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Clubs credit for Geneva in the mint ?
All other trades demand, verse makers beg ;
But, ah! not inspiration can obtain That fame, which poets languish for in vain. How mad their aim, who thirst for glory, strive To grasp, what no man can possess alive! Fame's a reversion in which men take place (O late reversion !) at their own decease. This truth sagacious Lintot knows so well,
He starves his authors, that their works may
sell. That fame is wealth, fantastic poets cry; That wealth is fame, another clan reply ; Who know no guilt, no scandal, but in
rags; And swell in just proportion to their bags. Nor only the low-born, deform'd, and old, Think glory nothing but the beams of gold ; The first young lord, which in the mall you meet, Shall match the veriest huncks in Lombard-street, From rescu'd candles' ends, who rais'd a sum, And starves to join a penny to a plumb. A beardless miser! 'tis a guilt unknown To former times, a scandal all our own.
Of ardent lovers, the true modern band Will mortgage Celia to redeem their land. For love, young, noble, rich, Castalio dies : Name but the fair, love swells into his eyes. Divine Monimia, thy fond fears lay down; No rival can prevail,—but half a crown.
He glories to late times to be convey'd, Not for the poor he has reliev'd, but made: Not such ambition his great fathers fir’d, When Harry conquer'd, and half France expir'd : He'd be a slave, a pimp, a dog, for gain : Nay, a dull sheriff, for his golden chain.
“ Who'd be a slave?" the gallant colonel cries, While love of glory sparkles from his eyes : To deathless fame he loudly pleads his right,Just is his title,-for he will not fight: All soldiers valour, all divines have grace, As maids of honour beauty,—by their place : But, when indulging on the last campaign,
His lofty terms climb o'er the hills of slain;
Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid,
Were there no tongue to speak them but his own,
O fairest of creation! last and best
Nor reigns ambition in bold man alone;
Or roll the lucid orbit of an eye ;
The sex we honour, tho' their faults we blame;
Britannia's daughters, much more fair than nice, Too fond of admiration, lose their price; Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight To throngs, and tarnish to the sated sight: As unreserv’d, and beauteous, as the sun, Through every sign of vanity they run ; Assemblies, parks, coarse feasts in city-halls, Lectures, and trials, plays, committees, balls, Wells, bedlams, executions, Smithfield scenes, And fortune-tellers’ caves, and lions' dens, Taverns, exchanges, bridewells, drawing-rooms, Installments, pillories, coronations, tombs, Tumblers, and funerals, puppet-shows, reviews, Sales, races, rabbits, (and still stranger !) pews.
Clarinda's bosom burns, but burns for fame; And love lies vanquish'd in a nobler flame; Warm gleams of hope she, now, dispenses; then, Like April suns, dives into clouds again : With all her lustre, now,
her lover warms; Then, out of ostentation, hides her charms : 'Tis, next, her pleasure sweetly to complain, And to be taken with a sudden pain ; Then, she starts up, all ecstasy and bliss, And is, sweet soul! just as sincere in this :
how she rolls her charming eyes in spite !
Zara resembles Ætna crown'd with snows;
Nor far beneath her in renown, is she,
A dearth of words a woman need not fear But 'tis a task indeed to learn-to hear : In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows, or makes, you both polite and wise.
Xantippe cries, “Let nymphs, who nought can Be lost in silence, and resign the day; (say, And let the guilty wife her guilt confess, By tame behaviour, and a soft address ;" Through virtue, she refuses to comply With all the dictates of humanity; Through wisdom, she refuses to submit To wisdom's rules, and raves to prove her wit ; Then, her unblemish'd honour to maintain, Rejects her husband's kindness with disdain :