Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: Verses about Beautiful

Written at Fourteen Years of Age.


Where, lovely Goddess, dost thou dwell?
In what remote and silent shade?
Within what cave or lonely cell?
With what old hermit, or unpractis'd maid?
In vain I've sought thee all around,
But thy unfashionable sound
In crowds was never heard,
Nor ever has thy form in town or court appear'd.

The sanctuary is not safe to thee,
Chas'd thence by endless mystery;
Thy own professors chase thee thence,
And wage eternal war with thee and sense;
Then in perplexing comments lost,
E'en when they would be thought to show the most.
Most beautiful when most distress'd,
Descend, O Goddess, to my breast;
There thou may'st reign, unrivall'd and alone,
My thoughts thy subject, and my heart thy throne.

Is it to me this sad lamenting strain?
Are Heaven's choicest gifts bestow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, and content your pride;
Yet, leaving her, 'tis me that you pursue,
Without one single charm -- but being new.
How vile is man! How I detest the ways
Of covert falsehood and designing praise!
As tasteless, easier happiness you slight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears a fan,
While moves, unpunish'd, the destroyer man;
Not bound by vows, and unrestrain'd by shame,
In sport you break the heart, and rend the fame.
Not that your art can be successful here,
Th' already plunder'd need no robber fear.
Nor sighs nor charms, nor flattery, can move,
Too well secur'd against a second love.
Once, and but once, that devil charm'd my mind,
To reason deaf, to observation blind,
I idly hop'd (what cannot Love persuade!)
My fondness equall'd and my truth repaid:
Slow to distrust, and willing to believe;
Long hush'd my doubts, I would myself deceive.

But oh! too soon -- this tale would ever last --
Sleep on my wrongs, and let me think them past.
For you, who mourn with counterfeited grief,
And ask so boldly, like a begging thief,
May soon some other nymph inflict the pain
You know so well with cruel art to feign.
Though long you've sported with Dan Cupid's dart,
You may see eyes, and you may feel a heart.
So the brisk wits who stop the evening coach,
Laugh at the fear that follows their approach;
With idle mirth and haughty scorn despise
The passenger's pale cheek and staring eyes;
But seiz'd by justice, find a fright no jest,
And all the terror doubled in their breast.

What could luxurious woman wish for more,
To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r?
Their every wish was in this Mary seen,
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.
Vain, useless blessings with ill-conduct join'd!
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow,
Beauty, what poor omnipotence hast thou!
Queen Bess had wisdom, council, power, and laws;
How few espous'd a wretched beauty's cause!
Learn thence, ye fair, more solid charms to prize;
Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.
The brightest object shines but while 'tis new:
That influence lessens by familiar view.
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway,
All strive to serve, and glory to obey;
Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow --
Men mock the idol of their former vow.
Two great examples have been shown today,
To what sure ruin passion does betray;
What long repentance to short joys is due;
When reason rules, what glory must ensue.
If you will love, love like Eliza then;
Love for amusement, like those traitors, men.
Think that the pastime of a leisure hour
She favour'd oft -- but never shar'd her pow'r.
The traveller by desert wolves pursu'd,
If by his heart the savage foe's subdued,
The world will still the noble act applaud,
Though victory was gain'd by needful fraud.
Such is, my tender sex, our helpless case;
And such the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face;
By passion fir'd, and not withheld by shame,
They cruel hunters are, we trembling game.
Trust me, dear ladies (For I know 'em well),
They burn to triumph, and they sigh to tell:
Cruel to them that yield, cullies to them that sell.
Believe me, 'tis by far the wiser course,
Superior art should meet superior force:
Hear, but be faithful to your int'rest still:
Secure your hearts -- then fool with whom you will.

Roxana from the court retiring late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. JAMES's gate:
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen wth more weight opprest;
They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear;
She in these gentler sounds express'd her care.

"Was it for this, that I these Roses wear,
"For this new-set my Jewels for my hair?
"Ah ! Princess ! with what zeal have I pursu'd!
"Almost forgot the duty of a Prude.
"Thinking I never cou'd attend too soon,
"I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
"For Thee, ah ! what for Thee did I resign?
"My Pleasures, Passions, all that e'er was mine.
"I sacrific'd both Modesty and Ease,
"Left Operas, and went to filthy Plays;
"Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
"Yet even this for Thee I chose to bear.
"In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
"And ev'ry joy of life before me lay,
"By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
"The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd:
"Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
"Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
"Alas ! how chang'd! -- with the same sermon mien
"That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye call't I've seen.
"Ah ! cruel Princess, for thy sake I've lost
"That reputation which so dear had cost:
"I, who avoided ev'ry publick place,
"When bloom, and beauty bid me show my face;
"Now near Thee constant ev'ry night abide
"With never-failing duty by thy side,
"Myself and daughters standing on a row,
"To all the foreigners a goodly show!
"Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
"And merchants wives close by the chair had been seen;
"Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
"And sav'd your Highness from the dire disgrace.

"Yet COQUETILLA's artifice prevails,
"When all my merit and my duty fails:
"That COQUETILLA, whose deluding airs
"Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares;
"So sunk her character, so lost her fame,
"Scarce visited before your Highness came;
"Yet for the Bed-chamber 'tis Her you chuse,
"When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
"Ah ! worthy choice ! not one of all your train
"Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
"Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
"And the proud pea-hen snatch the cuckoo's eggs!
"Let IRIS leave her paint, and own her age,
"And grave SUFFOLKIA wed a giddy page !
"A greater miracle is daily view'd,
"A virtuous Princess with a court so lewd.

"I know thee, Court ! with all thy treach'rous wiles,
"Thy false caresses and undoing smiles !
"Ah ! Princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
"To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.

"Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim;
"And the neglected patriot follows fame.
"The Prince is ogled ; some the King pursue;
"But your ROXANA only follows YOU.
"Despis'd ROXANA, cease, and try to find
"Some other, since the Princess proves unkind:
"Perhaps it is not hard to find at court
"If not a greater, a more firm support."

ROXANA from the court retiring late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. JAMES's gate:
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen |w^th^| more weight opprest;
They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear ;
She in these gentler sounds express'd her care.

" Was it for this, that I these Roses wear,
" For this new-set my Jewels for my hair ?
" Ah ! Princess ! with what zeal have I pursu'd !
" Almost forgot the duty of a Prude.
" Thinking I never cou'd attend too soon,
" I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
" For Thee, ah ! what for Thee did I resign ?
" My Pleasures, Passions, all that e'er was mine.
" I sacrific'd both Modesty and Ease,
" Left Operas, and went to filthy Plays ;
" Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
" Yet even this for Thee I chose to bear.
" In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
" And ev'ry joy of life before me lay,
" By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
" The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd :
" Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
" Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
" Alas ! how chang'd! -- with the same sermon mien
" That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye call't I've seen.
" Ah ! cruel Princess, for thy sake I've lost
" That reputation which so dear had cost :
" I, who avoided ev'ry publick place,
" When bloom, and beauty bid me show my face ;
" Now near Thee constant ev'ry night abide
" With never-failing duty by thy side,
" Myself and daughters standing on a row,
" To all the foreigners a goodly show !
" Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
" And merchants wives close by the chair had been seen ;
" Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
" And sav'd your Highness from the dire disgrace.

" Yet COQUETILLA's artifice prevails,
" When all my merit and my duty fails :
" That COQUETILLA, whose deluding airs
" Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares ;
" So sunk her character, so lost her fame,
" Scarce visited before your Highness came ;
" Yet for the Bed-chamber 'tis Her you chuse,
" When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
" Ah ! worthy choice ! not one of all your train
" Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
" Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
" And the proud pea-hen snatch the cuckoo's eggs !
" Let IRIS leave her paint, and own her age,
" And grave SUFFOLKIA wed a giddy page !
" A greater miracle is daily view'd,
" A virtuous Princess with a court so lewd.

" I know thee, Court ! with all thy treach'rous wiles,
" Thy false caresses and undoing smiles !
" Ah ! Princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
" To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.

" Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim ;
" And the neglected patriot follows fame.
" The Prince is ogled ; some the King pursue ;
" But your ROXANA only follows YOU.
" Despis'd ROXANA, cease, and try to find
" Some other, since the Princess proves unkind :
" Perhaps it is not hard to find at court
" If not a greater, a more firm support.

DANCINDA.

"NO, fair DANCINDA, no; you strive in vain
"To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;
"If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,
"Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."

Thus STREPHON spoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd :
`What must I do to gratify your pride?
`Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)
`How much you triumph in this tender heart;
`What proof of love remains for me to grant?
Yet still you teize me with some new complaint.
Oh ! would to heav'n ! -- but the fond wish is vain --
Too many favours had not made it plain !
But such a passion breaks thro' all disguise,
Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind !)
I own the secret conflict of my mind ?
You cannot know what secret pain I prove,
When I with burning blushes own I love.
You see my artless joy at your approach,
I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch ;
And in your absence all the world I shun ;
I hate mankind, and curse the cheering sun.
Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue ;
Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you.
I shew you all my heart without disguise :
But these are tender proofs that you despise --
I see too well what wishes you pursue ;
You wou'd not only conquer, but undo :
You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,
Would seek a cure in my eternal shame ;
And not content my honour to subdue,
Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too.
Oh ! LOVE, a God indeed to womankind,
Whose arrows burn me and whose fetters bind,
Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,
And blast these traytors that profane thy name,
Who by pretending to thy sacred fire,
Raise cursed trophies to impure desire.

Have you forgot with what ensnaring art
You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart ?
Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,
Turn, cruel beauty ; whither wou'd you fly ?
Why all these Doubts ? why this distrustful fear ?
No impious wishes shall offend your ear :
Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend
Above the title of a tender friend ;
Blest, if my lovely Goddess will permit
My humble vow, thus sighing at her feet.
The tyrant Love that in my Bosom reigns,
The God himself submits to wear your chains ;
You shall direct his course, his ardour tame,
And check the fury of his wildest flame.

Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd ;
Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd :
Now quite forgot that soft submissive fear :
You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.

Cou'd I forget the honour of my race,
And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace ;
Cou'd passion o'er my tender youth prevail,
And all my mother's pious maxims fail ;
Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,
False as it is, for ever dear to me)
This fatal proof of love I wou'd not give,
Which you contemn the moment you receive.
The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys
A man may pity, but he must despise.
Your ardour ceas'd, I then shou'd see you shun
The wretched victim by your arts undone.
Yet if I cou'd that cold indifference bear,
What more wou'd strike me with the last despair,
With this reflection wou'd my soul be torn,
To know I merited your cruel scorn.

Has Love no pleasures free from guilt or fear ?
Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere ?
Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze,
Love is a child, and like a child it plays.

O STREPHON, if you wou'd continue just,
If Love be something more than brutal lust,
Forbear to ask what I must still deny,
This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,
So closely follow'd by the dismal train
Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.

She paus'd ; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan ;
He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began ;
Madam, if Love -- but he cou'd say no more,
For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.

The dangerous moments no adieus afford ;
Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my Lord.
The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,
To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves :
The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares,
While STREPHON cursing, slips down the back-stairs.

DANCINDA.
" NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain
" To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;
" If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,
" Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."


Thus STREPHON spoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd :
`What must I do to gratify your pride ?
`Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)
`How much you triumph in this tender heart ;
`What proof of love remains for me to grant ?
Yet still you teize me with some new complaint.
Oh ! would to heav'n ! -- but the fond wish is vain --
Too many favours had not made it plain !
But such a passion breaks thro' all disguise,
Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind !)
I own the secret conflict of my mind ?
You cannot know what secret pain I prove,
When I with burning blushes own I love.
You see my artless joy at your approach,
I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch ;
And in your absence all the world I shun ;
I hate mankind, and curse the cheering sun.
Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue ;
Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you.
I shew you all my heart without disguise :
But these are tender proofs that you despise --
I see too well what wishes you pursue ;
You wou'd not only conquer, but undo :
You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,
Would seek a cure in my eternal shame ;
And not content my honour to subdue,
Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too.
Oh ! LOVE, a God indeed to womankind,
Whose arrows burn me and whose fetters bind,
Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,
And blast these traytors that profane thy name,
Who by pretending to thy sacred fire,
Raise cursed trophies to impure desire.

Have you forgot with what ensnaring art
You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart ?
Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,
Turn, cruel beauty ; whither wou'd you fly ?
Why all these Doubts ? why this distrustful fear ?
No impious wishes shall offend your ear :
Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend
Above the title of a tender friend ;
Blest, if my lovely Goddess will permit
My humble vow, thus sighing at her feet.
The tyrant Love that in my Bosom reigns,
The God himself submits to wear your chains ;
You shall direct his course, his ardour tame,
And check the fury of his wildest flame.

Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd ;
Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd :
Now quite forgot that soft submissive fear :
You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.

Cou'd I forget the honour of my race,
And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace ;
Cou'd passion o'er my tender youth prevail,
And all my mother's pious maxims fail ;
Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,
False as it is, for ever dear to me)
This fatal proof of love I wou'd not give,
Which you contemn the moment you receive.
The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys
A man may pity, but he must despise.
Your ardour ceas'd, I then shou'd see you shun
The wretched victim by your arts undone.
Yet if I cou'd that cold indifference bear,
What more wou'd strike me with the last despair,
With this reflection wou'd my soul be torn,
To know I merited your cruel scorn.

Has Love no pleasures free from guilt or fear ?
Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere ?
Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze,
Love is a child, and like a child it plays.

O STREPHON, if you wou'd continue just,
If Love be something more than brutal lust,
Forbear to ask what I must still deny,
This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,
So closely follow'd by the dismal train
Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.


She paus'd ; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan ;
He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began ;
Madam, if Love -- but he cou'd say no more,
For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.

The dangerous moments no adieus afford ;
Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my Lord.
The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,
To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves :
The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares,
While STREPHON cursing, slips down the back-stairs.

Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read,
I have no more to wish, nor you to dread;
I ask not life, for life to me were vain,
And death a refuge from severer pain.
My only hope in these last lines I try --
I would be pitied, and I then would die.
Long had I liv'd as sordid as my fate,
Nor curs'd the destiny that made me wait
A servile slave: content with homely food,
The gross instinct of happiness pursued:
Youth gave me sleep at night and warmth of blood.
Ambition yet had never touch'd my breast;
My lordly master knew no sounder rest;
With labour healthy, in obedience blest.
But when I saw -- oh! had I never seen
That wounding softness, that engaging mien!
The mist of wretched education flies,
Shame, fear, desire, despair, and love arise,
The new creation of those beauteous eyes.
But yet that love pursu'd no guilty aim;
Deep in my heart I hid the secret flame:
I never hop'd my fond desire to tell,
And all my wishes were to serve you well.
Heav'ns! how I flew when wing'd by your command,
And kiss'd the letters giv'n me by your hand.
How pleas'd, how proud, how fond I was to wait,
Present the sparkling wine, or change the plate!
How, when you sung, my soul devour'd the sound,
And ev'ry sense was in the rapture drown'd!
Though bid to go, I quite forgot to move;
-- You knew not that stupidity was love!
But oh! the torment not to be express'd,
The grief, the rage, the hell, that fir'd this breast,
When my great rivals, in embroidery gay,
Sate by your side, or led you from the play!

I still contriv'd near as I could to stand
(the flambeau trembling in my shaking hand);
I saw, or thought I saw, those fingers press'd,
For thus their passion by my own I guess'd,
And jealous fury all my soul possess'd.
Like torrents, love and indignation meet,
And madness would have thrown me at your feet.
Turn, lovely nymph (for so I would have said),
Turn from those triflers who make love a trade;
This is true passion in my eyes you see;
They cannot, no -- they cannot love like me;
Frequent debauch has pall'd their sickly taste,
Faint their desire, and in a moment past;
They sigh not from the heart, but from the brain;
Vapours of vanity and strong champagne.
Too dull to feel what forms like yours inspire,
After long talking of their painted fire,
To some lewd brothel they at night retire;
There, pleas'd with fancy'd quality and charms,
Enjoy your beauties in a strumpet's arms.
Such are the joys those toasters have in view,
And such the wit and pleasure they pursue;
-- And is this love that ought to merit you?
Each opera night a new address begun,
They swear to thousands what they swear to one.
Not thus I sigh -- but all my sighs are vain --
Die, wretched Arthur, and conceal thy pain:
'Tis impudence to wish, and madness to complain.
Fix'd on this view, my only hope of ease,
I waited not the aid of slow disease;
The keenest instruments of death I sought,
And death alone employ'd my lab'ring thought.
This all the night -- when I remember well
The charming tinkle of your morning bell!
Fir'd by the sound, I hasten'd with your tea,
With one last look to smooth the darksome way --
But oh! how dear that fatal look has cost!
In that fond moment my resolves were lost.
Hence all my guilt, and all your sorrows rise --
I saw the languid softness of your eyes;

I saw the dear disorder of your bed;
Your cheeks all glowing with a tempting red;
Your night-clothes tumbled with resistless grace,
Your flowing hair play'd careless down your face
Your night-gown fasten'd with a single pin;
-- Fancy improv'd the wondrous charms within!
I fix'd my eyes upon that heaving breast,
And hardly, hardly, I forbore the rest:
Eager to gaze, unsatisfied with sight,
My head grew giddy with the near delight!
-- Too well you know the fatal following night!
Th'extremest proof of my desire I give,
And since you will not love, I will not live.
Condemn'd by you, I wait the righteous doom.
Careless and fearless of the woes to come.
But when you see me waver in the wind,
My guilty flame extinct, my soul resign'd,
Sure you may pity what you can't approve,
The cruel consequence of furious love.
Think the bold wretch, that could so greatly dare,
Was tender, faithful, ardent, and sincere;
Think when I held the pistol to your breast, --
Had I been of the world's large rule possess'd, --
That world had then been yours, and I been blest;
Think that my life was quite below my care,
Nor fear'd I any hell beyond despair. --
If these reflections, though they seize you late,
Give some compassion for your Arthur's fate:
Enough you give, nor ought I to complain:
You pay my pangs, nor have I died in vain.

Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read,
I have no more to wish, nor you to dread;
I ask not life, for life to me were vain,
And death a refuge from severer pain.
My only hope in these last lines I try --
I would be pitied, and I then would die.
Long had I liv'd as sordid as my fate,
Nor curs'd the destiny that made me wait
A servile slave: content with homely food,
The gross instinct of happiness pursued:
Youth gave me sleep at night and warmth of blood.
Ambition yet had never touch'd my breast;
My lordly master knew no sounder rest;
With labour healthy, in obedience blest.
But when I saw -- oh! had I never seen
That wounding softness, that engaging mien!
The mist of wretched education flies,
Shame, fear, desire, despair, and love arise,
The new creation of those beauteous eyes.
But yet that love pursu'd no guilty aim;
Deep in my heart I hid the secret flame:
I never hop'd my fond desire to tell,
And all my wishes were to serve you well.
Heav'ns! how I flew when wing'd by your command,
And kiss'd the letters giv'n me by your hand.
How pleas'd, how proud, how fond I was to wait,
Present the sparkling wine, or change the plate!
How, when you sung, my soul devour'd the sound,
And ev'ry sense was in the rapture drown'd!
Though bid to go, I quite forgot to move;
-- You knew not that stupidity was love!
But oh! the torment not to be express'd,
The grief, the rage, the hell, that fir'd this breast,
When my great rivals, in embroidery gay,
Sate by your side, or led you from the play!

I still contriv'd near as I could to stand
(the flambeau trembling in my shaking hand);
I saw, or thought I saw, those fingers press'd,
For thus their passion by my own I guess'd,
And jealous fury all my soul possess'd.
Like torrents, love and indignation meet,
And madness would have thrown me at your feet.
Turn, lovely nymph (for so I would have said),
Turn from those triflers who make love a trade;
This is true passion in my eyes you see;
They cannot, no -- they cannot love like me;
Frequent debauch has pall'd their sickly taste,
Faint their desire, and in a moment past;
They sigh not from the heart, but from the brain;
Vapours of vanity and strong champagne.
Too dull to feel what forms like yours inspire,
After long talking of their painted fire,
To some lewd brothel they at night retire;
There, pleas'd with fancy'd quality and charms,
Enjoy your beauties in a strumpet's arms.
Such are the joys those toasters have in view,
And such the wit and pleasure they pursue;
-- And is this love that ought to merit you?
Each opera night a new address begun,
They swear to thousands what they swear to one.
Not thus I sigh -- but all my sighs are vain --
Die, wretched Arthur, and conceal thy pain:
'Tis impudence to wish, and madness to complain.
Fix'd on this view, my only hope of ease,
I waited not the aid of slow disease;
The keenest instruments of death I sought,
And death alone employ'd my lab'ring thought.
This all the night -- when I remember well
The charming tinkle of your morning bell!
Fir'd by the sound, I hasten'd with your tea,
With one last look to smooth the darksome way --
But oh! how dear that fatal look has cost!
In that fond moment my resolves were lost.
Hence all my guilt, and all your sorrows rise --
I saw the languid softness of your eyes;

I saw the dear disorder of your bed;
Your cheeks all glowing with a tempting red;
Your night-clothes tumbled with resistless grace,
Your flowing hair play'd careless down your face
Your night-gown fasten'd with a single pin;
-- Fancy improv'd the wondrous charms within!
I fix'd my eyes upon that heaving breast,
And hardly, hardly, I forbore the rest:
Eager to gaze, unsatisfied with sight,
My head grew giddy with the near delight!
-- Too well you know the fatal following night!
Th'extremest proof of my desire I give,
And since you will not love, I will not live.
Condemn'd by you, I wait the righteous doom.
Careless and fearless of the woes to come.
But when you see me waver in the wind,
My guilty flame extinct, my soul resign'd,
Sure you may pity what you can't approve,
The cruel consequence of furious love.
Think the bold wretch, that could so greatly dare,
Was tender, faithful, ardent, and sincere;
Think when I held the pistol to your breast, --
Had I been of the world's large rule possess'd, --
That world had then been yours, and I been blest;
Think that my life was quite below my care,
Nor fear'd I any hell beyond despair. --
If these reflections, though they seize you late,
Give some compassion for your Arthur's fate:
Enough you give, nor ought I to complain:
You pay my pangs, nor have I died in vain.

Written January 1718 in the Chiosk at Pera, overlooking Constantinople


Give me Great God (said I) a Little Farm
in Summer shady, & in Winter warm
where a cool spring gives birth to a clear brook
by Nature slideing down a mossy Rock
Not artfully in Leaden Pipes convey'd
Or greatly falling in a forc'd Cascade
Pure & unsully'd winding throu' ye Shade.
All bounteous Heaven has added to my Praier
a softer Climate and a purer Air.

Our Frozen Isle now chilling Winter binds
Deform'd by Rains, & rough wth blasting Winds
ye wither'd Woods grown white wth hoary Frost
by driving storms their scatter'd beautys lost
The Trembling birds their leaveless coverts shun
And seek in distant Climes a warmer Sun
The Water Nymphs their silenced Urns deplore
Even Thames benumb'd a River now no more
The barren Meadows give no more delight
by Glist'ning Snows made painfull to ye Sight.

Here Summer reigns wth one Eternal Smile
And double Harvests bless ye happy Soil.
Fair, fertile Fields to warm Indulgent Heaven
Has every Charm of every Season given!
No Killing Cold deforms ye Beauteous Year
The springing Flowers no coming Winter Fear
But as ye Parent Rose decays & dies
ye Infant Buds wth brighter Colours rise
And with fresh sweets ye Mother-scent supplys
Near them the Vi'let glows wth odours blest
And blooms in more than Tyrian Purple drest
The rich Jonquils their golden gleam display
And shine in glorys emulateing day.
These chearfull Groves their living Leaves retain
The Streams still murmur undefil'd by Rain
And growing Green adorns ye Fruitfull Plain
The warbling Kind uninterrupted Sing,
Warm'd wth Enjoyment of perpetual Spring.

Here from my Window I at once survey
The crouded City, & resounding Sea
In distant Views see Assian Mountains rise
And Lose their Snowy Summits in ye Skies.
Above those Mountains high Olympus Tow'rs
The Parliamental Seat of Heavenly Powers.
New to ye Sight my ravish'd Eyes admire
Each guilded Crescent & each Antique Spire
The Fair Serail where sunk in Idle ease
The Lazy Monarch melts his thoughtless days
The Marble Mosques beneath whose Ample Domes
Fierce Warlike Sultans sleep in peacefull Tombs
Those lofty Structures once the Christian boast
Their Names, their Honnours, & their Beautys lost
Those Altars bright wth Gold, wth Sculpture grac'd
By barbarous Zeal of savage Foes defac'd
Convents where Emperors profess'd of old
The Labour'd Pillars that their Triumphs told.
Vain Monuments of Men that once were great!
Sunk, undistinguish'd, by one Common Fate!
How art thou falln Imperial City, Low!
Where are thy Hopes of Roman Glory now?
Where are thy Palaces by Prelates rais'd
Where preistly Pomp in Purple Lustre blaz'd?
So vast, that Youthfull Kings might there reside
So Splendid; to content a Patriarchs pride
Where Grecian Artists all their skill displayd
Before ye happy Sciences decay'd;
So vast, that Youthfull Kings might there reside
So Splendid; to content a Patriarchs Pride;
Convents where Emperors proffess'd of Old,
The Labour'd Pillars that their Triumphs told,
Vain Monuments of Men that once were great!
Sunk, undistinguish'd in one common Fate!

One Little Spot, the small Fenar contains,
Of Greek Nobillity, the poor Remains,
Where other Helens show like powerfull Charms
As once engag'd the Warring World in Arms:
Those Names that Roial Auncestry can boast
In mean Mechanic Arts obscurely lost
Those Eyes a second Homer might inspire,
fix'd at the Loom, destroy their useless Fire.

Greiv'd at a view which strikes vpon my Mind
The short liv'd Vanity of Human kind
In Gaudy Objects I indulge my Sight,
And turn where Eastern Pomp gives gay delight.

See; the vast Train in various Habits dress'd!
By the Bright Seymetar and Sable Vest;
The Vizier proud, distinguish'd o're the rest!
Six slaves in gay Attire his Bridle hold;
His Bridle rough with Gems, his Stirups Gold;
His Snowy Steed adorn'd with lavish Pride
Whole Troops of Soldiers mounted by his Side,
These toss the Plumy Crest, Arabian Coursers guide.
With awfull Duty all decline their Eyes,
No bellowing Shouts of noisy Crouds arise;
Silence in solemn State the march attends
Till at the dread Divan the slow processions ends.
Yet not these Objects all profusely Gay,
The Gilded Navy that adorns the Sea,
The riseing City in Confusion fair;
Magnificently form'd irregular
Where Woods and Palaces at once surprise
Gardens, on Gardens, Domes on Domes arise
And endless Beauties tire the wandering Eyes,
So sooths my Wishes, or so charms my Mind,
As this Retreat, secure from Human kind.
No Knaves successfull Craft does Spleen excite
No Coxcombs tawdry Splendour shocks my Sight;
No Mob Alarm awakes my Female Fears,
No unrewarded Merit asks my Tears;
Nor Praise my Mind, nor Envy hurts my Ear,
Even Fame it selfe can hardly reach me here,
Impertinence with all her Tattling Train
Fair-sounding Flatterys delicious Bane
Censorious Folly; Noisy Party Rage;
The Thousand with which she must engage
Who dare have Virtue in a Vicious Age.