Classic Poem

From Italy Nigritia came,
A comely, well-proportion'd Dame:
By bounteous Nature form'd to move
In many Hearts, the Springs of Love.
Ah! had she still contented been
Of ten Degrees th' unrival'd Queen!
But busy Fame had made Report
What Stars illum'd the British Court;
And Emulation fir'd her Breast,
The Prize of Beauty to contest.
?Too soon the swarthy Tuscan sees
How many Ways our Ladies please.
'Tis not a graceful Shape and Mien,
In which alone their Honour's seen:
In them a thousand Charms unite,
And strike at once the ravish'd Sight.
Their Cheeks the Lilly and the Rose
With sweet Variety compose—
Their Necks, and Breasts, and Hands, and Eyes,
All with peculiar Charms surprize:
While o'er the Sun-burnt Southern Dame
The settled Hue appears the same:
Or if a Blush her Cheeks o'erspread,
It makes, at best, a gloomy Red.—
?With envious Eyes Nigritia views
How Celia ev'ry Heart subdues;
How many Breasts Clarinda warms,
With unaffected, native Charms;
While she, unheeded, may resort
To Balls, to Plays, to Park, to Court;
While she must hire, or ne'er must have,
Some broken Beau to seem her Slave.
?What should she do? Her Pride denies
To leave contending for the Prize—
Some nice Expedient must be found,
To make her stand on equal Ground—
But what can Art? could Art avail,
What Woman would of Beauty fail?
?Long in her Mind the lab'ring Thought,
From Thing to Thing incessant wrought.
'Till, with Despair and Rage opprest,
To Venus she this Pray'r addrest.
?O Cytherea , if thy Care
Extend to Earth, thy Vot'ry hear!
If British Beauty come from thee,
O Queen, such Beauty grant to me!
O'er me diffuse that milky White!
In me let all those Charms unite!
So shall thy Altars daily smoke—
So I will still thy Name invoke.
?She said—propitious Venus heard—
And quick as Thought her Doves appear'd—
The Goddess, smiling from her Car,
Return'd this Answer to the Pray'r.—
?Thy Vows, O Mortal, reach our Ears,
Lo Venus to thy Aid appears!
Learn here thy Wishes to fullfill—
This Note shall furnish thee with Skill,
(Then reaching forth her snowy Arm,
She stoop'd, and gave the written Charm).
This short Receipt a Secret shows,
Which yet no Earthly Beauty knows;
Which makes me reign, the Queen of Love,
O'er all the Deities above—
This shall remove thy brown Disgrace,
And plant the Lilly in its Place;
Shall make thee shine, ev'n at St . James',
A Rival of the fairest Dames.
?But all thy Labour were in vain,
This Secret should the English gain ——
Take then this Counsel e'er we part,
From ev'ry Briton hide thy Art ;
Thy Art should British Ladies know ,
Their Charms would gain upon thee so,
'Twould make the envy'd Distance more,
Than ever had been known before.
With high Disdain they'd look on thee,
And equal, if not conquer, me.
?So Venus spoke— Nigritia bow'd,
And round the Chariot Cupids croud—
The bright Machine, with upward Flight,
Soon bore the Goddess out of Sight.
?The Goddess gone already! How?
And did Nigritia only bow?
She should have sacrific'd at least—
She made that Promise 'tis confest;
But when the Gods have given us Ease,
We thank 'em— yes— just when we please.
Nigritia wanted to be fair,
To make her so came Venus there,
And her Receipt unopen'd yet,
Would it not make a Saint forget?
?But, not to make my Tale prolix,
Where we left off, again we fix—
Nigritia heard her out with Pain,
Then read, and read, and read again.
Took Coach, bought Drugs, pull'd out her Note,
Bought more, got all the Names by rote—
Came quickly home, prepar'd a Ball —
Wash'd Face, Hands, Bosom, Neck and all—
Call'd for her Glass—had many a Peep——
Before she took one wink of Sleep.
?To tell you how, from Time to Time,
Her Charms increas'd, would cramp my Rime.
In short, she soon became a Toast,
Cloe 's Disgrace, Sir Fopling 's Boast,
Could make Bellario pine and fret,
And act an absolute Coquet:
Nigritia was no more her Name,
But Clara was the first in Fame:
Clara the beautiful and young,
The Theme of ev'ry Poets Song.
?In Triumph long she kept the Field,
And to no mortal Fair would yield.
O were she but immortal too,
Her Bounty Venus self might rue!
Ev'n now her Pride would hardly own
The Goddess worthy of her Throne.
?But stronger Death the strong Disarms;
And Death will ravish Clara 's Charms.
This Truth, at last, a slow Disease
Convinc'd her of, by just Degrees.
Now from her Cheeks the Rose departs;
Now fails her Empire o'er Mens Hearts;
The dreaded Pale still paler grows;
'Till scarce one Beau his Clara knows——
'Till Physic can no more befriend—
And all her Thoughts regard her End.—
?Perplext, she now revolves at large
The Gift of Venus , and her Charge—
How could a dying Woman rest
With such a Secret in her Breast?
It works, it throws, come forth it must—
The Question was, who could she Trust?
?His Mother's Counsels Cupid knows,
And often slyly dares oppose.
'Twas now his Int'rest so to do,
And Love his Int'rest will pursue.
Exclude the English ? 'Twas not right—
The English ? what, his chief Delight?
My Mother's jealous now, thought he,
But Mother this shall never be:
This Ball the British Fair shall prove,
Tho' thou lose Mars , and Juno Jove .
?So thought——he flew to Clara 's Bed,
And with this Vision fill'd her Head.
?She dream'd, how, prest again with Grief,
She pray'd to Venus for Relief;
How to her Side the Goddess came,
Her Form, her Port, her Smile the same;
How, her Request attentive heard,
She spake these Words, and disappear'd.
?Fair Mortal, 'tis our last Command,
That Note be left in Lyon 's Hand—
Lyon to Venus shall be just,
And well perform the sacred Trust.
?Soon as the Vision leaves her Eyes,
She sends, gives the Receipt, and dies.
?Thus far had Cupid 's Plot Success,
Thus much obtain'd—he strives no less.
The Heart of Lyon to enlarge,
And make him slight the Fair One's Charge—
The gen'rous Greek receives the Hint,
And wonders much what Clara meant.
What was the English Ladies' Crime?
Why should she envy them their Clime?
In short, he thought her Will unjust,
And therefore 'twas no Breach of Trust
The choice Cosmetic to diffuse;
And advertise it in the News.
?'Tis done—The Papers ev'ry Week
Proclaim the open hearted Greek .
The Greek , whose charitable Mind,
(Tho' Venus Secrecy enjoin'd)
Bids Beauties Empire stretch it's Bounds,
And take in all the Sun surrounds;
Nor from the Britons will confine,
What makes 'em still Superiour shine,
?Henceforth, the dark Hesperian Dames
Shall learn to kindle brighter Flames;
And Nymphs from Thirty Five Degrees,
Remov'd, at Fifty Two shall please.—
The Wash-balls of Jerusalem
Shall rise in ev'ry one's Esteem:
And ev'ry British Beauty vie
With Those who shine above the Sky.——