Clementia. Yes; and they want to marry her to the old phantom of your master, who ought to he ashamed of himself.
Flaminio. Marry her to Gherardo!
Clementia. See, if the poor girl is unfortunate.
Flaminio. May he have as much of life as he will have of her. I think, Clementia, this is certainly the will of heaven, which has had pity no less on this virtuous girl than on me; and therefore, Lelia, I desire no other wise than you, and I vow to you most solemnly, that if I have not you, I will never have any.
Lelia. Flaminio, you are my lord. I have shown my heart in what I have done.
Flaminio. You have, indeed, shown it well. And forgive me if I have caused you affliction; for I am most repentant, and aware of my error.
Lelia. Your pleasure, Flaminio, has always been mine. I should have found my own happiness in promoting yours.
Flaminio. Clementia, I dread some accident. I would not lose time, but marry her instantly, if she is content.
Lelia. Most content.
Clementia. Marry, then, and return here. In the meantime, I will inform Virginio, and wish bad night to Gherardo.
Scene IV. — The Street, with the hotels and the house of GHERARDO.
PASQUELLA and GIGLIO.
Pasquella again befools the Spaniard, who goes off, vowing: that this is the last time that she shall impose on him.
Scene V. — The Street, with the houses of VIRGINIO and CLEMENTIA.
CITTINA.
Flaminio and Lelia have been married, and have returned to dementia’s house. Cittina comes out from it, and delivers an untranslatable soliloquy.
Scene VI. — The Street, with the hotels and the house of GHERARDO.
ISABELLA and FABRIZIO, afterwards CLEMENTIA.
Isabella. I most certainly thought that you were the page of a gentleman of this city. He resembles you so much, that he must surely be your brother.
Fabrizio. I have been mistaken for another more than once to-day.
Isabella. Here is your nurse, Clementia.
Clementia. This must be he who is so like Lelia. Oh! my dear child, Fabrizio, how is it with you?
Fabrizio. All well, my dear nurse. And how is it with Lelia?
Clementia. Well, well; but come in. I have much to say to you all.
Scene VII.
VIRGINIO and CLEMENTIA.
Virginia. I am so delighted to have recovered my son, that I am content with everything.
Clementia. It was the will of heaven that she should not be married to that withered old stick, Gherardo. But let us go into the hotel, and complete our preparations.
[They go into the hotel.
STRAGUALCIA.
Spectators, do not expect that any of these characters will reappear. If you will come to supper with us, I will expect you at the Fool; but bring money, for there entertainment is not gratis. If you will not come (and you seem to say, “No!”), show us that you have been satisfied here; and you, Intronati, give signs of rejoicing.
The Poetry
East India House, London. Beginning in 1819, Peacock enjoyed a long and successful career in the East India Company, helping to administer affairs relating to Britain’s Indian colonies.
The Collected Poetry of Thomas Love Peacock
CONTENTS
THE LORD’S PRAYER PARAPHRASED.
TRANSLATION FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUACINI.
THE MONKS OF ST. MARK.
STANZAS.
TO MRS. DE ST. CROIX, ON HER RECOVERY.
PALMYRA.
THE VISIONS OF LOVE.
MARIA’S RETURN TO HER NATIVE COTTAGE.
FIOLFAR, KING OF NORWAY.
HENRIETTE.
THE OLD MAN’S COMPLAINT.
ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES PEMBROKE, ESQ.
THE RAINBOW.
ELLEN.
FAREWELL TO MATILDA.
MIRA.
AMARILLIS.
CLONAR AND TLAMIN.
FOLDATH IN THE CAVERN OF MOMA.
DREAMS.
PINDAR ON THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.
TO A YOUNG LADY, NETTING.
LEVI MOSES.
SLENDER’S LOVE-ELEGY.
A FRAGMENT.
I DUG, BENEATH THE CYPRESS SHADE.
THE VIGILS OF FANCY.
REMEMBER ME.
ROMANCE.
THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES.
THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES. PART I
THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES. PART II
STANZAS, WRITTEN AT SEA.
THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES. PART I.
THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES. PART II.
INSCRIPTION FOR A MOUNTAIN-DELL.
NECESSITY.
YOUTH AND AGE.
PHŒDRA AND NURSE.
CHORAL ODE TO LOVE.
CONNUBIAL EQUALITY.
AL MIO PRIMIERO AMORE.
LINES TO A FAVOURITE LAUREL IN THE GARDEN AT ANKERWYKE COTTAGE.
SIR PROTEUS.
THE DEATH OF ŒDIPUS.
POLYXENA TO ULYSSES.
PROLOGUE TO ‘GUARDIANS’
EPILOGUE TO ‘GUARDIANS’
SIR HORNBOOK.
RHODODAPHNE.
THE ROUND TABLE; OR KING ARTHUR’S FEAST.
THE ROUND TABLE
PAPER MONEY LYRICS.
PAN IN TOWN.
THE THREE LITTLE MEN.
PROŒMIUM OF AN EPIC
A MOOD OF MY OWN MIND
LOVE AND THE FLIMSIES.
THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.
CHORUS OF BUBBLE BUYERS.
A BORDER BALLAD.
ST. PETER OF SCOTLAND.
LAMENT OF SCOTCH ECONOMISTS ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE ONE-POUND NOTES.
CALEDONIAN WAR WHOOP.
YE KITE-FLYERS OF SCOTLAND.
CHORUS OF NORTHUMBRIANS ON THE PROHIBITION OF SCOTCH ONE-POUND NOTES IN ENGLAND.
MARGERY DAW.
RICH AND POOR.
THE FATE OF A BROOM.
BYP AND NOP.
THE LEGEND OF MANOR HALL.
NEWARK ABBEY, ON THE WEY, NEAR CHERTSEY, SURREY.
LINES ON THE DEATH OF JULIA, LORD BROUGHTON’S ELDEST DAUGHTER, 1849.
A WHITEBAIT DINNER AT LOVEGROVE’S AT BLACKWALL, JULY, 1851.
FISH FEAST.
IN REMEMBRANCE OF FORTY-FOUR YEARS AGO.
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
MIDNIGHT.
TIME.
CHORAL ODE.
OH, NOSE OF WAX! TRUE SYMBOL OF THE MIND.
A GOODBYE BALLADE OF LITTLE JOHN.
FAREWELL TO MEIRION.
OH BLEST ARE THEY, AND THEY ALONE.
AELIA LAELIA CRISPIS.
THE LORD’S PRAYER PARAPHRASED.
A. Æ. 16.
[Written in 1801, and published in 1806.]
FATHER of an! Who dwell’st above!
Thy mercies we proclaim:
To Thee be endless fear and love;
All-hallow’d be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come:
Thy will be done
On earth, as ’tis in HEAVN:
In ev’ry realm beneath the sun,
To Thee be glory giv’n.
Grant us, oh Thou Who cloth’st the field!
This day our daily bread:
As we to others mercy yield,
On us Thy mercy shed.
Permit not in temptation’s road
Our heedless steps to stray;
Free us from evil’s dire abode,
And guide us on our way.
For ever above all to tow’r,
For ever bright to shine,
Thine is the kingdom, Thine the pow’r,
And endless glory Thine.
TRANSLATION FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUACINI.
“O PRIMAVERA, GIOVENTU del anno,” &c.
YOUTH of the year! celestial spring!
Again descend thy silent showers;
New loves, new pleasures dost thou bring,
And earth again looks gay with flowers.
Dark winter’s chil
ling storms are flown,
All nature hails thy reign with gladness,
All nature smiles, save I alone,
The victim of eternal sadness.
Thy rosy smiles, all-cheering spring,
In vain to welcome I endeavour:
They but the sad remembrance bring
Of joys which I have lost for ever!
February 1, 1803.
THE MONKS OF ST. MARK.
[Written in 1804.]
‘TIS midnight: the; sky is with clouds overcast;
The forest-trees bend in the loud-rushing blast;
The rain strongly beats on these time-hallowed spires;
The lightning pours swiftly it’s blue-pointed fires;
Triumphant the tempest-fiend rides in the dark,
And howls round the old abbey-walls of ST. MARK!
The thunder, whose roaring the trav’ller appals,
Seems as if with the ground it would level the walls:
But in vain pours the storm-king this horrible rout;
The uproar within drowns the uproar without;
For the friars, with BACCHUS, not SATAN, to grapple,
The refect’ry have met in, instead of the chapel.
‘Stead of singing TE DEUMS, on ground-pressing knees,
They were piously bawling songs, catches, and glees:
Or, all speakers, no hearers, unceasing, untir’d,
Each stoutly held forth, by the spirit inspir’d,
Till the ABBOT, who only the flock could controul,
Exclaim’d: “AUGUSTINE I pr’ythee push round the bowl!”
The good brother obey’d; but, oh direful mishap!
Threw its scalding contents in JERONIMO’S lap!
And o’er his bare feet as the boiling tide stream’d,
Poor AUGUSTINE fretted, JERONIMO scream’d,
While PEDRO protested, it vexed him infernally,
To see such good beverage taken externally!
The ABBOT, FRANCISCO, then feelingly said:
“Let that poor wounded devil be carried to bed:
And let AUGUSTINE, who, I boldly advance,
Is the whole and sole cause of this fatal mischance,
If e’er to forgiveness he dare to aspire,
Now bear to his cell the unfortunate friar.”
He rose to obey, than a snail rather quicker,
But, finding his strength much diminish’d by liquor,
Declar’d, with a hiccup, he scarcely could stand,
And begg’d Brother PEDRO to lend him a hand.
Brother PEDRO consented, but all was not right,
Till NICHOLAS offer’d to carry a light.
By the head and the feet then their victim they held,
Who with pain and with fear most tremendously yell’d;
And with one little lamp that scarce shone through the gloom,
In path curvilinear march’d out of the room,
And, unheeding the sound of the rain and the blast,
Through the long dismal corridor fearlessly pass’d.
From the right to the left, from the left to the right,
Brother NICHOLAS reel’d, inconsiderate wight!
For not seeing the stairs to the hall-floor that led,
Instead of his heels he soon stood on his head:
He rolls to the bottom, the lamp-flame expires,
And darkness envelopes the wondering friars!
He squall’d, for the burning oil pour’d on his hand:
Bewilder’d did PEDRO and AUGUSTINE stand:
Then loud roar’d the thunder, and PEDRO, in dread,
Abandon’d his hold of JERONIMO’S head,
And prone on the floor fell this son of the cowl,
And howl’d, deeply-smarting, a terrible howl!
Poor AUGUSTINE’S bosom with terror was cold,
On finding his burthen thus slide from his hold:
Then, cautiously stealing, and groping around,
He felt himself suddenly struck to the ground;
Yells, groans, and strange noises, were heard in the dark,
And, trembling and sweating, he pray’d to ST. MARK!
Meanwhile, the good ABBOT was boosing about;
When, a little alarm’d by the tumult without,
Occasion’d by poor Brother NICH’LAS’S fall
From the corridor-stairs to the floor of the hall,
Like a true jolly friend of good orderly laws,
He serpentin’d out to discover the cause.
Bewilder’d by liquor, by haste, and by fright,
He forgot that he stood in great need of a light;
When, hiccuping, reeling, and curving along,
And humming a stave of a jolly old song,
‘ He receiv’d a rude shock from an object unseen,
For he came in full contact with Saint AUGUSTINE!
By JERONIMO’S carcass tripp’d up unawares,
He was instantly hurl’d down the corridor-stairs; —
Brother NICHOLAS there, from the floor cold and damp,
Was rising with what yet remain’d of his lamp; —
And, the worthy superior’s good supper to spoil,
Regal’d his strange guest with a mouthful of oil!
Thence sprung the dire tumult, which, rising so near,
Had fill’d AUGUSTINE with confusion and fear:
But the sons of ST. MARK, now appearing with tapers,
At once put an end to his pray’rs and his vapours;
They reel’d back to their bowls, laughed at care and foul weather,
And were shortly all under the table together.
September, 1804.
STANZAS.
[Written about 1805.]
WHEN hope her warm tints on the future shall cast,
And memory illumine the days that are past,
May their mystical colours, by fancy combined,
Be as bright as thy thoughts, and as pure as thy mind.
May hope’s fairy radiance in clouds never set,
Nor memory look dark with the mists of regret;
For thee may their visions unchangeable shine,
And prove a more brilliant reality thine.
Many are the forms of fate,
Much scarcely hoped in life betides,
Much strongly promised baffles hope,
Much unexpected by the gods is given,
Much strongly promised from our hope is riven;
Through paths of fate that most impervious seem,
The darkest paths of life’s prospective way,
Propitious Gods make pervious to the day.
Now, should some god approach me, saying, “Crato,
When you are dead, you shall be born anew,
And be whate’er you will, dog, sheep, or goat,
Or man, or horse, for you must have two lives;
So have the Fates decreed: choose which you will
I should at once give answer: “Make me anything
Rather than man, the only animal
That good and ill betide alike unjustly.”
TO MRS. DE ST. CROIX, ON HER RECOVERY.
[Written in 1805.]
WHEN wintry storms, with envious pow’r,
The glorious orb of day o’ercast;
When black and deep the snow-clouds low’r;
And coldly blows th’ ungenial blast;
The feather’d race, no longer gay,
Who joy’d in summer’s glowing reign,
Sit drooping on the leafless spray,
And mourn the desolated plain.
But when, at spring’s celestial call,
Subsides the elemental strife,
When drifting snows no longer fall,
And nature kindles into life,
Each little tenant of the grove,
Makes hill and dale with song resound,
And pleasure, gratitude, and love,
From thousand echoes ring around.
And thus,
when thou wast doom’d to pain,
On sickness’ cheerless couch reclin’d,
Love, duty, friendship, sigh’d in vain,
And at thy transient loss repin’d.
But grief and pain no more assail,
And all with smiles thy steps attend;
With renovated bliss they hail
Their guide, their parent, and their friend.
PALMYRA.
[Published in 1806.]
I.
AS the mountain-torrent rages,
Loud, impetuous, swift, and strong,
So the rapid stream of ages
Rolls with ceaseless tide along.
Man’s little day what clouds o’ercast!
How soon his longest date is past!
All-conqu’ring DEATH, in solemn state unfurl’d,
Comes, like the burning desert-blast,
And sweeps him from the world.
The noblest works of human pow’r
In vain resist the fate-fraught hour;
The marble hall, the rock-built tow’r,
Alike submit to destiny:
OBLIVION’S awful storms resound;
The massy columns fall around;
The fabric totters to the ground,
And darkness Veils its memory!
II.
‘Mid SYRIA’S barren world of sand,
Where THEDMOR’S marble wastes expand,
Where DESOLATION, on the blasted plain,
Has fix’d his adamantine throne,
I mark, in silence and alone,
His melancholy reign.
These silent wrecks, more eloquent than speech,
Full many a tale of awful note impart;
Truths more sublime than bard or sage can teach
This pomp of ruin presses on the heart.
Whence rose that dim, mysterious sound,
That breath’d in hollow murmurs round?
As sweeps the gale
Along the vale,
Where many a mould’ring tomb is spread,
Awe-struck, I hear,
In fancy’s ear.
The voices of th’ illustrious dead:
As slow they pass along, they seem to sigh,
“Man, and the works of man, are only born to die!”
III.
As scatter’d round, a dreary space,
Ye spirits of the wise and just!
In reverential thought I trace
The mansions of your sacred dust,
Enthusiast FANCY, rob’d in light,
Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock Page 119