THE PICTURE: A TALE. A PORTRAIT, at my lord's command, Why" says the loudest, " on my word, 66 I'll," says the painter, "once again, (If my good lord vouchsafes to sit) Try for a more successful hit: If you'll to morrow deign to call, We'll have a piece to please you all.” To morrow comes-a picture 's plac'd Before those spurious sons of TasteIn their opinions all agree, This is the vilest of the three. "Know-to confute your envious pride, (His lordship from the canvass cry'd) "Know-that it is my real face, Where you could no resemblance trace: I've try'd you by a lucky trick, And prov'd your GENIUS to the quick. Void of all judgment-justice-sense, Out-ye pretending varlets-hence." The connoisseurs depart in haste, Despis'd-detected-and disgrac'd. THE WITCH: A TALE. A WITCH, that from her ebon chair Pluck'd the romid Moon, whose rad'ant light "Give me," the goddess cry'd, " a cause, "I'm," says the Witch, "severely crost, Know that my fav'rite squirrel's lost : Search -for I'll have creation torn, If there are slaves to pity blind, And the curs'd miscreants meet their doom. REPUTATION: AN ALLEGORY. To travel far as the wide world extends, Seeking for objects that deserv'd their care, Virtue set forth, with two selected friends, Talent refin'd, and Reputation fair. As they went on, in their intended round. "If torn (she added) from my lov'd allies, Says Virtue, "Did Sincerity appear, Or meek-ey'd Charity among the great; Could I find courtiers from corruption clear, 'Tis among these I'd seek for my retreat. "Could I find patriots, for the public weal Assiduous, and without their selfish views; Could I find priests of undissembled zcal, "Tis among those my residence I'd choose. "In glitt'ring domes let Luxury reside; I must be found in some sequester'd cell, Far from the paths of Avarice or Pride, Where homebred Happiness delights to dwell." "Ye may be trac'd, my gentle friends, 'tis true, THE ROSE AND BUTTERFLY: A FABLE. Ar day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied Their faith was soon plighted, as lovers will do, When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies, But such we'll suppose the fond language of flowers: But know, from your conduct ny maxims I drew, MORAL. This law, long ago, did Love's providence make, That ev'ry coquet should be curs'd with a rake. THE SHEEP AND THE BRAMBLE-BUSH: How high the tides of fancy swell, THE Fox and the Cat, as they travell'd one day, With moral discourses cut shorter the way: ""Tis great," says the Fox, " to make justice our guide!" "How godlike is mercy!" Grimalkin reply'd. Whilst thus they proceeded,— -a wolf from the Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, [wood, Rush'd forth-as he saw the dull shepherd asleep, And seiz'd for his supper an innocent sheep. "In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat, When mutton's at hand," says the wolf, "I must eat." Expression must despair to tell. A painter call'd,--Nicander cries, Descending from the radiant skies, "Draw me a bright, a beauteous boy, The herald of connubial joy! Draw him with all peculiar care, Make him beyond Adonis fair; Give to his cheeks a roseate hue, Let him have eyes of heav'nly blue, Lips soft'ning in nectarious dew; A lustre o'er his charms display, More glorious than the beams of day. Expect, sir, if you can succeed, A premium for a prince indeed.” His talents straight the painter try'd, And ere the nuptial knot was ty'd, A picture in the noblest taste Before the fond Nicander plac'd. The lover thus arraign'd his skill, "Your execution 's monstrous ill! A different form my fancy made; You 're quite a bungler at the trade. Where is the robe's luxuriant flow? Where is the cheek's celestial glow? Where are the looks so fond and free? 'Tis not an Hymen, sir, for me." "Take it away,"-the husband cry'd, "I have repeated cause to chide: Sir, you should all excesses shun; This is a picture overdone! There's too much ardour in that eye, The painter thus--"The faults you find The plaintiff could articulate no more: His bosom heav'd a most tremendous groan! The race of long-ear'd wretches join'd the roar, Till Jove seem'dott'ring on his high-built throne. The monarch, with an all-commanding sound, (Deepen'd like thunder through the rounds of space) Gave order "That dame Fortune should be found, To answer, as she might, the plaintiff's case." Soldiers and citizens, a seemly train! And lawyers and physicians, sought her cell: With many a schoolman-but their search was vain: Few can the residence of Fortune tell. Where the wretch Avarice was wont to hide Meagre and wan, in tatter'd garments drest, "Doubts, Disappointments, Anarchy of Mind, These are the soldiers that surround his hall: And ev'ry fury that can lash mankind, Rage, Rancour, and Revenge attend his call. "Fortune's gone forth, you seek a wand'ring dame, A settled residence the harlot scorns: Curse on such visitants, she never came, But with a cruel hand she scatter'd thorns! "To the green vale, yon shelt'ring hills surround, Forward they went, o'er many a dreary spot: "Abroad with Contemplation oft I roam, As on the painted turf the shepherd lies, Sleep's downy curtain shades his lovely eyes; And now a sporting breeze his bosom shows, Jolly Health springs aloft at the loud sounding horn, As marble smooth, and white as Alpine snows: Unlock'd from soft Slumber's embrace; And Joy sings an hymn to salute the sweet Morn, All the day with fresh vigour we sweep o'er the plains, RECIT. Their clamour rouse the slighted god of Love: A frown succeeds-she stops the springing chase, AIR. Fond disturber of the heart, From these sacred shades depart: Here's a blooming troop disdains Love, and his fantastic chains. Sisters of the silver bow, Pure and chaste as virgin snow, RECIT. Rage and revenge divide Love's little breast, Whilst thus the angry goddess he addrest: 'Mount Latmos. The goddess gaz'd, in magic softness bound; Love laugh'd, and, sure of conquest, wing'd a dart She feels in ev'ry vein the fatal fire, AIR. Ye tender maids be timely wise! Do blue-ey'd doves, serenely mild, No, no, like fawns, ye virgins fly, AMPHITRION. RECITATIVE. AMPHITRION and his bride, a godlike pair! |