sway, All neighbours his wonders have seen,For he is a cuckold they say———A constable,———gossip, I mean.
Dear gossip, a slip o' the tongue. No harm may proceed from the mind,Chance words they will mingle among Our others we commonly find,I hope you won't take it amiss——— No, no, there is folly in us,And if we by stealth get a kiss, Our husbands are never the worse.
The Lady's Delight, A Riddle.
SIR George, a remarkable justice o' peace,A retailer of laws for the sake of the fees,Had once brought before him a fellow, who loathTo discover his friends, took the following oath:
An't like your, worship, sir, I've seen,At a good house near College Green,Four ladies, great as queens in name,Meet four gallants of equal fame,Their royal names I must concealYet so much of them will reveal,That you may soon guess who they are,And what the name the ladies bear.
Of either sex (pray note) there's twoOf portly mien; but swarthy hue,The rest with ruddy faces prove,They're not averse to sports of love;And as I hope I shall be sainted,I swear I think they all were painted.And further still these wanton dames,Address their sports with fond nick-names:Come, lusty Hercules, says one;Another, dearest Cupid, come.If Pitts will fill my longing arms,Says third, I'm free from future harms:The fourth e'er she'll create a strife,Resolves to be the Gardiner's Wife.
Then strait, pursuant to their wish,A service comes of costly fish:Which ended they their tricks begin,Upon a carpet red, or green,Frisking and cap'ring in the air,Like tumbler's at St James's fair.Come, strip's the word, a lady cries,See here the ready carpet lies:Nay once a man whom well I knew,As you do me, or I do you, Chanc'd in the room where this lewd throngWere at their gambols all ding dong,And him they stript with looks demure,And sent him home to seek a cure.
By certain articles agreed on;Each lady take the man she's need on;Some, after having tired three,Call, here a fourth man for me.Oft have I through a cranny seen,A lady, whom they call the queen,Upon her back unseemly lain,Supporting a gallant or twain;And all the club with eyes intentUpon this shameful merriment.When one doth to another call,Be't he, or she they turn up all,I heard them with, familiar faces,Disputing briskly of their A-sMine's black, says one, and nam'd the thing.Mine, says another, 's for the King,Why, says a third, 'cause I've a red one,Must I the publick jest be made on?
This is the trade these ladies drive,Then guess how well their husbands thrive:In short, they are scarce e'er content;Till all they have is gone and spent.Honour has stood so many stakes,That the stale bait no longer takes.'Tis this, and other such like doings,That many a soul and body ruins,Which, as a justice of the peace,I hope your worship will suppress.
Hold, sir! I think there's one thing else,Such as no hist'ry parallels:After one man, in one short hour,Six times has done the trick well o'er,Says madam, I'll beg one more.Then to't again they all engage,Down from the monarch to the page.
Oft have I seen when tir'd with play,One set of gallants turn'd away,A young lady hath sent her manFor fresh ones to begin again.
A Bacchanalian Flight.
DEscend my muse, descend with speed!And aid me with thy gen'rous steed,(We bards would have you understand,Tho' poor we've horses at command)I'll take a journey into th' air,And build a few fine castles there.
'Tis done, the Pegasus appears,Arch'd his high neck, and cock'd his ears,What vig'rous blood swells every vein,How graceful flows his waving main!What sparkling flame his eye balls dart,How well proportion'd ev'ry part!(You see no Pegasus, you cry.Then, sir, you've no poetick eye)And now I'm fix'd, and now he go's,Where we'll take up he's wise that knows:Gods! what a prospect neers my sight!I'm pleas'd―and yet I'm in a fright.Prodigious this, still, still we rise,We'll in a moment reach the skies.Already see the Lunar sphere!But what do's Mr B---l there?Too plain a proof it must be own'd,That I'm still grov'ling on the ground.
The House-keeper. A Tale.
OLD B―db―y at eighty six,Just stepping into River Styx;Losing about some thirty guineas,For want of care like other ninnies,Brings all his folks before the justice,To sift out where the sad mistrust is. The gold was missing from his chest,Too true to make of it a jest. His worship close examin'd all.Finding on whom the charge must fall,Said―sir―your damsel Nanny has it;None else can come within your closet:So strong the circumstances fit her,I'll strait send for her and commit her, Hold good sir Gill, she keeps my house,And would not wrong me of a sous;No girl is faithfuller or juster.With all I have I dare to trust her―As she does him―be sure he meant,So home returned well content. This is the third time, to his cost,He'as made a stir for money lost,Only to let the country knowHe pays for what he cannot do;And thinks himself not much the worseIf none but Nanny, dip in's purse.
A DIALOGUE, Written by a Gentleman of Oxford.
WHen F———ls join'd with Kn———s beyond all expectation,Pass'd a vote [for the good (or the hurt) of the nation;]Quoth Ralpho to Robin, his intimate crony,As they walk't from the house where 'twas done, See you Tony,All the world's on our side; 'tis in vain to stand out.E'en ——— and ——— are tacking about.E'ery soul will leave you, unless first you them leave;Prithee join, and to th' de———l the hindermost give. Quoth Robin, tho' th' hindmost to the de———l you've curst,Are you sure, he'll not rather seize first on the first?I grant flesh is frail, apt to vary for profit;H———, W———, L——— are witnesses of it.But what we have just done, comes, for all you're so jolly,Not from your party's strength, but of ours from the folly.In the act we have voted, howe'er it content ye,By the far major part, there's no complement meant ye.Not love to your patrons or principles won it,But pique against some 'mongst our selves, 'tis has done it.'Tis purely for joke sake, as sure as you're here, Quoth Robin, I vow, Friend, you're joke costs you dear.Nor care we, tho' 't be as you say, we've the name on't.Much good may't do you with the loss and the shame on't. Hold friend, reply'd Robin, don't boast too much yet,But see at the end who'll lose or who'll get.