Classic Poem

O Son of Galen , lend your friendly Aid,
To veil the Blushes of an undone Maid;
A Maid! — alas! — whilst I your Help implore,
I downwards look — and sigh! — a Maid no more!
Your Patients Lives for some few Moments save,
And let my Griefs reprieve 'em from the Grave:
A while let all your curious Fossils rest;
Each scaly Fish, and each four-footed Beast:
On Nature's wond'rous Trifles do not dwell,
The beauteous Butterfly, or shining Shell;
Your pretious Time, oh! throw not now away,
The various Dyes of Feathers to display;
Let not old Egypt 's Monarchs plague your Head,
For what 's a Mummy to a Modern Maid?
Since Animals amphibious you pursue,
A doubtful Sex to fix, belongs to you:
If searching into Nature can prevail,
O Heav'n! — such Secrets! — but attend my Tale.

Last Saturday , — oh fatal Op'ra Night!
What has thy horrid Darkness brought to Light?
Malicious Planets! oh, why did you join?
What had the Stars to do with Me or Mine?
Alas! too late I to my Sorrow find
That these Astrologers ar'n't always blind;
What Depths they search? What Mysteries unfold?
Annus Mirabilis — this Change foretold:
I read it thrice — and cry'd — there's nothing in't,
Grubstreet all o'er — the Paper — Stile — and Print.

For this Conjunction's Influence prepar'd,
To lulling C RISPO I that Night repair'd:
Just to the Time the fatal Song is sung,
And the whole House, with — Se vedete — rung;
The Aire scarce ended, with Surprize, we view'd
Chast Senesino turn'd into a Prude :
Poor Innocent! — what hast thou felt before?
Sure Nature's self can change thee now no more.

With this prepost'rous turn whilst I'm amaz'd,
Prodigious Laughter the whole Audience seiz'd;
Which I suppress'd — scarce breath'd I all the while, —
For Prudes — (the thing I was) — do never smile:
Those airy Particles in Hippo ' pent,
Try'd ev'ry Hole, resolv'd to find a Vent;
Their Exit I forbid; — a rumbling Sound
From Vapours thus confin'd began it's hollow Round,
In restless Torments I the Op'ra pass'd,
Dreading some frightful Squeak or horrid Blast:
My guarded Tongue its Silence did not break,
Lest in undecent Terms the Wind shou'd speak.

My Chairmen trotted home; — poor I Half dead.
With equal Speed undress'd, am put to Bed:
The Vapours (that I fear'd before wou'd stray)
Nor upwards now, nor downwards take their Way;
Restless they roll and bounce — that, tho' a Maid,
Of matrimonial Pangs I seem'd afraid;
Till all at once they burst with dreadful Roar,
And force out something — I ne'er felt before.

Thus when an Earthquake shakes the trembling Ground,
First, from below, strange bellowing Noises sound;
Inward Convulsions torture Mother Earth,
She seems prepar'd to give some Monster Birth;
All Nature's sick — but whilst she lab'ring heaves.
A gaping hideous Chasm her Bosom cleaves;
Some Mountain she thrusts forth, to ease her Pain,
Which sprouts at once, and tow'rs it o'er the Plain.

Have I for this so long the Wonder stood
Of either Sex? — in rigid Virtue proud,
I wag'd immortal Wars with half the Town,
And few escap'd my Censure or my Frown;
Love to my Breast durst never yet intrude;
But in my Nurse's Arms to Man most rude,
I e'en in leading-Strings commenc'd a Prude :
On Footmen's Backs I ne'er wou'd get astride.
Or on my Brother's Hobby-Horses ride:
No Romps cou'd on my Conduct e'er prevail,
Nor cou'd I bear a Baby, if a Male;
The Sight of Breeches shook my very Frame,
And sooner wou'd I starve, than Cod-fish name:
E'en now my poor Heart pants — do what I can,
Convulsions sieze me at the Thoughts of Man;
Yet I'm that odious Thing — which I abhor —
What cou'd the Malice of my Stars do more?

Where shall I run? Where shall I Comfort find?
I cannot leave one Inch of Woe behind;
No! — let me travel Earth, or Seas, or Sky,
I cannot drop the Cause for which I fly.

Some truant School-boy thus, in Mischief wise,
To a poor Mastiffs Tail a Bottle ties:
The frighten'd Cur his alter'd State does wail,
And mourning wonders at his length'ned Tail;
Now runs, now stops, now turns, but still he views
His Foe fast clung; his Fear his Flight renews;
But all in vain he flies: the Bottle still pursues.

Haste to my Aid, thou Esculapian Sage,
By Physick's mystick Arts my Pains asswage;
From filthy Fame my Reputation save,
And in return I'll give — oh! — All I have.
In Nature's Secrets you're her eldest Son;
Tell me but what I am, or what is done:
Whilst both Hands I employ to screen my Face,
Put on your Spectacles, — and view my Case:
Your Judgment so profound, can best decide,
If I in Love must Bridegroom prove or Bride:
I dare not view this Guest, so new, so strange,
I scarce have Courage yet to feel the Change;
Somewhat there is — (a Badge of my Disgrace) —
Impertinently perks up in my Face:
By Female Dress it's Boldness I oppose.
In Petticoats the Monster bolder grows,
And bears aloft my Hoop — 'spite of my Nose —

These horrid Pangs no longer I'll endure,
Oh! cut it off — or bring some other Cure;
Till when — (as undetermin'd what I am)
I venture to subscribe my Maiden Name —