YES, I believe that Chastity was known, | |
| And prized on earth, while Saturn filled the throne; | |
| When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave, | |
| When sleep and shepherds thronged one common cave, | |
| And when the mountain wife her couch bestrewed | 5 |
| With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood, | |
| And reeds, and leaves plucked from the neighbouring tree:— | |
| A woman, Cynthia, far unlike to thee, | |
| Or thee, weak child of fondness and of fears, | |
| Whose eyes a sparrow’s death suffused with tears: | 10 |
| But strong, and reaching to her burly brood | |
| Her big-swollen breasts, replete with wholesome food, | |
| And rougher than her husband, gorged with mast, | |
| And frequent belching from the coarse repast. | |
| For when the world was new, the race that broke, | 15 |
| Unfathered, from the soil or opening oak, | |
| Lived most unlike the men of later times, | |
| The puling brood of follies and of crimes. | |
| Haply some trace of Chastity remained, | |
| While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reigned: | 20 |
| Before the Greek bound, by another’s head, | |
| His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread, | |
| Had learned their herbs and fruitage to immure, | |
| But all was unenclosed, and all secure! | |
| At length Astrea, from these confines driven, | 25 |
| Regained by slow degrees her native heaven; | |
| With her retired her sister in disgust, | |
| And left the world to rapine, and to lust. | |
| ’Tis not a practice, friend, of recent date, | |
| But old, established, and inveterate, | 30 |
| To climb another’s couch, and boldly slight | |
| The sacred Genius of the nuptial rite: | |
| All other crimes the Age of Iron curst; | |
| But that of Silver saw adulterers first. * * * * * | |
| Go then, prepare to bring your mistress home, | 35 |
| And crown your doors with garlands, ere she come.— | |
| But will one man suffice, methinks, you cry, | |
| For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye! | |
| And yet there runs, ’tis said, a wondrous tale, | |
| Of some pure maid, who lives—in some lone vale. | 40 |
| There she may live; but let the phœnix, placed | |
| At Gabii or Fidenæ, prove as chaste | |
| As at her father’s farm!—Yet who will swear, | |
| That naught is done in night and silence there? | |
| Time was, when Jupiter and Mars, we’re told, | 45 |
| With many a nymph in woods and caves made bold; | |
| And still, perhaps, they may not be too old. | |
| Survey our public places; see you there | |
| One woman worthy of your serious care? | |
| See you, through all the crowded benches, one | 50 |
| Whom you might take securely for your own?— | |
| Lo! while Bathyllus, with his flexile limbs, | |
| Acts Leda, and through every posture swims, | |
| Tuccia delights to realize the play, | |
| And in lascivious trances melts away; | 55 |
| While rustic Thymelè, with curious eye, | |
| Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh, | |
| And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow, | |
| Learns this—learns all the city matrons know. * * * * * | |
| Hippia, who shared a rich patrician’s bed, | 60 |
| To Egypt with a gladiator fled, | |
| While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust, | |
| This ranker specimen of Roman lust. | |
| Without one pang, the profligate resigned | |
| Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind | 65 |
| Her children’s tears; yea, tore herself away, | |
| (To strike you more)—from Paris and the Play! | |
| And though, in affluence born, her infant head | |
| Had pressed the down of an embroidered bed, | |
| She braved the deep, (she long had braved her fame; | 70 |
| But this is little—to the courtly dame), | |
| And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore | |
| Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar. | |
| Have they an honest call, such ills to bear? | |
| Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear; | 75 |
| But set illicit pleasure in their eye, | |
| Onward they rush, and every toil defy! | |
| Summoned by duty, to attend her lord, | |
| How, cried the lady, can I get on board? | |
| How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell? | 80 |
| But—when the adulterer calls her, all is well! | |
| She roams the deck, with pleasure ever new, | |
| Tugs at the ropes, and messes with the crew; | |
| But with her husband—O, how changed the case! | |
| Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face. * * * * * | 85 |
| Start you at wrongs that touch a private name, | |
| At Hippia’s lewdness, and Veiento’s shame? | |
| Turn to the rivals of the immortal Powers, | |
| And mark how like their fortunes are to ours! | |
| Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close, | 90 |
| Ere from his pillow Messalina rose | |
| (Accustomed long the bed of state to slight | |
| For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night); | |
| And with one maid, and her dark hair concealed | |
| Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veiled! | 95 |
| She slipt into the stews, unseen, unknown, | |
| And hired a cell, yet reeking, for her own. | |
| There, flinging off her dress, the imperial whore | |
| Stood, with bare breasts and gilded, at the door, | |
| And showed, Britannicus, to all who came, | 100 |
| The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca’s name! | |
| Allured the passers-by with many a wile, | |
| And asked her price, and took it, with a smile. | |
| And when the hour of business now was spent, | |
| And all the trulls dismissed, repining went; | 105 |
| Yet what she could, she did; slowly she past, | |
| And saw her man, and shut her cell, the last, | |
| —Still raging with the fever of desire, | |
| Her veins all turgid, and her blood all fire, | |
| With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought, | 110 |
| And to her happy spouse (yet slumbering) brought | |
| Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drenched with poisonous dews, | |
| The steam of lamps, and odor of the stews! | |
| ’Twere long to tell what philters they provide, | |
| What drugs, to set a son-in-law aside. | 115 |
| Women, in judgment weak, in feeling strong, | |
| By every gust of passion borne along, | |
| Act, in their fits, such crimes, that, to be just, | |
| The least pernicious of their sins is lust. * * * * * | |
| Some faults, though small, no husband yet can bear: | 120 |
| ’Tis now the nauseous cant, that none is fair, | |
| Unless her thoughts in Attic terms she dress; | |
| A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness! | |
| All now is Greek: in Greek their souls they pour, | |
| In Greek their fears, hopes, joys;—what would you more? | 125 |
| In Greek they clasp their lovers. We allow | |
| These fooleries to girls: but thou, O thou, | |
| Who tremblest on the verge of eighty-eight, | |
| To Greek it still!—’tis now, a day too late. | |
| Foh! how it savours of the dregs of lust, | 130 |
| When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust, | |
| Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak, | |
| And mumbles out, “My life! My soul!” in Greek! | |
| Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear, | |
| But which she trumpets in the public ear. | 135 |
| And words, indeed, have power—But though she woo | |
| In softer strains than e’er Carpophorus knew, | |
| Her wrinkles still employ her favourite’s cares; | |
| And while she murmurs love, he counts her years! * * * * * | |
| To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows:— | 140 |
| Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his woes, | |
| And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will | |
| Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill! | |
| Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught, | |
| If she opposes, must be sold or bought; | 145 |
| She tells him where to love, and where to hate, | |
| Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate | |
| Knew, from its downy to its hoary state: | |
| And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees, | |
| Have power to will their fortunes as they please, | 150 |
| She dictates his; and impudently dares | |
| To name his very rivals for his heirs! | |
| “Go, crucify that slave.” For what offence? | |
| Who the accuser? Where the evidence? | |
| For when the life of MAN is in debate, | 155 |
| No time can be too long, no care too great; | |
| Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise— | |
| “Thou sniveller! is a slave a MAN?” she cries. | |
| “He’s innocent! be’t so:—’tis my command, | |
| My will; let that, sir, for a reason stand.” | 160 |
| Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns: | |
| Anon she sickens of her first domains, | |
| And seeks for new; husband on husband takes, | |
| Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes. | |
| Again she tires, again for change she burns, | 165 |
| And to the bed she lately left returns, | |
| While the fresh garlands, and unfaded boughs, | |
| Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse. | |
| Thus swells the list; EIGHT HUSBANDS IN FIVE YEARS: | |
| A rare inscription for their sepulchres! * * * * * | 170 |
| Nay more, they FENCE! who has not marked their oil, | |
| Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil? | |
| Room for the lady—lo! she seeks the list, | |
| And fiercely tilts at her antagonist, | |
| A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes, | 175 |
| And bores and batters with repeated strokes; | |
| Till all the fencer’s art can do she shows, | |
| And the glad master interrupts her blows. | |
| O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames, | |
| Who foot it naked at the Floral games; | 180 |
| Unless, with nobler daring, she aspire, | |
| And tempt the arena’s bloody field—for hire! | |
| What sense of shame is to that female known, | |
| Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own? | |
| Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine | 185 |
| (True woman still), her sex for ours resign; | |
| For there’s a thing she loves beyond compare, | |
| And we, alas! have no advantage there.— | |
| Heavens! with what glee a husband must behold | |
| His wife’s accoutrements, in public, sold; | 190 |
| And auctioneers displaying to the throng | |
| Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong! | |
| Or, if in wilder frolics she engage, | |
| And take her private lessons for the stage, | |
| Then three-fold rapture must expand his breast, | 195 |
| To see her greaves “a-going,” with the rest. | |
| Yet these are they, the tender souls! who sweat | |
| In muslin, and in silk expire with heat.— | |
| Mark, with what force, as the full blow descends, | |
| She thunders “hah!” again, how low she bends | 200 |
| Beneath the opposer’s stroke; how firm she rests, | |
| Poised on her hams, and every step contests: | |
| Then laugh—to see her squat, when all is o’er! | |
| Daughters of Lepidus, and Gurges old, | |
| And blind Metellus, did ye e’er behold | 205 |
| Asylla (though a fencer’s trull contest) | |
| Tilt at a stake, thus impudently drest! | |
| ’Tis night; yet hope no slumbers with your wife; | |
| The nuptial bed is still the scene of strife: | |
| There lives the keen debate, the clamorous brawl, | 210 |
| And quiet “never comes, that comes to all.” | |
| Fierce as a tigress plundered of her young, | |
| Rage fires her breast, and loosens all her tongue, | |
| When, conscious of her guilt, she feigns to groan, | |
| And chides your loose amours, to hide her own; | 215 |
| Storms at the scandal of your baser flames, | |
| And weeps her injuries from imagined names, | |
| With tears that, marshaled, at their station stand, | |
| And flow impassioned, as she gives command. | |
| You think those showers her true affection prove, | 220 |
| And deem yourself—so happy in her love! | |
| With fond caresses strive her heart to cheer, | |
| And from her eyelids suck the starting tear: | |
| —But could you now examine the scrutore | |
| Of this most loving, this most jealous whore, | 225 |
| What amorous lays, what letters would you see, | |
| Proofs, damning proofs, of her sincerity! * * * * * | |
| Now, all the evils of long peace are ours; | |
| Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers, | |
| Her baleful influence wide around has hurled, | 230 |
| And well avenged the subjugated world! | |
| —Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled, | |
| Vice, like a deluge, o’er the State has spread. | |
| Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found | |
| The essenced Sybarite, with roses crowned, | 235 |
| The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine, | |
| Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine! | |
| Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin, | |
| Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in; | |
| Enervate wealth, and with seductive art, | 240 |
| Sapped every homebred virtue of the heart; | |
| Yes, every:—for what cares the drunken dame | |
| (Take head or tail, to her ’tis just the same), | |
| Who, at deep midnight, on fat oysters sups, | |
| And froths with unguents her Falernian cups; | 245 |
| Who swallows oceans, till the tables rise, | |
| And double lustres dance before her eyes! | |
| Thus flushed, conceive, as Tullia homeward goes, | |
| With what contempt she tosses up her nose | |
| At Chastity’s hoar fane! what impious jeers | 250 |
| Collatia pours in Maura’s tingling ears! | |
| Here stop their litters, here they all alight, | |
| And squat together in the goddess’ sight:— | |
| You pass, aroused at dawn your court to pay, | |
| The loathsome scene of their licentious play. | 255 |
| Who knows not now, my friend, the secret rites | |
| Of the GOOD GODDESS; when the dance excites | |
| The boiling blood; when, to distraction wound, | |
| By wine, and music’s stimulating sound, | |
| The mænads of Priapus, with wild air, | 260 |
| Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair! | |
| Then, how the wine at every pore o’erflows! | |
| How the eye sparkles! how the bosom glows! | |
| How the cheek burns! and, as the passions rise, | |
| How the strong feeling bursts in eager cries!— | 265 |
| Saufeia now springs forth, and tries a fall | |
| With the town prostitutes, and throws them all; | |
| But yields, herself, to Medullina, known | |
| For parts, and powers, superior to her own. | |
| Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share, | 270 |
| And ’tis not always birth that triumphs there. | |
| Nothing is feigned in this accursed game: | |
| ’Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame | |
| The frozen age of Priam, and inspire | |
| The ruptured bed-rid Nestor with desire. | 275 |
| Stung with their mimic feats, a hollow groan | |
| Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex is shown! | |
| And one loud yell re-echoes through the den, | |
| “Now, now, ’tis lawful! now admit the men!” | |
| There’s none arrived. “Not yet! then scour the street, | 280 |
| And bring us quickly here, the first you meet.” | |
| There’s none abroad. “Then fetch our slaves.” They’re gone. | |
| “Then hire a waterman.” There’s none. “Not one!”— | |
| Nature’s strong barrier scarcely now restrains | |
| The baffled fury in their boiling veins! * * * * * | 285 |
| Others there are, who centre all their bliss | |
| In the soft eunuch, and the beardless kiss: | |
| They need not from his chin avert their face, | |
| Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace. | |
| But oh! their joys run high, if he be formed, | 290 |
| When his full veins the fire of love has warmed; | |
| When every part’s to full perfection reared, | |
| And naught of manhood wanting, but the beard. | |
| But should the dame in music take delight, | |
| The public singer is disabled quite; | 295 |
| In vain the prætor guards him all he can; | |
| She slips the buckle, and enjoys her man. | |
| Still in her hand his instrument is found, | |
| Thick set with gems, that shed a lustre round; | |
| Still o’er his lyre the ivory quill she flings, | 300 |
| Still runs divisions on the trembling strings, | |
| The trembling strings, which the loved Hedymel | |
| Was wont to strike—so sweetly, and so well! | |
| These still she holds, with these she soothes her woes, | |
| And kisses on the dear, dear wire bestows. | 305 |
| A noble matron of the Lamian line | |
| Inquired of Janus, (offering meal and wine) | |
| If Pollio, at the Harmonic Games, would speed, | |
| And wear the oaken crown, the victor’s meed! | |
| What could she for a husband, more, have done, | 310 |
| What for an only, an expiring son? | |
| Yes; for a harper, the besotted dame | |
| Approached the altar, reckless of her fame, | |
| And veiled her head, and, with a pious air, | |
| Followed the Aruspex through the form of prayer; | 315 |
| And trembled, and turned pale, as he explored | |
| The entrails, breathless for the fatal word! * * * * * | |
| A woman stops at nothing, when she wears | |
| Rich emeralds round her neck, and in her ears | |
| Pearls of enormous size; these justify | 320 |
| Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye. | |
| Sure, of all ills with which mankind are curst, | |
| A wife who brings you money is the worst. | |
| Behold! her face a spectacle appears, | |
| Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears | 325 |
| With viscous paste:—the husband looks askew, | |
| And sticks his lips in the detested glue. | |
| She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and drest, | |
| But rots in filth at home, a very pest! | |
| For him she breathes of nard; for him alone | 330 |
| She makes the sweets of Araby her own; | |
| For him, at length, she ventures to uncase, | |
| Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face, | |
| And, while the maids to know her now begin, | |
| Clears, with that precious milk, her frowzy skin, | 335 |
| For which, though exiled to the frozen main, | |
| She’d lead a drove of asses in her train! | |
| But tell me yet; this thing, thus daubed and oiled, | |
| Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled, | |
| Thus with pomatums, ointments, lacquered o’er, | 340 |
| Is it a FACE, Ursidius, or a SORE? * * * * * | |
| |
