LOVE AND VANITY. The breezy morning breath’d perfume,
The wak’ning flow’rs unveil’d their bloom;
Up with the sun, from short repose,
Gay HEALTH, and lusty LABOUR, rose;
The milk-maid carol’d at her pail,
And shepherds whistled o’er the dale;
When LOVE, who led a rural life,
Remote from bustle, state, and strife,
Forth from his thatch-roof’d cottage stray’d,
And stroll’d along the dewy glade.
A nymph, who lightly tripp’d it by,
To quick attention turn’d his eye;
He mark’d the gesture of the fair,
Her self-sufficient grace and air;
Her steps that mincing meant to please,
Her study’d negligence and ease;
And curious to inquire what meant
This thing of prettiness and paint,
Approaching spoke, and bow’d observant:
The lady, slightly—“Sir, your servant.”
‘Such beauty in so rude a place!
Fair one, you do the country grace;
At court, no doubt, the public care,
But LOVE has small acquaintance there.’
“Yes, sir,” reply’d the flutt’ring dame,
“This form confesses whence it came;
But dear VARIETY, you know,
Can make us pride and pomp forego;
My name is VANITY: I sway
The utmost islands of the sea;
Within my court all honour centers,
I raise the meanest soul that enters,
Endow with latent gifts and graces,
And model fools for posts and places.
“As VANITY appoints at pleasure,
The world receives its weight and measure;
Hence all the grand concerns of life,
Joys, cares, plagues, passion, peace, and strife.
“Reflect how far my pow’r prevails,
When I step in where NATURE fails:
And ev’ry breach of sense repairing,
Am bounteous still, where heav’n is sparing.
“But chief, in all their arts and airs,
Their playing, painting, pouts, and pray’rs,
Their various habits and complexions,
Fits, frolics, foibles, and perfections,
Their robing, curling, and adorning,
From noon to night, from night to morning,
From six to sixty, sick or sound,
I rule the female world around.”—
‘Hold there a moment,’ CUPID cry’d,
‘Nor boast dominion quite so wide;
Was there no province to invade,
But that by love and meekness sway’d;
All other empire I resign,
But be the sphere of beauty mine.
‘For in the downy lawn of rest,
That opens on a woman’s breast,
Attended by my peaceful train,
I choose to live, and choose to reign.
‘Far-sighted FAITH I bring along,
And TRUTH, above an army strong,
And CHASTITY, of icy mould,
Within the burning tropics cold;
And LOWLINESS, to whose mild brow
The pow’r and pride of nations bow;
And MODESTY, with down-cast eye,
That lends the morn her virgin dye;
And INNOCENCE, array’d in light,
And HONOUR, as a tow’r upright;
With sweetly winning graces, more
Than poets ever dreamt of yore;
In unaffected conduct free,
All smiling sisters, three times three;
And rosy PEACE, the cherub bless’d,
That nightly sings us all to rest.
‘Hence, from the bud of NATURE’S prime,
From the first step of infant time,
Woman, the world’s appointed light,
Has skirted ev’ry shade with white;
Has stood for imitation high,
To ev’ry heart, and ev’ry eye;
From ancient deeds of fair renown,
Has brought her bright memorials down;
To time affix’d perpetual youth,
And form’d each tale of love and truth.
‘Upon a new PROMETHEAN plan,
She moulds the essence of a man,
Tempers his mass, his genius fires,
And as a better soul inspires.
‘The rude she softens, warms the cold,
Exalts the meek, and checks the bold;
Calls SLOTH from his supine repose,
Within the coward’s bosom glows;
Of pride unplumes the lofty crest,
Bids bashful merit stand confess’d;
And like coarse metal from the mines,
Collects, irradiates, and refines;
The gentle science she imparts,
All manners smooths, informs all hearts;
From her sweet influence are felt,
Passions that please, and thoughts that melt.
To stormy rage she bids controul,
And sinks serenely on the soul;
Softens DUCALION’S flinty race,
And tunes the warring world to peace.
‘Thus arm’d to all that’s light and vain,
And freed from thy fantastic chain,
She fills the sphere, by heav’n assign’d,
And, rul’d by me, o’er-rules mankind.’
He spoke.—The nymph impatient stood,
And, laughing, thus her speech renew’d:
“And pray, sir, may I be so bold,
To hope your pretty tale is told;
And next demand without a cavil,
What new UTOPIA do you travel?
Upon my word, these high-flown fancies
Shew depth of learning in romances.
Why, what unfashion’d stuff you tell us,
Of buckram dames, and tiptoe fellows!
Go, child, and when you’re grown maturer,
You’ll shoot your next opinion surer.
“O, such a pretty knack at painting,
And all for soft’ning, and for sainting!
Guess now, who can, a single feature,
Thro’ the whole piece of female nature:
Then, mark! my looser hand may fit
The lines too coarse for love to hit.
“’Tis said, that woman prone to changing,
Thro’ all the rounds of folly ranging,
On life’s uncertain ocean riding,
No reason, rule, nor rudder guiding,
Is like the comet’s wand’ring light,
Eccentric, ominous, and bright;
Tractless and shifting as the wind,
A sea whose fathom none can find;
A moon, still changing and revolving,
A riddle, past all human solving;
A bliss, a plague, a heav’n, a hell,
A——something, that no man can tell.
“Now learn a secret from a friend,
But keep your counsel and attend:
“Tho’ in their tempers thought so distant,
Nor with their sex, nor selves consistent,
’Tis but the diff’rence of a name,
And ev’ry woman is the same.
For as the world, however vary’d,
And thro’ unnumber’d changes carry’d,
Of elemental modes and forms,
Clouds, meteors, colours, calms, and storms;
Tho’ in a thousand suits array’d,
Is of one subject matter made;
So, sir, a woman’s constitution,
The world’s enigma, finds solution.
And let her form be what you will,
I am the subject essence still.
“With the first spark of female sense,
The speck of being, I commence;
Within the womb make fresh advances,
And dictate future qualms and fancies;
Thence in the growing form expand,
With childhood travel hand in hand,
And give a taste of all their joys,
In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noise.
“And now, familiar and unaw’d,
I send the flutt’ring soul abroad;
Prais’d for her shape, her air, her mien,
The little goddess, and the queen,
Takes at her infant shrine oblation,
And drinks sweet draughts of adulation.
“Now, blooming, tall, erect, and fair,
To dress becomes her darling care;
The realms of beauty then I bound,
I swell the hoop’s enchanted round;
Shrink in the waist’s descending size,
Heav’d in the snowy bosom rise,
High on the floating lappet sail,
Or curl’d in tresses kiss the gale.
Then to her glass I lead the fair,
And shew the lovely idol there,
Where, struck as by divine emotion,
She bows with most sincere devotion;
And numb’ring ev’ry beauty o’er,
In secret bids the world adore.
“Then all for parking and parading,
Coqueting, dancing, masquerading;
For balls, plays, courts, and crowds, what passion!
And churches, sometimes, if the fashion:
For woman’s sense of right and wrong
Is rul’d by the almighty throng;
Still turns to each meander tame,
And swims the straw of ev’ry stream.
Her soul intrinsic worth rejects,
Accomplish’d only in defects,
Such excellence is her ambition,
Folly her wisest acquisition;
And ev’n from pity and disdain,
She’ll cull some reason to be vain.
“Thus, sir, from ev’ry form and feature,
The wealth and wants of female nature,
And ev’n from vice, which you’d admire,
I gather fuel to my fire,
And on the very base of shame,
Erect my monument of fame.
“Let me another truth attempt,
Of which your godship has not dreamt:
Those shining virtues which you muster,
Whence think you they derive their lustre?
From native honour and devotion!
O yes! a mighty likely notion!
Trust me, from titled dames to spinners,
’Tis I make saints, whoe’er make sinners;
’Tis I instruct them to withdraw,
And hold presumptuous man in awe;
For female worth as I inspire,
In just degrees, still mounts the higher,
And VIRTUE so extremely nice,
Demands long toil and mighty price;
Like SAMPSON’S pillars, fix’d elate,
I bear the sex’s tott’ring state;
Sap these, and in a moment’s space,
Down sinks the fabric to its base.
“Alike from titles, and from toys,
I spring, the fount of female joys;
In ev’ry widow, wife, and miss,
The sole artificer of bliss.
For them each tropic I explore;
I cleave the sand of ev’ry shore;
To them uniting INDIA’S sail,
SabÆa breathes her farthest gale;
For them the bullion I refine,
Dig sense and virtue from the mine;
And from the bowels of invention,
Spin out the various arts you mention.
“Nor bliss alone my pow’rs bestow,
They hold the sov’reign balm of woe;
Beyond the stoic’s boasted art,
I soothe the heavings of the heart;
To pain give splendor, and relief,
And gild the pallid face of grief.
“Alike the palace and the plain,
Admit the glories of my reign;
Thro’ ev’ry age, in ev’ry nation,
Taste, talents, tempers, state, and station,
Whate’er a woman says, I say;
Whate’er a woman spends, I pay;
Alike I fill and empty bags,
Flutter in finery and rags;
With light coquets thro’ folly range,
And with the prude disdain to change.
“And now, you’d think, ’twixt you and I,
That things were ripe for a reply—
But soft—and while I’m in the mood,
Kindly permit me to conclude;
Their utmost mazes to unravel,
And touch the farthest step they travel:
“When ev’ry pleasure’s run a-ground,
And folly tir’d thro’ many a round;
The nymph, conceiving discontent hence,
May ripen to an hour’s repentance,
And vapours shed in pious moisture,
Dismiss her to a church or cloister;
Then on I lead her, with devotion
Conspicuous in her dress and motion;
Inspire the heav’nly-breathing air,
Roll up the lucid eye in pray’r,
Soften the voice, and in the face
Look melting harmony and grace.
“Thus far extends my friendly pow’r,
Nor quits her in her latest hour;
The couch of decent pain I spread,
In form recline her languid head;
Her thoughts I methodize in death,
And part not with her parting breath;
Then do I set, in order bright,
A length of fun’ral pomp to sight;
The glitt’ring tapers, and attire,
The plumes that whiten o’er her bier;
And last, presenting to her eye
Angelic fineries on high,
To scenes of painted bliss I waft her,
And form the heav’n she hopes hereafter.”
‘In truth,’ rejoin’d LOVE’S gentle god,
‘You’ve gone a tedious length of road;
And, strange! in all the toilsome way
No house of kind refreshment lay;
No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted
To hold her from her sex exempted.’
“For one, we’ll never quarrel, man,
Take her, and keep her, if you can;
And pleas’d I yield to your petition,
Since every fair, by such permission,
Will hold herself the one selected,
And so my system stands protected.”
‘O deaf to VIRTUE, deaf to GLORY,
To truths divinely vouch’d in story!’
The godhead, in his zeal return’d,
And kindling at her malice burn’d.
Then sweetly rais’d his voice, and told
Of heav’nly nymphs, rever’d of old;
Hypsipyle, who sav’d her sire;
And PORTIA’S love, approv’d by fire;
Alike PENELOPE was quoted,
Nor laurel’d DAPHNE pass’d unnoted,
Nor LAODAMIA’S fatal garter,
Nor fam’d LUCRETIA, honour’s martyr,
Alceste’s voluntary steel,
And CATHERINE smiling on the wheel.
But who can hope to plant conviction,
Where cavil grows on contradiction!
Some she evades, or disavows,
Demurs to all, and none allows;
A kind of ancient things, call’d fables!
And thus the goddess turn’d the tables.
Now both in argument grew high,
And choler flash’d from either eye;
Nor wonder each refus’d to yield
The conquest of so fair a field.
When happily arriv’d in view
A goddess, whom our grandames knew,
Of aspect grave, and sober gait,
Majestic, awful, and sedate,
As heav’n’s autumnal eve serene,
Where not a cloud o’ercasts the scene,
Once PRUDENCE call’d, a matron fam’d,
And in old ROME CORNELIA nam’d.
Quick, at a venture, both agree
To leave their strife to her decree.
And now by each the facts were stated,
In form and manner as related;
The case was short—They crav’d opinion,
Which held o’er females chief dominion?
When thus the goddess, answering mild,
First shook her gracious head, and smil’d:
“Alas! how willing to comply,
Yet how unfit a judge am I!
In times of golden date, ’tis true,
I shar’d the fickle sex with you;
But from their presence long precluded,
Or held as one whose form intruded,
Full fifty annual suns can tell,
Prudence has bid the sex farewell.”
In this dilemma, what to do,
Or who to think of, neither knew;
For both, still bias’d in opinion,
And arrogant of sole dominion,
Were forc’d to hold the case compounded,
Or leave the quarrel where they found it.
When in the nick, a rural fair,
Of inexperienc’d gait and air,
Who ne’er had cross’d the neighb’ring lake,
Nor seen the world beyond a wake;
With cambric coif, and kerchief clean,
Trip’d lightly by them o’er the green.
‘Now, now!’ cry’d LOVE’S triumphant child,
And at approaching conquest smil’d;
‘If VANITY will once be guided,
Our diff’rence soon may be decided:
Behold you wench, a fit occasion,
To try your force of gay persuasion.—
Go you, while I retire aloof,
Go, put those boasted pow’rs to proof;
And if your prevalence of art
Transcends my yet unerring dart,
I give the fav’rite contest o’er,
And ne’er will boast my empire more.’
At once, so said and so consented,
And well our goddess seem’d contented,
Nor pausing, made a moment’s stand,
But tript, and took the girl in hand.
Meanwhile the GODHEAD, unalarm’d,
As one to each occasion arm’d,
Forth from his quiver cull’d a dart,
That erst had wounded many a heart;
Then bending, drew it to the head,
The bowstring twang’d, the arrow fled,
And to her secret soul address’d,
Transfix’d the whiteness of her breast.
But here the DAME, whose guardian care
Had to a moment watch’d the fair,
At once her pocket mirror drew,
And held the wonder full in view;
As quickly, rang’d in order bright,
A thousand beauties rush’d to sight,
A world of charms, till now unknown,
A world revealed to her alone;
Enraptur’d stands the love-sick maid,
Suspended o’er the darling shade;
Here only fixes to admire,
And centres every fond desire. | FINIS. Printed by C. Whittingham, Dean Street, Fetter Lane.
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