Classic Poem

What son of physic, but his heart extends,
As well as hand, when call'd on by his friends?
What landlord is so weak to make you fast,
When guests like you bespeak a good repast?
But weaker still were he whom fate has plac'd
To soothe your cares, and gratify your taste,
Should he neglect to bring before your eyes
Those dainty dramas which from genius rise;
Whether your lux'ry be to smile or weep,
His and your profits just proportion keep.
To-night he brought, nor fears a due reward,
A Roman Patriot by a Female Bard.
Britons, who feel his flame, his worth will rate,
No common spirit his, no common fate.
Inflexible and C APTIVE must be great.
“How!” cries a sucking fop, thus lounging, straddling,
(Whose head shows want of ballast by its noddling)
“A woman write? Learn, madam, of your betters,
“And read a noble lord's pasthumous letters.
“There you will learn the sex may merit praise
“By making puddings—not by making plays:
“They can make tea and mischief, dance and sing;
“Their heads, though full of feathers, can't take wing.”
I thought they could, sir; now and then, by chance.
Maids fly to Scotland, and some wives to France.
He still went nodding on—“Do all she can,
“Woman's a trifle—plaything—like her fan.”
Right, sir, and when a wife, the rattle of a man.
And shall such things as these become the text
Of female worth? the fairest and the best
Of all heaven's creatures? far so Milton sung us,
And with such champions, who shall dare to wrong us?
Come forth, proud man, in all your pow'rs array'd;
Shine out in all your splendour—who's afraid?
Who on French wit has made a glorious war,
Defended Shakspeare, and subdued Voltaire?—
Woman!—Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride,
Can boast ten tongues, and yet not satisfied?
Woman! Who lately sung the sweetest lay?
A woman! woman! woman! still I say.
Well then, who dares deny our power and might?
Will any married man dispute our right?
Speak boldly, sirs,—your wives are not in sight.
What! are you silent? then you are content;
Silence, the proverb tells us, gives consent.
Critics, will you allow our honest claim?
Are you dumb too? This night has fix'd our fame.