Posts tagged ‘1714’

Wednesday, 20 January 2016

The Picture by John Hughes

Come, my Muse, a Venus draw;
Not the same the Grecians saw,
By the fam’d Apelles wrought,
Beauteous Offspring of his Thought.
No fantastick Goddess mine,
Fiction far She do’s outshine.

Queen of Fancy! hither bring
On thy gaudy-feather’d Wing
All the Beauties of the Spring.
Like the Bee’s industrious Pains
To collect his Golden Gains,
So from ev’ry Flow’r and Plant
Gather first th’ immortal Paint.
Fetch me Lillies, fetch me Roses,
Daisies, Vi’lets, Cowslip-Posies,
Amaranthus’ Parrot Pride,
Woodbines, Pinks, and what beside
Do’s th’ embroider’d Meads adorn,
Where the Fawns and Satyrs play
In the merry Month of May.
Steal the Blush of op’ning Morn;
Borrow Cynthia’s Silver White,
When She shines at Noon of Night,
Free from Clouds to veil her Light.
Juno’s Bird his Tail shall spread,
Iris’ Bow its Colours shed,
All to deck this Charming Piece,
Far surpassing Ancient Greece.

First her Graceful Stature show,
Not too Tall, not yet too Low.
Fat She must not be, nor Lean;
Let her Shape be Straight and Clean;
Small her Waste, and thence increast,
Gently swells her rising Breast.
Next, in comely Order trace
All the Glories of her Face.
Paint her Neck of Ivory,
Smiling Cheeks, and Forehead high,
Ruby Lips, and sparkling Eyes,
Whence resistless Lightning flies.

Foolish Muse! what hast thou done?
Scarce th’ Outlines are yet begun,
Ere thy Pencil’s thrown aside!
‘Tis no matter, Love reply’d;
(Love’s unlucky God stood by)
At one Stroke behold how I
Will th’ unfinish’d Draught supply.

Smiling then He took his Dart,
And drew her Picture in my Heart.

From: Hughes, John and Johnson, Samuel (ed.), The Works of the English Poets. With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical. Volume the Twenty-Second. The Poems of Hughes, 1779, H. Goldney (et al): London, pp. 65-67.

Date: 1714

By: John Hughes (1677-1720)

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Upon his Leaving his Mistress by John Wilmot

‘Tis not that I am weary grown
Of being yours, and yours alone:
But with what Face can I incline,
To damn you to be only mine?
You, whom some kinder Pow’r did fashion,
By Merit, and by Inclination,
The Joy at least of a whole Nation.

Let meaner Spirits of your Sex,
With humble Aims their Thoughts perplex:
And boast, if, by their Arts, they can
Contrive to make one happy Man.
Whilst, mov’d by an impartial Sense,
Favours, like Nature, you dispense,
With Universal Influence.

See, the kind Seed-receiving Earth,
To ev’ry Grain affords a Birth:
On her no Show’rs unwelcome fall,
Her willing Womb retains ’em all.
And shall my Cælia be confin’d?
No, live up to thy mighty Mind;
And be the Mistress of Mankind.


Date: 1714 (published)

By: John Wilmot (1647-1680)

Saturday, 14 April 2012

The Answer by Anne Finch

To Pope’s Impromptu

Disarmed with so genteel an air,
   The contest I give o’er;
Yet, Alexander, have a care,
   And shock the sex no more.
We rule the world our life’s whole race,
   Men but assume that right;
First slaves to ev’ry tempting face,
   Then martyrs to our spite.
You of one Orpheus sure have read,
   Who would like you have writ
Had he in Londontown been bred,
   And polished too his wit;
But he poor soul thought all was well,
   And great should be his fame,
When he had left his wife in hell,
   And birds and beasts could tame.
Yet venturing then with scoffing rhymes
   The women to incense,
Resenting heroines of those times
   Soon punished his offense.
And as the Hebrus rolled his skull,
   And harp besmeared with blood,
They clashing as the waves grew full,
   Still harmonized the flood.
But you our follies gently treat,
   And spin so fine the thread,
You need not fear his awkward fate,
   The lock won’t cost the head.
Our admiration you command
   For all that’s gone before;
What next we look for at your hand
   Can only raise it more.
Yet sooth the ladies I advise
   (As me too pride has wrought)
We’re born to wit, but to be wise
   By admonitions taught.


Date: 1714

By: Anne Finch (1661-1720)

Friday, 13 April 2012

Impromptu to Lady Winchelsea [Anne Finch] by Alexander Pope

Occasioned by Four Satyrical Verses on Women-Wits,
in the Rape of the Lock

In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore,
And cite those Sapphos we admire no more:
Fate doom’d the Fall of ev’ry Female Wit;
But doom’d it then when first Ardelia writ.
Of all Examples by the World confess’d,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the best;
Who, like her Mistress on Britannia’s Throne;
Fights and subdues in Quarrels not her own.
To write their Praise you but in vain essay;
Ev’n while you write, you take that Praise away:   
Light to the Stars the Sun does thus restore,
But shines himself till they are seen no more.


Date: 1714

By: Alexander Pope (1688-1744)