  B(Beauty) BEAUTY, the fondling Mother’s earliest Pray’r, Nature’s kind Gift to sweeten worldly Care. Beauty the greatest Extasy imparts, Steals thro’ our Eyes, and revels in our Hearts; Adds Lustre to a Crown, gives Weight to Sense, The Orator assists in Truth’s Defence. The very Fool our Hearts resistless warms, And while we curse the Tongue, the Figure charms. If Beauty be the Subject of our Praise, A rude, mishapen Lump Contempt must raise. When Lucifer with Angels held first Place, Seraphic Beauty sparkled in his Face. By Pride and Malice tempted to rebel, Vengeance pursu’d him to the lowest Hell: Not sulph’rous Lakes suffic’d, nor dreary Plains; Deformity was join’d t’ improve his Pains. Paint then the Person, and expose the Mind, Who rails at others, to his own Faults blind. Sly Sancho’s Paunch, meagre Don Quixot’s Love, The Satyr and the Ridicule improve. So when fam’d Butler wou’d Rebellion paint, He lasht the Traitor and the Mimic Saint. Sir Hudibras he sung; the crumpled Wight, Contempt and Laughter ever will excite. The Blatant-Beast once more has broke his Chains, Disperses Falshoods, and remorseless reigns. Scornful of all thy Verses dare design, (Where useless Epithets crowd ev’ry Line,) The Blatant-Beast shall be afresh pursu’d, Nor cease my Labours till again subdu’d. Distorted Elf! to Nature a Disgrace, Thy Mind envenom’d pictur’d in thy Face; Malice with Envy in thy Breast combines, And in thy Visage grav’d those ghastly Lines. Like Plagues, like Death thy ranc’rous Arrows fly, At Good and Bad, at Friend and Enemy. To thy own Breast recoils the erring Dart, Corrupts thy Blood, and rankles in thy Heart. There swell the Poisons which thy Breast distend, And with the Load thy Mountain Shoulders bend. Horrid to view! retire from human Sight, Nor with thy Figure pregnant Dames affright. Crawl thro’ thy childish Grot, growl round thy Grove, A Foe to Man, an Antidote to Love. In Curses waste thy Time instead of Pray’r, There doze o’er Shakespear; then thy Blunders fell Then frontless intimate, (oh perjur’d Bard!) Thy Labours were bestow’d without Reward. On that immortal Author wreak thy Spite, Should Theobald thy presumptuous Errors shew, Be thou to Theobald an invet’rate Foe. Cibber shall foremost in thy Satyrs stand; His Plays succeed, and thine was justly damn’d. But Colley call him, when thou would’st declame; Great is the Jest that lies in Colley’s Name. Beware all ye, whom he as Friends carest, How ye entrust your Secrets to his Breast. All your Affairs disclos’d to save a Groat. He valu’d not to whom he gave Offence; He sav’d his Paper, tho’ at your Expence. But shall a low-born Wretch the best traduce, And call it Poetry, because Abuse? The Heav’n-born Muse, by Truth and Justice sway’d, To false Aspersions ne’er vouchsafes her Aid. When unprovok’d, not vengeful Wasps molest, Nor dart their Stings, when undisturb’d their Nest. Thy Muse, by Virgil’s Harpies taught to write, Scatters her Ordure in her screaming Flight; Sacred Religion and her Priests defames, And against Monarchs saucily exclames. As a poor Pack of Punsters she derides. But chief O Cam! and Isis! dread her Frown, No Order, no Degree escapes her Rage, And dull, and dull, and dull swells ev’ry Page. Thirsty, she Poison draws from ev’ry Flow’r, Like Satan, seeks whom next she may devour. So have I seen a Dog distracted roam; He bites, he snaps at all, disgorging Foam. The frighten’d Passenger the Danger flies, And sees the Poison flashing from his Eyes. Till some stout Dray-man dashes out his Brains, And his corrupted Blood the Kennel stains. Thy Notes pedantic shall no more engage; Arbuthnot’s Wit enlivens not the Page. Thy Muse, that Prostitute abandon’d Jade, Now flounders in the Mire without Swift’s Aid. Thy base Invectives Men no more regard; With just Disdain thy Scare-Crow Muse is heard. So when the latent Seeds their Fruits display, And gain fresh Vigour from a genial Ray: The careful Hind a monst’rous Figure frames; From various Rags unwonted Terror streams. The feather’d Choristers in Flocks retreat, And at a Distance view the tempting Bait. At length grown bold, they perch upon his Head, And with their Meute bedawb what late they fled. B-ns-n abuse for raising Milton’s Bust, And impiously molest learn’d Johnston’s Dust. Religious, he the Psalms in Latin sung, From hence the Malice of the Deist sprung. While with a just Derision we survey, Thy wretched Epitaph on poor John Gay. Had Peter, Charters thee with Gold supply’d, Peter and Charters had been deify’d. But ev’ry Lord, each gen’rous Friend implore, And by Subscriptions meanly swell thy Store. When to the Town by sordid Int’rest led, Mump for a Dinner, flatter for a Bed. Then to thy Grot retire, indulge thy Spite, And rail at those who for Subsistence write. Summon thy Rags, invoke thy scurril Muse, With keenest Malice Addison abuse. Sculking, the Scandal privately disperse, So e’re Arachne to her Cell repairs, Insidiously she weaves her glewy Snares. Sullen, she meditates on Deaths to come, And meliorates the Poison in her Womb. He falls her Prey, mindful of ancient Spite. With Malice swoll’n, Pride, Envy, Avarice, Ingratitude attends this Train to Vice. Yet one remains untold; with Lust endu’d, Behold the Fribler lab’ring to be lewd. Kind Cibber interpos’d, forbad the Banns, He’d peopled else this Isle with Calibans. A Proof of thy Ingratitude remains. Courteous to all, munificent, humane, Subject of others Praise, to thee of Pain. Exalted far above thy groveling State, The Object of his Pity, not his Hate. He smiles at Scandal so unjustly thrown, And at thy Malice he disdains to frown. Thus oft we see a currish, Mungrel Crew, A stately Mastiff eagerly pursue. They swarm around, they yelp, they snarl, they grin, Bold in Appearance, timerous within: With such mean Foes he deigns not to engage, But lifts his Leg, and pisses out their Rage. How dar’st thou, Peasant, give thy Pen this Loose? Becomes it thee thus madly to traduce? The Great, the Low, the Virtuous, and the Base, Alike are grown thy Subject of Disgrace. Safe in thy Weakness, thou defi’st a Foe; E’en The Mercy of the Law restrains thy Fears; Coventry’s Act secures thy Nose and Ears. Yet there remains, to fill thy Soul with Care, A Blanket to curvet thee in the Air. O wretched Life consum’d in restless Pains, Where Dread of Punishment incessant reigns! Poor Self-Tormentor! in whose gloomy Breast The Vulture dwells, inhospitable Guest. Be to my Foe no greater Curse assign’d! Than a malignant Heart and envious Mind. Thrice happy he! that’s with Good Nature blest, Love of his Species rules his tender Breast; Nor there confin’d: The Brute Creation share His kind Beneficence and gen’rous Care. No base malicious Thoughts his Peace annoy: Are others happy? he partakes their Joy. Chearful and innocent the Day he spends, And Silver Sleep his quiet Nights attends. But thou, a Stranger to this Peace of Mind, Search where thou may’st conspicuous Merit find: There strive to blacken with thy utmost Art, And rail the more, the greater the Desert. Is there a Man, an Honour to the Age, Unsully’d by the keenest Party-rage; By Vice untainted; who, from early Youth, Firmly adher’d to Honour, Justice, Truth; Whom no unruly Passions e’re cou’d blind, Nor ruffle his Serenity of Mind; His Country’s Good, the Patriot’s noblest View, Unbrib’d, unaw’d, does stedfastly pursue; Polite in Manners, and rever’d his Sense, And long in Senates fam’d for Eloquence; But if to these Endowments of the Mind, A graceful Figure happily is join’d, Then flows thy Gall, then raves thy half-form’d Clay, Then frets thy putrid Carcass to Decay. So when the croaking Toad the Ox beheld, His envious Heart with Indignation swell’d. Vainly the Reptil thought he could extend His bloated Form, and Nature’s Error mend. He drew his Breath; he swell’d—he burst; he dy’d A Victim to his Arrogance and Pride. FINIS.
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| GENERAL EDITORS | |
| Earl Miner | Maximillian E. Novak |
| Lawrence Clark Powell | |
| Corresponding Secretary: Mrs. Edna C. Davis, Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library | |
The Society’s purpose is to publish reprints (usually facsimile reproductions) of rare seventeenth and eighteenth century works. All income of the Society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and mailing.
Correspondence concerning subscriptions in the United States and Canada should be addressed to the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 2205 West Adams Boulevard, LosAngeles, California. Correspondence concerning editorial matters may be addressed to any of the general editors. The membership fee is $5.00 a year for subscribers in the United States and Canada and 30/- for subscribers in Great Britain and Europe. British and European subscribers should address B.H. Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England. Copies of back issues in print may be obtained from the Corresponding Secretary.
PUBLICATIONS FOR 1964-1965
John Tutchin, Selected Poems (1685-1700). Introduction by Spiro Peterson.
Sir William Temple, An Essay upon the Original and Nature of Government (1680). Introduction by Robert C. Steensma.
T. R., An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning (1698). Introduction by Curt A. Zimansky.
Anonymous, Political Justice. A Poem (1736). Introduction by Burton R. Pollin and John W. Wilkes.
Two Poems Against Pope: Leonard Welsted, One Epistle to Mr. A. Pope (1730); Anonymous, The Blatant Beast (1740). Introduction by Joseph V. Guerinot.
Robert Dodsley, An Essay on Fable (1764). Introduction by Jeanne K. Welcher and Richard Dircks.
