Classic Poem

Tir'd with the Bus'ness of the Day,
Upon her Couch supinely lay;
Fair Melesinda void of Care,
No living Creature being near:
When strait a calm and gentle Sleep
Did o'er her drowsy Eye-lids creep:
Her Senses thus by Fetters ty'd,
By nimble Fancy were supply'd:
Her quick Imagination bright
Th' Ideas of her waking thought
She dreamt her self a new-made bride
In Bed, by young Philander's side.
The Posset's ear, the Stocking thrown,
And all the Company's withdrawn;
And now the blest Elisium ,
Of all her wisht for Joys, is come.
Philander , all dissolv'd in Charms,
Lyes raptur'd in her circling Arms,
With panting Breasts, and swimming Eyes,
She meets the visionary Joys;
In all the Amorous Postures Love,
Which th' Height of Extasy cou'd move:
But as she roving did advance
Her trembling Legs, O dire Mischance!
The Couch being near the Fire-side,
Sh' expanded them, alas! too wide:
Sh' expos'd her nethermost Attire
Unto th' Embraces of the Fire;
So the chast Phaenix of the East
With flutt'ring fires her spicy Nest.
So Semele , embracing Jove ,
Burnt with Fire and with Love.
The Flames at first did trembling seize
The dangling Hem of the lost Prize;
But finding no Resistance higher,
As 'tis their Nature to aspire,
Approaching near the Seat of Bliss,
The Center of earthly Happiness,
Which vastly more of Pleasure yields,
Than all the feign'd Elysian Fields:
But Ignorance must now excuse
The Silence of my bashful Muse:
Its Modesty had ne'er the Face
T' ascend above the Gartering Place;
But doubtless 'twas a lovely Sight
The Fire beheld by his own Light.
So Ovid wish'd himself a Flea,
That so transform'd he might survey
His Love all o'er, and uncontroul'd
Her very Grace and Charm behold.
Had Ovid's Flea been there to Night,
I fear't had had but small Delight,
His Rival Flames had spoil'd his Bliss,
And made him Curse his Metamorphosis .
At last the Flames were grown so rude,
They boldly ev'ry where intrude;
They soon recall'd the Lady's Sense,
And chac'd the pleasing Vision thence:
Soon as her Eyes recover'd Light,
She strait beheld the dismal Sight;
Beheld her self, like Blazing-Star,
Or bright tail'd Glow-worm to appear:
She had no time to meditate
Upon the Strangeness of her Fate;
But was confin'd to lay about,
To beat the impious Fire out:
The am'rous Flames were loth to go,
They kiss'd her Hand at ev'ry Glow;
And round her Ivory Fingers play,
And seem'd as if they begg'd to stay.
Vanquish'd at last they did retire,
And in a gloomy Smoak expire.
Then viewing of her half-burnt Smock,
Thus to her self the sad Nymph spoke:
Is this the Effect of Dreams? Is this
The Fruit of all my fancy'd Bliss?
Misfortunes will, I see, betide,
When Maidens throw their Leggs too wide:
Had I but kept my Legs a-cross,
I and my Smock had had no Loss:
I ought, I'm sure, t' have took more heed,
For ne'er had Virgin greater need;
My Kindness and my little Care
Has left me scarce a Smock to wear:
Some have been beg'd, some have been burn'd,
All are to Clouts, or Tinder, turn'd.
Two Smocks last Night the Flames surpriz'd,
And in the Flasket sacrific'd;
Others I did on Friends bestow,
Not dreaming I shou'd want 'em now;
But I cou'd bear the Loss of them,
Had not the Fire disturb'd my Dream.
There is a Saying frights me too,
But Heav'n forbid it shou'd be true;
That where a Virgin burns her Train,
So, all her Life-time, she'd remain.
I dare not be of this Belief,
For shou'd I, I should die with Grief,
Live always here a Nun-like Life
And never, never be a Wife;
Never enjoy a Marriage-Bed,
Nor lose a hated Maidenhead:
Ah! Cruel Flames, you're too unkind
To bring these Fancies to my Mind:
Down, down into your native Cell,
In your own Blazing Regions dwell:
Vex me no more, let me possess
My Linen, or my Dream in Peace.
Thus the poor Nymph, bewail'd her treach'rous Luck.
At once to lose so good a Dream and Smock.