Such killing looks, so thick the arrows fly,
That 'tis unsafe to be a stander by:
Poets approaching to describe the fight,
Are by their wounds instructed how to write.
WHEN silent show'rs refresh the pregnant soil,
And tender salads eat with Tuscan oil,
Harmonious music gladdens every grove,
While bleating lambkins from their parents rove,
And o'er the plain the anxious mothers stray,
Calling their tender care with hoarser bae.
Now cheerful Zephyr from the western skies,
With easy flight o'er painted meadows flies,
To kiss his Flora with a gentle air,
Who yields to his embrace, and looks more fair.
When from debauch, with sp'rituous juice opprest,
The sons of Bacchus stagger home to rest,
With tatted wigs, foul shoes, and uncock'd hats,
And all bedaub'd with snuff their loose cravats.
The sun began to sip the morning dew,
As Damon from his restless pillow flew.
Him late from Celia's cheek a patch did wound,
A patch high seated on the blushing round.
His painful thoughts all night forbade him rest,
And he employ'd that night as one opprest-
Musing revenge, and how to countermine
The strongest force, and every deep design
Of patches, fans, of necklaces and rings,
Ev'n music's pow'r when Celia plays or sings.
Fatigu❜d with running errands all the day,
Happy in want of thought his valet lay,
Recruiting strength with sleep. His master calls;
He starts with lock'd up eyes, and beats the walls.
A second thunder rouses up the sot;
He yawns, and murmurs curses thro' his throat:
*[We are obviously indebted to the Rape of the Lock for the suggestion of this poem.]
Stockings awry, and breeches knees unlac'd,
And buttons do mistake their holes for haste.
His master raves-cries, " Roger, make dispatch,
Time flies apace." He frown'd, and look'd his watch.
"Haste do my wig, ty't with the careless knots,
And run to Civet's, let him fill my box.
Go to my laundress, see what makes her stay,
And call a coach and barber in your way."
Thus orders justle orders in a throng:
Roger with laden mem'ry trots along.
His errands done; with brushes next he must
Renew his toil amidst perfuming dust;
The yielding comb he leads with artful care,
Thro' crook'd meanders of the flaxen hair-
E'er this perform'd he's almost choak'd to death,
The air is thicken'd, and he pants for breath.
The trav❜ller thus, in the Numidian plains,
A conflict with the driving sands sustains.
Two hours are past, and Damon is equipt,
Pensive he stalks and meditates the fight:
Arm'd cap-a-pee, in dress a killing beau,
Thrice view'd his glass, and thrice resolv'd to go,
Flush'd full of hope to overcome his foe.
His early pray'rs were all to Paphos sent,
That Jove's sea daughter wou'd give her consent:
Cried," Send thy little son unto my aid,"
Then took his hat, tript out, and no more said.
What lofty thoughts do sometimes push a man
Beyond the verge of his own native span!
Keep low thy thoughts, frail clay, nor boast thy pow'r,
Fate will be fate: and since there's nothing sure,
Vex not thyself too much, but catch th' auspicious hour.
The tow'ring lark had thrice his matins sung,
And thrice were bells for pious service rung.
In plaids wrapt up, prudes throng the sacred dome,
And leave the spacious petticoat at home:
While softest dreams seal'd up fair Celia's eyes—
She dreams of Damon, and forgets to rise.
A sportive Sylph contrives the subtle snare—
Sylphs know the charming baits which catch the fair-
She shows him handsome, brawny, rich, and young,
With snuff-box, cane, and sword-knot finely hung,
Well skill'd in airs of dangle, toss, and rap,
Those graces which the tender hearts entrap.
Where Aulus oft makes law for justice pass,
And Charles's statue stands in lasting brass,
Amidst a lofty square which strikes the sight
With spacious fabrics of stupendous height;*
Whose sublime roofs in clouds advance so high,
They seem the watch-tow'rs of the nether sky;
Where once, alas! where once the three estates
Of Scotland's parliament held free debates:
Here Celia dwelt, and here did Damon move,
Press'd by his rigid fate and raging love.
To her apartment straight the daring swain
Approach'd and softly knock'd, nor knock'd in vain.
The nymph, new wak'd, starts from the lazy down,
And rolls her gentle limbs in morning gown
But half awake, she judges it must be
Frankalia come to take her morning tea;
Cries, "Welcome, cousin!" But she soon began
To change her visage when she saw a man:
Her unfix'd eyes with various turnings range,
And pale surprise to modest red exchange:
Doubtful, 'twixt modesty and love, she stands,
Then ask'd the bold impertinent's deinands.
Her strokes are doubl'd, and the youth now found
His pains increase, and open ev'ry wound.
Who can describe the charms of loose attire?
Who can resist the flames with which they fire?
"Ah, barbarous maid!" he cries, "sure native charms
Are too too much: why then such store of arms?
Madam, I come, prompt by th' uneasy pains
Caus'd by a wound from you, and want revenge:
A borrow'd pow'r was posted on a charm ;
A patch, d-d patch! can patches work such harm?"
He said, then threw a bomb, lay hid within
Love's mortar piece, the dimple of his chin:
*[The Parliament Close, or Square, Edinburgh.]
It miss'd for once-she lifted up her head,
And blush'd a smile that almost struck him dead,
Then cunningly retir'd, but he pursu'd
Near to the toilet, where the war renew'd.
Thus the great Fabius often gain'd the day
O'er Hannibal, by frequent giving way:
So warlike Bruce and Wallace sometimes deign'd
To seem defeat, yet certain conquest gain'd.
Thus was he led in midst of Celia's room;
Speechless he stood, and waited for his doom;
Words were but vain, he scarce could use his breath,
As round he view'd the implements of death.
In deep distress the youth turn'd up his eyes,
As if to ask assistance from the skies.
The petticoat was hanging on a pin,
Which the unlucky swain star'd up within;
His curious eyes too daringly did rove
Around this oval conic vault of love:
Himself alone can tell the pain he found,
While his wild sight survey'd forbidden ground.
He view'd the tenfold fence, and gave a groan-
His trembling limbs bespoke his courage gone:
Stupid and pale he stood, like statue dumb,
The amber snuff dropt from his careless thumb.
Be silent here, my muse, and shun a plea
May rise betwixt old Bickerstaff and me-
For none may touch a petticoat but he.
Damon, thus foil'd, breath'd with a dying tone,
"Assist, ye pow'rs of love! else I am gone."
The ardent pray'r soon reach'd the Cyprian grove,
Heard and accepted by the Queen of Love.
Fate was propitious, too, her son was by,
Who 'midst his dread artillery did lie
Of Flanders' lace, and straps of curious dye.
On India muslin shades the god did loll,
His head inclin'd upon a tinsy roll.
The mother goddess thus her son bespoke :-
"Thou must, my boy, assume the shape of Shock,
And leap to Celia's lap, whence thou may slip
Thy paw up to her breast, and reach her lip;
Strike deep thy charms, thy pow'rful art display,
To make young Damon conqueror to-day."
She spoke. Not quicker does the lamp of day
Dart on the mountain tops a gilded ray,
Swifter than light'ning flies before the clap,
From Cyprus isle he reached Celia's lap ;
Now fawns, now wags his tail, and licks her arm;
She hugs him to her breast, nor dreads the harm.
So in Ascanius' shape, the god unseen,
Of old deceiv'd the Carthaginian queen.
So now the subtle pow'r his time espies,
And threw two barbed darts in Celia's eyes:
Many were broke before he could succeed;
But that of gold flew whizzing thro' her head:
These were his last reserve. When others fail,
Then the refulgent metal must prevail.
Pleasure produc'd by money now appears,
Coaches and six run rattling in her ears.
Oh liv'ry men, attendants, household plate,
Court-posts and visits, pompous air and state,
How can your splendour easy access find,
And gently captivate the fair one's mind!
Success attends, Cupid has play'd his part,
And sunk the pow'rful venom to her heart.
She could no more, she's catched in the snare,
Sighing, she fainted in her easy chair.
No more the sanguine streams in blushes glow,
But to support the heart all inward flow,
Leaving the cheek as cold and white as snow.
Thus Celia fell, or rather thus did rise;
Thus Damon made, or else was made, a prize;
For both were conquerors, and both did yield;
First she, now he, is master of the field.
Now he resumes fresh life, abandons fear,
Jumps to his limbs, and does more gay appear.
Not gaming heir when his rich parent dies—
Not zealot reading Hackney's party lies-
Not soft fifteen on her feet-washing night*-
Not poet when his muse sublimes her flight—
* [The feet-washing is a ceremony, such as the name imports, which brides undergo in Scotland the night before their nuptials.]
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