"But let your friends in verse suppose, What ne'er shall be allow'd in prose; Anatomists can make it clear,
The Liver minds his own affair;
Kindly supplies our public uses,
And parts and strains the vital juices;
Still lays some useful bile aside,
To tinge the chyle's insipid tide :
Else we should want both gibe and satire ;
And all be burst with pure good-nature.
Now gall is bitter with a witness,
And love is all delight and sweetness.
My logic then has lost its aim,
If sweet and bitter be the same:
And he, methinks, is no great scholar,
Who can mistake desire for choler.
"The like may of the heart be said;
Courage and terrour there are bred.
All those, whose hearts are loose and low,
Start, if they hear but the tattoo :
And mighty physical their fear is;
For, soon as noise of combat near is,
Their heart, descending to their breeches,
Must give their stomach cruel twitches.
But heroes, who o'ercome or die,
Have their hearts hung extremely high;
The strings of which, in battle's heat,
Against their very corslets beat;
Keep time with their own trumpet's measure,
And yield them most excessive pleasure.
"Now, if 'tis chiefly in the heart
That Courage does itself exert,
'Twill be prodigious hard to prove
That this is eke the throne of Love.
Would Nature make one place the seat
Of fond desire, and fell debate?
Must people only take delight in
Those hours, when they are tir'd of fighting? And has no man, but who has kill'd
A father, right to get a child?
These notions then I think but idle ;
And Love shall still possess the middle.
"This truth more plainly to discover,
Suppose your hero were a lover.
Though he before had gall and rage,
Which death or conquest must assuage,
He grows dispirited and low;
He hates the fight, and shuns the foe.
"In scornful sloth Achilles slept,
And for his wench, like Tall-boy, wept:
Nor would return to war and slaughter,
Till they brought back the parson's daughter.
"Antonius fled from Actium's coast,
Augustus pressing, Asia lost:
His sails by Cupid's hands unfurl'd,
To keep the fair, he gave the world.
Edward our Fourth, rever'd and crown'd,
Vigorous in youth, in arms renown'd,
While England's voice, and Warwick's care,
Design'd him Gallia's beauteous heir,
Chang'd peace and power, for rage and wars,
Only to dry one widow's tears-
"France's fourth Henry we may see A servant to the fair d'Estree;
When, quitting Coutras' prosperous field,
And Fortune taught at length to yield,
He from his guards and midnight tent
Disguis'd o'er hills and vallies went,
To wanton with the sprightly dame,
And in his pleasure lost his fame.
"Bold is the critic who dares prove These heroes were no friends to love; And bolder he, who dares aver
That they were enemies to war.
Yet, when their thought should, now or never,
Have rais'd their heart, or fir'd their liver,
Fond Alma to those parts was gone,
Which Love more justly calls his own.
"Examples I could cite you more;
But be contented with these four :
For, when one's proofs are aptly chosen,
Four are as valid as four dozen.
One came from Greece, and one from Rome;
The other two grew nearer home.
For some in ancient books delight;
Others prefer what moderns write :
Now I should be extremely loth,
Not to be thought expert in both."
"BUT shall we take the Muse abroad,
To drop her idly on the road?
And leave our subject in the middle,
As Butler did his Bear and Fiddle?
Yet he, consummate master, knew,
When to recede, and where pursue :
His noble negligences teach
What others toils despair to reach.
He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope,
And balances your fear and hope :
If, after some distinguish'd leap,
He drops his pole, and seems to slip,
Straight gathering all his active strength,
He rises higher half his length.
With wonder you approve his slight,
And owe your pleasure to your fright:
But like poor Andrew I advance,
False mimic of my master's dance.
Around the cord awhile I sprawl,
And thence, though low, in earnest fall.
"My preface tells you, I digress'd :
He's half absolv'd who has confess'd."
"I like," quoth Dick, your simile, And, in return, take two from me. As masters in the clare obscure With various light your eyes allure, A flaming yellow here they spread, Draw off in blue, or charge in red; Yet, from these colours oddly mix'd, Your sight upon the whole is fix'd: Or as, again, your courtly dames (Whose clothes returning birth-day claims) By arts improve the stuffs they vary, And things are best as most contrary; The gown, with stiff embroidery shining, Looks charming with a slighter lining; The out-, if Indian figure stain, The in-side must be rich and plain.
So you great authors have thought fit
To make digression temper wit:
When arguments too fiercely glare,
You calm them with a milder air:
To break their points, you turn their force,
And furbelow the plain discourse."
"Richard," quoth Mat, "these words of thine
Speak something sly, and something fine:
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may'st praise or blame.
"As people marry now, and settle,
Fierce Love abates his usual mettle :
Worldly desires, and household cares,
Disturb the godhead's soft affairs :
So now, as health or temper changes,
In larger compass Alma ranges.
This day below, the next above,
As light or solid whimsies move.
So merchant has his house in town,
And country-seat near Bansted-down:
From one he dates his foreign letters,
Sends out his goods, and duns his debtors:
In t'other, at his hours of leisure,
He smokes his pipe, and takes his pleasure.
"And now your matrimonial Cupid,
Lash'd on by Time, grows tir'd and stupid.
For story and experience tell us
That man grows old, and woman jealous.
Both would their little ends secure;
He sighs for freedom, she for power:
His wishes tend abroad to roam,
And hers to domineer at home.
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