Complete Works of William Congreve
Page 17
The Swain had been Jilted, the Nymph been Betray’d:
Their Intent was to try if his Oracle knew
Ere a Nymph that was Chaste, or a Swain that was True.
Whose name was buxome Joan, 5
Whose name was buxome Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended
To lick her lips at Men, Sir,
And gnaw the sheets in vain, Sir, 10
And lye o’ nights alone,
And lye o’ nights alone.
And shew’d her many a scar, Sir, 15
Which he had brought from far, Sir,
With fighting for her sake,
With fighting, &c.
The Tailor thought to please her,
With off ring her his Measure: 20
The Tinker too with mettle,
Said he could mend her kettle,
And stop up ev’ry leak,
And stop up, &c.
But while those three were prating, 25
The Sailer slyly waiting,
Thought if it came about, Sir,
That they should all fall out, Sir,
He then might play his part,
He then, &c. 30
And just e’en as he meant, Sir,
To Logger-heads they went, Sir,
And then he let fly at her,
A shot ‘twixt wind and water,
Which won this fair Maid’s Heart, 35
Which won, &c.
As such I lik’d, as such caress’d, 5
She still was Constant, when possess’d,
She cou’d do more for no Man.
II.
But oh! her Thoughts on others ran;
And that you think a hard thing:
Perhaps she fanci’d you the Man; 10
Why what care I one Farthing.
You think she’s false, I’m sure she’s Kind:
I’le take her Body, you her Mind;
Who has the better Bargain?
FROM LOVE TRIUMPHANT.
SONG. SO FOREKNOWING THE CHEAT
So foreknowing the Cheat, 5
He escapes the Deceit,
And in spite of the Curse, resolves to be Blest.
And the Boy that she brings ready made to his Hand, 10
May stand him instead, for an Heir to his Land,
Shou’d his own prove a Sot,
When he’s Lawfully Got,
As when e’re ’tis so, if he don’t, I’le be hang’d.
FROM THE FAIR PENITENT.
SONG. AH STAY! AH TURN! AH WHITHER WOULD YOU FLY
I.
AH stay! ah turn! ah whither would you fly
Too charming, too relentless Maid?
I follow not to Conquer but to Die,
You of the fearful are afraid.
II.
In vain I call; for she like fleeting Air, 5
When prest by some tempestuous Wind,
Flies swifter from the Voice of my Despair,
Nor casts one pitying Look behind.
Miscellaneous Songs and Poems
LEONORA’S SONG, FROM INCOGNITA
I.
Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly,
A poor unhappy Maid;
To hopeless Love and Misery
By my own Heart betray ‘d?
Not by Alexis Eyes undone, 5
Nor by his Charming Faithless Tongue,
Or any Practis’d Art;
Such real Ills may hope a Cure,
But the sad Pains which I endure
Proceed from fansied Smart. 10
II.
’Twas Fancy gave Alexis Charms,
Ere I beheld his Face:
Kind Fancy (then) could fold our Arms,
And form a soft Embrace.
But since I’ve seen the real Swain, 15
And try’d to fancy him again,
I’m by my Fancy taught,
Though ’tis a Bliss no Tongue can tell,
To have Alexis, yet ’tis Hell
To have him but in Thought. 20
THE DECAY, A SONG.
I.
SAY not Olinda, I despise
the faded Glories of your Face,
The languish’d Vigour, of your Eyes,
and that once, only lov’d Embrace.
II.
In vain, in vain, my constant Heart, 5
on aged Wings, attempts to meet
With wonted speed, those Flames you dart,
it faints and flutters at your Feet.
III.
I blame not your decay of Pow’r,
you may have pointed Beauties still, 10
Though me alas, they wound no more,
you cannot hurt what cannot feel.
IV.
On youthful Climes your Beams display,
There, you may cherish with your Heat,
And rise the Sun to gild their Day, 15
To me benighted, when you set.
THE MESSAGE, A SONG.
GO, thou unhappy Victim, go
Thou poor distracted Heart,
Oppress’d with all thy mighty Woe,
Thy endless Love, and Smart;
Go to Aminta, tell thy Grief; 5
Go to Aminta, beg Relief;
Pray to that Cruel Fair,
And let, oh let her hear
The various Cries of thy Despair.
In bleeding Wounds, and trembling Fears, 10
In moving Sighs and melting Tears,
Pant to her Eyes, and pierce her Ears.
Ah! sure she cannot see,
A Heart, so clad in Misery,
And yet no Pity have; 15
Oh no — she cannot — sure she will
In tender Mercy save,
Or else in rigid Mercy kill.
FADED DELIA MOVES COMPASSION
All her Airs so long affected 5
Might in blooming Youth be born,
But in Age if not corrected
Move our Pity or our Scorn.
Wretched Delia in Decay; 10
’Tis allowd to Nymphs past forty
To look on, but not to play.
As old Bubbles broke by gaming 15
Still take Pleasure in the Sight.
A TWO-PART SONG.
THERE ne’er was so wretched a Lover as I,
Whose hopes are for ever prevented:
I’me neither at rest when Aminta looks Coy,
Nor when she looks kind am contented:
Her frowns give a pain I’me unable to bear, 5
The thoughts of ’em set me a trembling,
And her Smiles are a joy so great, that I fear
Lest they shou’d be no more but dissembling.
Then prithee Aminta consent and be kind;
A pox of this troublesome Wooing, 10
For I find I shall ne’er be at peace in my Mind,
Till once you and I have been doing:
For shame let your Lover no longer complain
Of usage that’s hard above measure,
But since I have carry’d such loads of Love’s pain, 15
Now let me take Toll of the pleasure.
A POEM IN PRAISE OF THE AUTHOR.
I THAT hate Books (such as come daily out
By Publick Licence to the Reading Rout)
A Due Religion yet observe to this,
And here assert if any thing’s amiss,
It can be only the Compiler’s Fault, 5
Who has ill drest the Charming Author’s Thought.
That was all Right, Her Beauteous Looks were join’d
To a no less admir’d Excelling Mind.
But oh! This Glory of Frail nature’s dead,
As I shall be that Write, and you that Read. 10
Once to be out of Fashion, I’ll conclude
With something that may tend to Publick Good:
I wish that Piety, for which in Heav’n
The Fair is Plac’t, to the Lawn-Sleeves were giv’n,
Her Justice to the Gnot of Men whose Care 15
From the Rais’d Millions is to take their Share.
THE OATH OF THE TOST
By Bacchus and by Venus swear
That you will only name the Fair
Whose Chains you at the present wear.
And so lett Witt and Wine go round
And she you love prove kind and sound. 5
Mrs. BRUDENELL.
Look on the loveliest Tree that shades the Park,
And Brudenell you will find upon the Bark;
Look on the fairest Glass that’s fill’d the most,
And Brudenell you will find the fairest Toast;
Look on her Eyes, if you their Light can bear, 5
And Love himself you’ll find sits toasting there.
Mrs. CLAVERING.
Such Beauty join’d with such harmonious Skill,
Must doubly charm, then let us doubly fill.
If Musick be Love’s Food, as Lovers think, 10
When Claverine’s named, then Toasting is his Drink.
Mrs. DIGBY.
Why laughs the Wine with which this Glass is crown’d?
Why leaps my Heart to hear this Health go round?
Digby warms both with Sympathetick Fires;
Her Name the Glass, her Form my Heart inspires.
Mrs. Di. KIRK.
Fair written Name, but deeper in my Heart; 15
A Diamond cannot cut like Cupid!s Dart.
Quickly the Cordial of her Health apply;
For when I cease to toast bright Kirk, I die.
TO MARIA.
THO’ all the boist’rous Waves of Fortune rond,
And in united Torrents drench my Soul;
Yet when my bright Meridian Star appears,
She’ll scatter all my Doubts, and dissipate my Fears.
Tho’ the Foundation of the World should shake, 5
And all the wondrous Frame of Nature break:
Nay, tho’ the Heavens should fall, or Earth shou’d rise,
With strange Convulsions, far above the Skies;
Impossibles may come to pass, yet I
Would with Maria live, or with her die. 10
JACK FRENCH-MAN’S DEFEAT.
Being an Excellent New S O N G, to a Pleasant Tune, called, There was a Fair Maid in the North-Country, Came Triping over the Plain, &c.
I.
Ye Commons and Peers,
Pray lend me your Ears,
I’ll sing you a Song if I can;
How Louis le Grand
Was put to a Stand, 5
By the Arms of our Gracious Queen Anne.
Just so did he say, 25
When without more delay
Away the Young Gentry Fled;
Whose Heels for that Work
Were much lighter than Cork,
But their Hearts were more heavy than Lead. 30
Yet he matter’d it not, 35
But charg’d still on Foot like a Fury.
If you’ll neither stand, 40
By Sea nor by Land,
Pretender, that Title you Forge.
Which runs in his Veins so Blue; 45
This gallant Young Man
Being Kin to Queen Anne,
Fought, as were she a Man, she wou’d do.
(I think ’twas last Year) 50
For a little ill Fortune in Spain;
When by letting ’em Win,
We have drawn the Puts in
To Loose all they are Worth this Campaign.
Then Satan, thinking Things went ill, 5
Sent forth his Spirit call’d Quadrille.
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.
II.
Kings, Queens and Knaves, made up his Pack,
And four fair Sutes he wore;
His Troops they were with red and black 10
All blotch’d and spotted o’re;
And ev’ry House, go where you will,
Is haunted by this Imp Quadrille, &c.
III.
Sure Cards he has for ev’ry Thing,
Which well Court-Cards they name, 15
And Statesman-like, calls in the King,
To help out a bad Game;
But if the Parties manage ill,
The King is forc’d to lose Codille, &c.
IV.
When two and two were met of old, 20
Tho’ they ne’er meant to marry,
They were in Cupid’s Books enroll’d,
And call’d a Party Quarree;
But now, meet when and where you will,
A Party Quarree is Quadrille, &c. 25
V.
The Commoner, the Knight, and Peer,
Men of all Ranks and Fame,
Leave to their Wives the only Care
To propagate their Name;
And well that Duty they fulfil, 30
While the good Husband’s at Quadrille, &c.
VI.
When Patients lie in piteous Case,
In comes the Apothecary;
And to the Doctor cries, Alas!
Non debes Quadrillare: 35
The Patient dies without a Pill,
For why? the Doctor’s at Quadrille, &c.
VII.
Should France and Spain again grow loud,
The Muscovite grow louder;
Britain to curb her Neighbours proud, 40
Would want both Ball and Powder;
Must want both Sword and Gun to kill;
For why? The General’s at Quadrille, &c.
VIII.
The King of late drew forth his Sword,
(Thank God ’twas not in Wrath) 45
And made, of many a Squire and Lord,
An unwash’d Knight of Bath:
What are their Feats of Arms and Skill?
They’re but nine Parties at Quadrille, &c.
IX.
A Party late at Cambray met, 50
Which drew all Europe’s Eyes;
’Twas call’d in Post-Boy and Gazette
The Quadruple Allies;
But some-body took something ill,
So broke this Party at Quadrille, &c. 55
X.
And now, God save this noble Realm,
And God save eke Hanover,
And God save those who hold the Helm,
When as the King goes over;
But let the King go where he will, 60
His Subjects must play at Quadrille.
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.
PROLOGUE. WRITTEN FOR MR. HAINS, AND SPOKEN BY HIM.
HERE’S a young Fellow here — an Actor — Powel
One whose Person, perhaps, you all may know well,
And he has writ a Play — this very Play
Which you are all come here to see, to day;
And so it being an usual thing, to speak 5
Something or other, for the Author’s sake,
Before the Play (in hopes to make it take)
I’m come, being his Friend and Fellow Play’r,
To say what (if you please) you’re like to hear.
First know, that favour which I’d fain have shown, 10
I ask not for, in his Name, but my own;
For, without Vanity, I’m better known.
Mean time then, let me beg you would forbear
Your Cat-calls, and the Instruments of War;
For Mercy, Mercy, at your Feet we fall, 15
Before your roaring Gods destroy us all,
I’ll speak with words sweet as distilling Honey,
With words, — as if I meant to borrow Money;
Fair, gentle Sirs, most soft, alluring Beaus,
Think ’tis a Lady, that for pity sues. 20
Bright Ladies — but to gain the Ladies Grace,
I think I need no more than shew my Face.
Next then you Authors, be not you severe;
Why, what a swarm of Scriblers have we here!
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten,
25
All in one row, and Brothers of the Pen.
All, wou’d-be-Poets, well, your favour’s due
To this days Author; for he’s one of you.
Among the few, which are of noted Fame
I’m safe; for I my self am one of them. 30
You’ve seen me Smoak at Wills, among the Wits;
I’m witty too, as they are — that’s by fits.
Now, you our City Friends, who hither come
By three a Clock, to make sure Elbow-room:
While Spouse, tuckt up, does in her Pattens trudge it 35
With Hankerchief of prog, like Trull with Budget,
And here, by turns, you eat Plumb-Cake, and judge it.
Pray be you kind, let me your Grace importune,
Or else — Igad I’ll tell you all your Fortune.
Well now, I have but one thing more to say, 40
And that’s in reference to our third day;
An odd request — may be you’ll think it so;
Pray come, whether you like the Play, or no:
And if you’ll stay, we shall be glad to see you,
If not — leave your Half-Crowns, and peace be wi’ you. 45
PROLOGUE TO THE PRINCESS.
Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
IF what we feel of Joy cou’d be express’d,
It were unworthy of our Royal Guest:
Great Blessings, when bestow’d above Desert,
Suppress the Speech, tho’ they inspire the Heart.
Thus, tho’ the Muse her grateful Homage pays, 5
She dares not strive her trembling Voice to raise,
And pay unequal Thanks, or disproportion Praise.
Such Awe there is in all sublime Delight;
And so severe is Joy when Exquisite.
Our sickly Clime, which has for ten Years past, 10