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Read Ebook: The Complete Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith by Goldsmith Oliver
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Ebook has 98 lines and 88928 words, and 2 pages
WRITTEN AND
SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS
A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CAESAR FORCED
UPON THE STAGE
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.
WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage, And save from infamy my sinking age! Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year, What in the name of dotage drives me here? A time there was, when glory was my guide, 5 Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside; Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappall'd by fear, With honest thrift I held my honour dear; But this vile hour disperses all my store, And all my hoard of honour is no more. 10 For ah! too partial to my life's decline, Caesar persuades, submission must be mine; Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys, Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please. Here then at once, I welcome every shame, 15 And cancel at threescore a life of fame; No more my titles shall my children tell, The old buffoon will fit my name as well; This day beyond its term my fate extends, For life is ended when our honour ends. 20
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND WITH LIGHTNING
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, Rather in pity, than in hate, That he should be, like Cupid, blind, To save him from Narcissus' fate.
THE GIFT
TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, CONVENT GARDEN
SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make, Expressive of my duty?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes, 5 Should I at once deliver, Say, would the angry fair one prize The gift, who slights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, My rivals give--and let 'em; 10 If gems, or gold, impart a joy, I'll give them--when I get 'em.
I'll give--but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion; Such short-liv'd offerings but disclose 15 A transitory passion.
I'll give thee something yet unpaid, Not less sincere, than civil: I'll give thee--Ah! too charming maid, I'll give thee--To the devil. 30
THE LOGICIANS REFUTED
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT
A SONNET
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight; MYRA, too sincere for feigning, Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? 5 Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had MYRA followed my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear.
STANZAS
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF GENERAL WOLFE
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.
O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe, 5 Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow, Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: 10 Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead-- Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!
AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE
WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay; Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, 5 The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug; A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread: 10 The royal game of goose was there in view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face: The morn was cold, he views with keen desire 15 The rusty grate unconscious of a fire; With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night--a stocking all the day! 20
FOR you, bright fair, the nine address their lays, And tune my feeble voice to sing thy praise. The heartfelt power of every charm divine, Who can withstand their all-commanding shine? See how she moves along with every grace, 5 While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face. She speaks! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss, Ye gods! what transport e'er compared to this. As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove, 10 'Twas joy, and endless blisses all around, And rocks forgot their hardness at the sound. Then first, at last even Jove was taken in, And felt her charms, without disguise, within.
Worried with debts and past all hopes of bail, His pen he prostitutes t' avoid a gaol.
ROSCOM.
TO G. C. AND R. L.
'TWAS you, or I, or he, or all together, 'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether; This, I believe, between us great or small, You, I, he, wrote it not--'twas Churchill's all.
TRANSLATION OF A SOUTH AMERICAN ODE
IN all my Enna's beauties blest, Amidst profusion still I pine; For though she gives me up her breast, Its panting tenant is not mine.
THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION A TALE
SECLUDED from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life; A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass and crack'd his joke, 5 And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.
Need we expose to vulgar sight The raptures of the bridal night? Need we intrude on hallow'd ground, Or draw the curtains clos'd around? Let it suffice, that each had charms; 25 He clasp'd a goddess in his arms; And though she felt his usage rough, Yet in a man 'twas well enough.
The honey-moon like lightning flew, The second brought its transports too. 30 A third, a fourth, were not amiss, The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss: But when a twelvemonth pass'd away, Jack found his goddess made of clay; Found half the charms that deck'd her face 35 Arose from powder, shreds, or lace; But still the worst remain'd behind, That very face had robb'd her mind.
Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown; He fancies every vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her nose: Whenever rage or envy rise, 65 How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is grown a knowing phiz; And, though her fops are wond'rous civil, He thinks her ugly as the devil. 70
Now, to perplex the ravell'd noose, As each a different way pursues, While sullen or loquacious strife, Promis'd to hold them on for life, That dire disease, whose ruthless power 75 Withers the beauty's transient flower: Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare Levell'd its terrors at the fair; And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace, Left but the remnant of a face. 80
The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes. In vain she tries her paste and creams, 85 To smooth her skin, or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens: The 'squire himself was seen to yield, And e'en the captain quit the field. 90
Poor Madam, now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzl'd to behold 95 Her present face surpass the old; With modesty her cheeks are dy'd, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is seen A person ever neatly clean: 100 No more presuming on her sway, She learns good-nature every day; Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.
A NEW SIMILE IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT
LONG had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and nature's spite: Till reading, I forget what day on, 5 A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there, To suit my purpose to a hair; But let us not proceed too furious, First please to turn to god Mercurius; 10 You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the second, page the tenth: The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat, 15 Wings upon either side--mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty, learning light; 20 Such as to modern bard's decreed: A just comparison,--proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, 25 And waft his godship through the air; And here my simile unites, For in a modern poet's flights, I'm sure it may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head. 30
Now to apply, begin we then; His wand's a modern author's pen; The serpents round about it twin'd 45 Denote him of the reptile kind; Denote the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venom'd bites; An equal semblance still to keep, Alike too both conduce to sleep. 50 This diff'rence only, as the god Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod, With his goosequill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself.
And here my simile almost tript, 55 Yet grant a word by way of postscript. Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing: Well! what of that? out with it--stealing; In which all modern bards agree, Being each as great a thief as he: 60 But ev'n this deity's existence Shall lend my simile assistance. Our modern bards! why what a pox Are they but senseless stones and blocks?
EDWIN AND ANGELINA
EDWIN AND ANGELINA A BALLAD
'TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.
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