The Poetical Works of Elijah Fenton/The Fair Nun
THE FAIR NUN.
A TALE.
Ire per ignes,
Et gladios ausim. Neque ad hoc tamen ignibus ullis,
Aut gladiis opus est; opus est mihi crini.
OVID. MET. Lib. viii.
Et gladios ausim. Neque ad hoc tamen ignibus ullis,
Aut gladiis opus est; opus est mihi crini.
OVID. MET. Lib. viii.
We sage Cartesians, who profess
Ourselves sworn foes to emptiness,
Assert that souls a-tiptoe stand,
On what we call the Pineal Gland,
As weathercocks on spires are plac'd, 5
To turn the quicker with each blast.
This granted, can you think it strange
We all should be so prone to change,
Ev'n from the go-cart till we wear
A satin cap i' th' elbow chair? 10
The follies that the child began
Custom makes current in the man,
And firm by livery and seisin
Holds the fee-simple of his reason.
But still the gusts of love we find 15
Blow strongest on a woman's mind;
Nor need I learnedly pursue
The latent cause, th' effect is true;
For proof of which, in manner ample,
I mean to give you one example. 20
Upon a time (for so my nurse,
Heav'n rest her bones! began discourse)
A lovely nymph, and just nineteen,
Began to languish with the spleen:
She who had shone at balls and play, 25
In gold brocade extremely gay,
All on a sudden grew precise,
Declaim'd against the growth of vice,
A very prude in half a year,
And most believ'd she was sincere: 30
Necklace of pearl no more she wears,
That's sanctify'd to count her pray'rs:
Venus, and all her naked Loves,
The reformado nymph removes;
And Magdalen, with faints and martyrs, 35
Was plac'd in their respective quarters.
Nor yet content, she could not bear
The rankness of the public air,
'Twas so infected with the vice
Of luscious songs and lovers' sighs; 40
So most devoutly would be gone,
And straight profess herself a Nun.
A youth of breeding and address,
And call him Thyrsis if you please,
Who had some wealth to recompense 45
His slender dividend of sense,
Yet could with little thought and care
Write tender things to please the fair,
And then successively did grow
From a half-wit a finish'd beau; 50
(For fops thus naturally rise,
As maggots turn to butterflies)
This spark, as story tells, before
Had held with Madam an amour,
Which he resolving to pursue, 55
Exactly took the proper cue;
And on the wings of Love he flies
To Lady Abbess in disguise,
And tells her he had brought th' advowson
Of soul and body to dispose on. 60
Old Sanctity, who nothing fear'd
In petticoats without a beard,
Fond of a proselyte and fees,
Admits the fox among the geese.
Here duty, wealth, and honour, prove, 65
Tho' three to one, too weak for Love;
And to describe the war throughout
Would make a glorious piece no doubt,
Where moral virtues might be slain,
And rise, and fight, and fall again; 70
Love should a bloody myrtle wear,
And, like Camilla, fierce and fair,
The Nun should charge.—But I forbear,
All human joys, tho' sweet in tasting,
Are seldom (more 's the pity!) lasting. 75
The nymph had qualms, her cheeks were pale,
Which others thought th' effects of zeal:
But she, poor she! began to doubt
(Best knowing what she 'ad been about)
The marriage earnest-penny lay 80
And burnt her pocket, as we say.
She now invokes, to ease her soul,
The dagger and the poison'd bowl;
And, self-condemn'd for breach of vow,
To lose her life and honour too, 85
Talk'd in as tragical a strain as
Your craz'd Monimias and Roxanas.
But as she in her cell lay sighing,
Distracted, weeping, drooping, dying,
The fiend (who never wants address 90
To succour damsels in distress)
Appearing, told her he perceiv'd
The fatal cause for which she griev'd,
But promis'd her en cavalier
She should be freed from all her fear, 95
And with her Thyrsis lead a life
Devoid of all domestic strife,
If she would sign a certain scrawl—
Aye, that she would, if that was all.
She sign'd, and he engag'd to do 100
Whate'er she pleas'd to set him to.
The critics must excuse me now;
They both were freed, no matter how:
For when we epic writers use
Machines to disengage the Muse, 105
We're clean acquit of all demands,
The matter's left in abler hands;
And if they cannot loose the knot
Should we be censur'd? I think not.
The scene thus alter'd, both were gay; 110
For pomp and pleasures who but they,
Who might do ev'ry thing but pray?
Madam in her gilt chariot flaunted,
And Pug brought ev'ry thing she wanted;
A slave devoted to her will; 115
But women will be wav'ring still:
Ev'n vice without variety
Their squeamish appetites will cloy;
And having stol'n from Lady Abbess
One of our merry modern Rabbies, 120
She found a trick she thought would pass,
And prove the devil but an ass.
His next attendance happen'd right
Amidst a moonless stormy night,
When Madam and her spouse together 125
Guess'd at his coming by the weather.
He came. "To night," says he, "I drudge
"To fetch a heriot for a judge,
"A gouty nine-i'-th'-hundred knave;
"But, Madam, do you want your slave? 130
"I need not presently be gone,
"Because the doctors have not done.
"A rofy vicar and a quack
"Repuls'd me in my last attack:
"But all in vain; for mine he is; 135
"A fig for both the faculties."
The dame produc'd a single hair,
But whence it came I cannot swear;
Yet this I will affirm is true,
It curl'd like any bottle screw. 140
"Sir Nic," quoth she, "you know us all;
"We ladies are fantastical:
"You see this hair"—" Yes, Madam"—"Pray,
"In presence of my husband stay
"And make it straight, or else you grant 145
"Our solemn league and covenant
"Is void in law."—"It is, I own it;"
And so he sets to work upon it.
He tries, not dreaming of a cheat,
If wetting would not do the feat; 150
And 't was, in truth, a proper notion;
But still it kept th' elastic motion.
Well! more ways may be found than one
To kill a witch that will not drown.
"If I," quoth he, "conceive its nature, 155
"This hair has flourish'd nigh the water.
"'Tis crisp'd with cold perhaps, and then
"The fire will make it straight again."
In haste he to the fire applies it,
And turns it round and round, and eyes it. 160
Heigh, jingo! worse than 't was before;
The more it warms it twirls the more.
He stamp'd his cloven foot, and chas'd;
The husband and the lady laugh'd.
Howe'er, he fancy'd sure enough 165
He should not find it hammer-proof.
No Cyclops e'er at work was warmer
At forging thunderbolts or armour
Than Satan was; but all in vain:
Again he beats—it curls again! 170
At length he bellow'd in a rage,
"This hair will take me up an age."
"This take an age!" the husband swore,
"Z—ds! Betty has five hundred more."
"More! Take your bond," quoth Pug. "Adieu;
"'Tis loss of time to ply for you." 176
Ourselves sworn foes to emptiness,
Assert that souls a-tiptoe stand,
On what we call the Pineal Gland,
As weathercocks on spires are plac'd, 5
To turn the quicker with each blast.
This granted, can you think it strange
We all should be so prone to change,
Ev'n from the go-cart till we wear
A satin cap i' th' elbow chair? 10
The follies that the child began
Custom makes current in the man,
And firm by livery and seisin
Holds the fee-simple of his reason.
But still the gusts of love we find 15
Blow strongest on a woman's mind;
Nor need I learnedly pursue
The latent cause, th' effect is true;
For proof of which, in manner ample,
I mean to give you one example. 20
Upon a time (for so my nurse,
Heav'n rest her bones! began discourse)
A lovely nymph, and just nineteen,
Began to languish with the spleen:
She who had shone at balls and play, 25
In gold brocade extremely gay,
All on a sudden grew precise,
Declaim'd against the growth of vice,
A very prude in half a year,
And most believ'd she was sincere: 30
Necklace of pearl no more she wears,
That's sanctify'd to count her pray'rs:
Venus, and all her naked Loves,
The reformado nymph removes;
And Magdalen, with faints and martyrs, 35
Was plac'd in their respective quarters.
Nor yet content, she could not bear
The rankness of the public air,
'Twas so infected with the vice
Of luscious songs and lovers' sighs; 40
So most devoutly would be gone,
And straight profess herself a Nun.
A youth of breeding and address,
And call him Thyrsis if you please,
Who had some wealth to recompense 45
His slender dividend of sense,
Yet could with little thought and care
Write tender things to please the fair,
And then successively did grow
From a half-wit a finish'd beau; 50
(For fops thus naturally rise,
As maggots turn to butterflies)
This spark, as story tells, before
Had held with Madam an amour,
Which he resolving to pursue, 55
Exactly took the proper cue;
And on the wings of Love he flies
To Lady Abbess in disguise,
And tells her he had brought th' advowson
Of soul and body to dispose on. 60
Old Sanctity, who nothing fear'd
In petticoats without a beard,
Fond of a proselyte and fees,
Admits the fox among the geese.
Here duty, wealth, and honour, prove, 65
Tho' three to one, too weak for Love;
And to describe the war throughout
Would make a glorious piece no doubt,
Where moral virtues might be slain,
And rise, and fight, and fall again; 70
Love should a bloody myrtle wear,
And, like Camilla, fierce and fair,
The Nun should charge.—But I forbear,
All human joys, tho' sweet in tasting,
Are seldom (more 's the pity!) lasting. 75
The nymph had qualms, her cheeks were pale,
Which others thought th' effects of zeal:
But she, poor she! began to doubt
(Best knowing what she 'ad been about)
The marriage earnest-penny lay 80
And burnt her pocket, as we say.
She now invokes, to ease her soul,
The dagger and the poison'd bowl;
And, self-condemn'd for breach of vow,
To lose her life and honour too, 85
Talk'd in as tragical a strain as
Your craz'd Monimias and Roxanas.
But as she in her cell lay sighing,
Distracted, weeping, drooping, dying,
The fiend (who never wants address 90
To succour damsels in distress)
Appearing, told her he perceiv'd
The fatal cause for which she griev'd,
But promis'd her en cavalier
She should be freed from all her fear, 95
And with her Thyrsis lead a life
Devoid of all domestic strife,
If she would sign a certain scrawl—
Aye, that she would, if that was all.
She sign'd, and he engag'd to do 100
Whate'er she pleas'd to set him to.
The critics must excuse me now;
They both were freed, no matter how:
For when we epic writers use
Machines to disengage the Muse, 105
We're clean acquit of all demands,
The matter's left in abler hands;
And if they cannot loose the knot
Should we be censur'd? I think not.
The scene thus alter'd, both were gay; 110
For pomp and pleasures who but they,
Who might do ev'ry thing but pray?
Madam in her gilt chariot flaunted,
And Pug brought ev'ry thing she wanted;
A slave devoted to her will; 115
But women will be wav'ring still:
Ev'n vice without variety
Their squeamish appetites will cloy;
And having stol'n from Lady Abbess
One of our merry modern Rabbies, 120
She found a trick she thought would pass,
And prove the devil but an ass.
His next attendance happen'd right
Amidst a moonless stormy night,
When Madam and her spouse together 125
Guess'd at his coming by the weather.
He came. "To night," says he, "I drudge
"To fetch a heriot for a judge,
"A gouty nine-i'-th'-hundred knave;
"But, Madam, do you want your slave? 130
"I need not presently be gone,
"Because the doctors have not done.
"A rofy vicar and a quack
"Repuls'd me in my last attack:
"But all in vain; for mine he is; 135
"A fig for both the faculties."
The dame produc'd a single hair,
But whence it came I cannot swear;
Yet this I will affirm is true,
It curl'd like any bottle screw. 140
"Sir Nic," quoth she, "you know us all;
"We ladies are fantastical:
"You see this hair"—" Yes, Madam"—"Pray,
"In presence of my husband stay
"And make it straight, or else you grant 145
"Our solemn league and covenant
"Is void in law."—"It is, I own it;"
And so he sets to work upon it.
He tries, not dreaming of a cheat,
If wetting would not do the feat; 150
And 't was, in truth, a proper notion;
But still it kept th' elastic motion.
Well! more ways may be found than one
To kill a witch that will not drown.
"If I," quoth he, "conceive its nature, 155
"This hair has flourish'd nigh the water.
"'Tis crisp'd with cold perhaps, and then
"The fire will make it straight again."
In haste he to the fire applies it,
And turns it round and round, and eyes it. 160
Heigh, jingo! worse than 't was before;
The more it warms it twirls the more.
He stamp'd his cloven foot, and chas'd;
The husband and the lady laugh'd.
Howe'er, he fancy'd sure enough 165
He should not find it hammer-proof.
No Cyclops e'er at work was warmer
At forging thunderbolts or armour
Than Satan was; but all in vain:
Again he beats—it curls again! 170
At length he bellow'd in a rage,
"This hair will take me up an age."
"This take an age!" the husband swore,
"Z—ds! Betty has five hundred more."
"More! Take your bond," quoth Pug. "Adieu;
"'Tis loss of time to ply for you." 176