K002563.000.txt

FEMALE EMPIRE: OR, WINTER Celebrated at LONDON.FEMALE EMPIRE: OR, WINTER celebrated at LONDON.E'en Spring displeases, when She smiles not here,But, blest with Her, 'tis Spring thro' all the Year.LONDON: Printed for M. COOPER, at the Globe in Pater-noster Row.M. DCC. XLVI.FEMALE EMPIRE: OR, WINTER Celebrated at LONDON.WHERE proud Augusta, Empire of the Great,Sees a whole World pay Tribute at her Feet,Where social Pleasure, with indulgent Sway,Chears ev'ry Breast, and bids e'en Want be gay,The Muse begins—Ye British Fair-Ones, smile;So shall your Favours recompense my Toil;So shall Mankind the Ear attentive lend,Since All the World admires what You commend.FOR You, kind Nature shifts the restless Year,And varying Seasons roll, to bless the Fair:To charm your Footsteps thro' the winding Maze,Unfolding Spring a thousand Sweets displays:For You, with genial Heat the Summer glows,Smiles in the Fields, and blushes in the Rose:Autumnal Suns, to gratify your Taste,With Fruits and Plenty crown the long Repast:And shiv'ring Winter charms no less than these,If Change of Joys can boast the Pow'r to please.Tir'd with the mid-day Heat, and Ev'ning Gale,The wide-stretch'd Prospect, and the flow'ry Vale,The bubbling Fountain, and the Linnet's Song,(For who can bear e'en Harmony too long?)Cynthia, the Passion of contending Swains,Flies to the Town, and leaves the sylvan Scenes.Unhappy Scenes! the Birds forgot to sing,And Nature mourn'd her, till returning Spring.Ye airy Sylphs, who hover round the Fair,With Aid invisible, but always near,Assist your Poet, while his daring MuseSings the Diversions that the Nymph pursues,When frozen Streams in lazy Currents run,And the big Cloud, portentous, hides the Sun.See sullen Night with tardy Step retires,And in the Lamp the glimm'ring Flame expires.On Roofs of Snow reflected Sun-Beams play,And early Business fills the strait'ned Way.With Cries of diff'rent Note resounds the Street,And Coaches roll, and jostling Carmen meet.On his deep-furrow'd Brow the Broker wearsSchemes yet in Embryo, and unwieldy Cares;While the grave Doctor, from the Tumult free,Lolls in his Chariot, and expects the Fee.The Fair still slept, while Sleep, to Fair-Ones kind,Bid visionary Scenes divert her Mind;
Where shone the Circles of the Great and Gay,Who shar'd the Dance, and pass'd the Hours at Play;Where, arm'd with Gallantry, the well-dress'd Beau,In Slumber, bid the Cheek with Blushes glow;Till early Footmen, with untimely Noise,And op'ning Lap-Dogs, interrupt her Joys;Then fled the airy Sweets of calm Repose,And the unwilling Maid with Sighs arose,Perus'd the Morning's Billet-doux with Care,And, next, to Beauty's Queen preferr'd her Pray'r."Oh Thou, whose Pow'r supreme, and gentle Sway,"Not Mortals only, but the Gods, obey,"Celestial Venus, Guardian of the Fair,"Who lives unheeded, if without thy Care;"Still may Mankind thy sov'reign Rule adore,"And Altars blaze, till Time shall be no more!"But Oh! with full Success my Wishes crown,"Long may I reign the Fav'rite of the Town;"Long may I boast th' unrivall'd Pow'r to kill;"Joy more than Life, belov'd beyond Quadrille!
"With ev'ry Grace my faultless Form supply,"Till Prudes in secret rack'd with Envy die."And when I wed (if such the Will of Fate)"May no learn'd Pedant be my future Mate;"No Wretch, who Gold prefers to Joys like thine,"Nor Sot, enamour'd with the Fumes of Wine."All Cares, but Love, with Pleasure I forego,"And all my Wishes centre in a Beau."So pray'd, nor vainly, the Heart-conqu'ring Fair,Love's Goddess list'ned, and approv'd the Pray'r:Then bid, t' adorn the Nymph, each smiling GraceWith more than mortal Beauty arm her Face,Call forth the latent Mischiefs of her Eyes,And give the Blush that with the Morning vies.To crown the Whole, inventive Fancy came,And with the Pow'r of Dress improv'd the Dame;From ev'ry Clime some gaudy Tribute bore,And deck'd her with the Spoils of India's Shore;While Fashion, as the Ocean unconfin'd,Dispos'd each Charm to captivate the Mind.And now with warmer Pow'r the Sun-Beams glow,And Kennels widen with dissolving Snow,In ev'ry Street officious Shoe-Boys ply,And meagre Poverty prefers its Cry.Touch'd with the Ills that wait on pining Woe,With lib'ral Hand their Alms the Good bestow;E'en Av'rice stops, affected with the Sight,And, e'er he cheats the Orphan, gives his Mite.'Tis Noon, and Business dwells in ev'ry Face,Directs the Eye, and animates the Pace:Big with the Prospect of some future Gain,The Merchant's Haste, nor Winds, nor Show'rs detain;With unloop'd Hat he dares th' inclement Day,Nor heeds the dashing Spout, or miry Way.So, bent on Riches, on th' unfriendly Waves,Impending Death the bold Advent'rer braves;Bears India's scorching Suns, and Zembla's Cold,And mocks all Dangers, for the Charms of Gold.Now Ludgate-Hill with rattling Coaches swarms,And thro' the Sash the gaudy Tissue charms.
Here croud Britannia's Pride, intent t' expressThe Pow'r of Fancy, by their Skill in Dress.Vers'd in the Rhet'rick that supports his Trade,The smooth-tongu'd Mercer shews the rich Brocade;Expatiates on the Labours of the Loom,And sells, for Foreign, Patterns wrought at Home:Pleas'd with the Whole, in Hesitation lost,The Nymph stands doubtful which she fancies most;Till, struck by something New, she buys at last,Pays the full Price, and glories in her Taste.Nor with less Judgment, or inferior Grace,The artful Milaner harangues on Lace;Describes each Fashion that allures the Eye,The Mobb Venetian, Quoif, or airy Fly;What Ribbands suit the Fresh, and what the Wan,And dwells upon the Colours of a Fan;Improves each Hint, and hangs on ev'ry Tale,And keeps Discourse alive, with Lungs that never fail.Is there a Poet, whose capacious RhimesCan range distinct the Fashions of the Times?
Where-e'er he dwells, ye Muses, round him shine;A Task so arduous calls for all the Nine.His let it be, to sing, in lofty Lays,The Hoop's wide Circle, and the Diamond's Blaze,Paint the gay Ornaments that deck the Fair,And praise the wavy Ringlets of her Hair.But Time rolls on, impatient of Delay,And Hunger sends the Citizen away:To Halls well-furnish'd Liv'rymen repair,And feast, in Fancy, on the Bill of Fare:Calmly they drown th' eternal Feuds of State,And bid e'en Business till To-morrow wait.Homeward, returning see the blooming Fair,Pleas'd with her Bargains, and devoid of Care;No gloomy Thought her peaceful Mind annoys,Nor Spleen malevolent disturbs her Joys;In the gay Chariot rais'd, she rolls along,Safe from the Hardships that affect the Throng;Exults amidst the Rigours of the Day,And hears the whistling Tempest round her play.The witless Fop, unheedful of the Storm,Stands fixt, and wonders at th' angelic Form;
Ling'ring, looks back, in Admiration lost,Nor gains his Senses, till he meets a Post.So, on the faithless Waves, the Syren-Train,With melting Airs the Mariner detain;Heedless, he sails along the dang'rous Seas,Enchanted with the Music of their Lays,Till, bulg'd upon some Rock, he mourns too lateHis Stay, and yields unwillingly to Fate.Now Plenty triumphs o'er the genial Board,And grateful Wines a gen'rous Warmth afford;While Mirth, Effect of Innocence, prevails,And wakes the social Laugh with well-told Tales;Lively in Years, perhaps, historic AgeWith Britain's Glories past their Thoughts engage;Recounts the Wonders Nassau's Conquests wrought,"PRIOR. How Anne commanded, and how Malbro' fought;"Then paints the Joys that wait on Brunswick's Name,And dwells in Raptures on the fav'rite Theme.Hence shall our Sons, when long in future Days,Chearful they sit around th' enliv'ning Blaze,
Rouz'd at the Mem'ry of Rebellion vile,(Hereditary Vice of Scotia's Soil)Tell how their Fathers join'd War's doubtful Chance,To conquer Faction, and to humble France!How William (glorious Name!) the Traitors drove!His Cause, our Country, and his Guardian Jove.But softer Things the Female Band amuse,Than Wars, Ambition, Politics, and News;To hardier Breasts they trust the Martial Toil;Kill with a Frown, and conquer with a Smile.Theirs is the Task o'er Fashions to preside,And fix the changing Ornaments of Pride;Recount the Arts that captivate the Mind,Subdue th' Inconstant, and attract the Blind;Safe in their Charms, admire the well-form'd Plan,And join their Sex's Pow'r, to conquer Man.Subjects so copious ask a longer Day,And Themes so fruitful wear the Hours away:But Pleasure calls, and Scenes instructive glow,With all the mournful Eloquence of Woe;Monimia, fainting, on Castalio cries,And sad Arpasia with Moneses dies.
Mad as the Sea, Othello raves, distrest;And Patriot-Zeal inspires a Cato's Breast:Here wild Ambition mourns her tott'ring State,And Envy sickens at the Tyrant's Fate;There sorrowing Virtue pains the gen'rous Mind,And Love, unpity'd, bids the Fair be kind.These were the Arts, that pleas'd a former Age,When Booth, majestic, grac'd Britannia's Stage;When Oldfield, skill'd to paint distressful Woe,Bid marble Breasts with fond Compassion glow:And still they flourish, still the Town may boastNames not inferior e'en to those it lost;Garrick, each Passion that he feigns, can move,And Cibber softens all the Soul to Love:In these survives what matchless Shakespear writ,And still the World admires a Congreve's Wit.The youthful Hero views th' inspiring Scenes,And martial Ardour kindles in his Veins;While the fond Virgin, on the Brink of Fate,Warn'd by Calista, shuns the dang'rous Bait.Ye modern Wits, who, emulous of Fame,Build, on the Comic Scene, the deathless Name,
Would ye excell? With strictest Care restrainThe Jest immodest, and the Phrase prophane;So shall the gen'ral Shout your Toil repay,And Britain's Fair attend the Poet's Day;The moral Tale shall please the virtuous Youth,And Guilt alone shall redden at the Truth.Thus, chearful, Winter-Ev'nings roll away,And gay Diversions crown the short'ned Day:Joys, yet unsung, t' amuse the Fair remain,And Skies inclement spend their Rage in vain:Attentive Whist.Wisk, and courtly Visits call,And Pomp and Splendor animate the Ball:Days, quick-revolving, Change of Pleasures bring,And glad the Fancy, till returning Spring.FINIS.