Classic Poem

When first Diana leaves her bed,
Vapours and steams her looks disgrace,
A frowzy dirty coloured red
Sits on her cloudy wrinkled face;

But, by degrees, when mounted high,
Her artificial face appears
Down from her window in the sky,
Her spots are gone, her visage clears.

'Twixt earthly females and the moon,
All parallels exactly run;
If Celia should appear too soon,
Alas, the nymph would be undone!

To see her from her pillow rise
All reeking in a cloudy steam,
Cracked lips, foul teeth, and gummy eyes;
Poor Strephon, how would he blaspheme!

The soot or powder which was wont
To make her hair look black as jet,
Falls from her tresses on her front
A mingled mass of dirt and sweat.

Three colours, black, and red, and white,
So graceful in their proper place,
Remove them to a different light.
They form a frightful hideous face.

For instance, when the lily skips
Into the precincts of the rose,
And takes possession of the lips,
Leaving the purple to the nose.

So, Celia went entire to bed,
All her complexions safe and sound;
But when she rose, white, black, and red,
Though still in sight, had changed their ground.

The black, which would not be confined,
A more inferior station seeks,
Leaving the fiery red behind,
And mingles in her muddy cheeks.

The paint by perspiration cracks,
And falls in rivulets of sweat,
On either side you see the tracks,
While at her chin the confluents met.

A skilful housewife thus her thumb
With spittle while she spins, anoints,
And thus the brown meanders come
In trickling streams betwixt her joints.

But Celia can with ease reduce,
By help of pencil, paint and brush,
Each colour to its place and use,
And teach her cheeks again to blush.

She knows her early self no more:
But filled with admiration stands,
As other painters oft adore
The workmanship of their own hands.

Thus, after four important hours
Celia's the wonder of her sex;
Say, which among the heavenly powers
Could cause such marvellous effects?

Venus, indulgent to her kind,
Gave women all their hearts could wish
When first she taught them where to find
White lead and Lusitanian dish.

Love with white lead cements his wings,
White lead was sent us to repair
Two brightest, brittlest, earthly things,
A lady's face, and china-ware.

She ventures now to lift the sash,
The window is her proper sphere:
Ah, lovely nymph! be not too rash,
Nor let the beaux approach too near.

Take pattern by your sister star,
Delude at once, and bless our sight,
When you are seen, be seen from far,
And chiefly choose to shine by night.

In the Pall Mall when passing by,
Keep up the glasses of your chair,
Then each transported fop will cry,
'God damn me Jack, she's wondrous fair.'

But, art no longer can prevail
When the materials all are gone,
The best mechanic hand must fail,
When nothing's left to work upon.

Matter, as wise logicians say,
Cannot without a form subsist;
And form, say I, as well as they,
Must fail, if matter brings no grist.

And this is fair Diana's case;
For all astrologers maintain,
Each night a bit drops off her face,
While mortals say she's in her wane.

While Partridge wisely shows the cause
Efficient of the moon's decay,
That Cancer with his poisonous claws,
Attacks her in the Milky Way:

But Gadbury, in art profound,
From her pale cheeks pretends to show,
That swain Endymion is not sound,
Or else, that Mercury's her foe.

But, let the cause be what it will,
In half a month she looks so thin,
That Flamsteed can, with all his skill
See but her forehead and her chin.

Yet, as she wastes, she grows discreet,
Till midnight never shows her head:
So rotting Celia strolls the street,
When sober folks are all abed.

For sure if this be Luna's fate,
Poor Celia, but of mortal race,
In vain expects a longer date
To the materials of her face.

When Mercury her tresses mows
To think of black lead combs is vain,
No painting can restore a nose,
Nor will her teeth return again.

Two balls of glass may serve for eyes,
White lead can plaster up a cleft,
But these alas, are poor supplies
If neither cheeks, nor lips be left.

Ye powers, who over love preside,
Since mortal beauties drop so soon,
If you would have us well supplied,
Send us new nymphs with each new moon.