115 CHARACTER OF ATOSSA FROM EPISTLE II. OF THE CHARACTERS OF WOMEN BUT what are these to great Atossa's mind? So much the fury still outran the wit, No more a storm her hate than gratitude: Offend her, and she knows not to forgive; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live; Last night her lord was all that's good and great ; 140 145 Childless with all her children, wants an heir. To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store, Or wanders, heaven-directed, to the poor. 150 EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT P. Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said: The Dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt, Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 5 ΤΟ 15 No place is sacred, not the church is free, Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me just at dinner-time. Is there a parson, much bemused in beer, A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross, Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damned works the cause: 25 Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song), What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? 30 Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie: 35 To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel - "Keep your piece nine years." 40 "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it; Dare you refuse him? when he knew no better. He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine." Bless me! a packet. ""Tis a stranger sues, A virgin tragedy, an orphan Muse." If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve, "Commend it to the stage." There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends, All my demurs but double his attacks: At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks." 45 50 59 Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door: "Sir, let me see your works and you no more." One dedicates in high heroic prose, 110 And ridicules beyond a hundred foes: 115 One from all Grub Street will my fame defend, And, more abusive, calls himself my friend. This prints my letters, that expects a bribe, And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, subscribe!" There are who to my person pay their court: I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short. Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high, Such Ovid's nose, and, "Sir, you have an eye." Go on, obliging creatures, make me see 120 All that disgraced my betters met in me. Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, "Just so immortal Maro held his head;" And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. 125 Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipped me in ink? my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. I left no calling for this idle trade, 130 No duty broke, no father disobeyed: The Muse but served to ease some friend, not wife, To help me through this long disease, my life; To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care, |