LAURA, methinks you're over nice. True. Flatt'ry is a shocking vice; Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just, One may commend without disgust. Am I a privilege deny'd, Indulg'd by ev'ry tongue beside? How singular are all your ways; A woman, and averse to praise! If 'tis offence such truths to tell, Why do your merits thus excell? Since then I dare not speak my mind, A truth conspicuous to mankind; Though in full lustre ev'ry grace Distinguish your celestial face, Though beauties of inferior ray (Like stars before the orb of day) Turn pale and fade: I check my lays, Admiring what I dare not praise. If you the tribute due disdain, The muse's mortifying strain Shall, like a woman, in meer spight Set beauty in a moral light. Though such revenge might shock the ear Of many a celebrated fair; I mean that superficial race Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face, What's that to you? I but displease Such ever-girlish ears as these. Virtue can brook the thoughts of age, That lasts the same through ev'ry stage. Though you by time must suffer more Than ever woman lost before, To age is such indiff'rence shown, As if your face were not your own. Were you by Antoninus taught, Or is it native strength of thought, That thus, without concern or fright, You view yourself by reason's light? Those eyes of so divine a ray, What are they? mould'ring, mortal clay. Those features, cast in heav'nly mould, Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old; Like common grass, the fairest flower Must feel the hoary season's power. How weak, how vain is human pride! Dares man upon himself confide? The wretch, who glories in his gain, Amasses heaps on heaps in vain. Why lose we life in anxious cares To lay in hoards for future years? Can those (when tortur'd by disease) Chear our sick heart, or purchase ease? Can those prolong one gasp of breath, Or calm the troubled hour of death? What's beauty? Call ye that your own, A flower that fades as soon as blown? What's man in all his boast of sway? Perhaps the tyrant of a day. Alike the laws of life take place Through ev'ry branch of human race: The monarch of long regal line Was rais'd from dust as frail as mine: Can he pour health into his veins, Or cool the fever's restless pains? Can he (worn down in nature's course) New-brace his feeble nerves with force? Can he (how vain is mortal pow'r!) Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour? Consider, man; weigh well thy frame; The king, the beggar is the same. Dust form'd us all. Each breathes his day, Then sinks into his native clay. Beneath a venerable yew That in the lonely church-yard grew, Two Ravens sate. In solemn croak Thus one his hungry friend bespoke. Methinks I scent some rich repast; The savour strengthens with the blast, Snuff then; the promis'd feast inhale, I taste the carcase in the gale. Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed, From toil and daily drudg'ry freed, Hath groan'd his last. A dainty treat! To birds of taste delicious meat. A Sexton, busy at his trade, To hear their chat suspends his spade: Death struck him with no farther thought, Than meerly as the fees he brought. Was ever two such blund'ring fowls, In brains and manners less than owls! Blockheads, says he, learn more respect. Know ye on whom ye thus reflect? In this same grave (who does me right, Must own the work is strong and tight) The squire that yon fair hall possest, To-night shall lay his bones at rest. Whence could the gross mistake proceed? The squire was somewhat fat indeed What then? The meanest bird of prey Such want of sense could ne'er betray, For sure some diff'rence must be found (Suppose the smelling organ sound) In carcases, (say what we can,) Or where's the dignity of man? With due respect to human race, The Ravens undertook the case. In such similitude of scent, Man ne'er could think reflection meant. As Epicures extol a treat, And seem their sav'ry words to eat, They prais'd dead horse, luxurious food, The ven'son of the prescient brood. The Sexton's indignation mov'd, The mean comparison reprov'd; Their undiscerning palate blam'd, Which two-legg'd carrion thus defam'd. Reproachful speech from either side The want of argument supply'd. They rail, revile: As often ends The contest of disputing friends. Hold, says the fowl; since human pride With confutation ne'er comply'd, Let's state the case, and then refer The knotty point: For taste may err. As thus he spoke, from out the mould An Earth-worm, huge of size, unroll'd His monstrous length. They strait agree To chuse him as their referee. So to th' experience of his jaws Each states the merits of the cause. He paus'd, and with a solemn tone Thus made his sage opinion known. On carcases of ev'ry kind This maw hath elegantly din'd; Provok'd by luxury or need, On beast or fowl or man I feed: Such small distinction's in the savour, By turns I chuse the fancy'd flavour; Yet I must own (that human beast) A glutton is the rankest feast. Man, cease this boast; for human pride Hath various tracts to range beside. The prince who kept the world in awe, The judge whose dictate fix'd the law, The rich, the poor, the great, the small, Are levell'd. Death confounds 'em all. Then think not that we reptiles share Such cates, such elegance of fare; The only true and real good Of man was never vermine's food. 'Tis seated in th' immortal mind; Virtue distinguishes mankind, And that (as yet ne'er harbour'd here) Mounts with the soul we know not where. So good-man Sexton, since the case Appears with such a dubious face, To neither I the cause determine, For diff'rent tastes please diff'rent vermine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MODEST LOVE; SONG by EDWARD DYER TRUST IN GOD by NORMAN MACLEOD (1812-1872) PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SAD AND CHEERFUL SONGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES EPIGRAM ON THE FEUDS BETWEEN HANDEL AND BONONCINI by JOHN BYROM TO THE MOST PRINCELY AND VERTUOUS THE LADY ELIZABETH by THOMAS CAMPION |