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For her they leave the wand'ring Alocks to rove, Now let the youth to whose superior place Whilst Fanny's name resounds through every It first belongs the splendid ball to grace, grove,
With humble bow, and ready hand prepare, And spreads on every tree, enclos'd in knots | Forth from the crowd to lead his chosen fair; of love;
The fair shall not his kind regard deny, As Fielding's now, her eyes all hearts inflame, But to the pleasing toil with ardor Ay. Like her in beauty as alike in name.
But stay, rash pair, nor yet untaught advance, 'Twas when the summer's sun, now mounted First hear the muse ere you attempt to dance. high,
• By art directed, o'er the foaming tide With fiercer beams had scorch'd the glowing | Secure from rocks the painted vessels glide; Beneath the covert of a cooling shade, [sky, By art the chariot scours the dusty plain, To shun the heat this lovely nymph was laid : Springs at the whip, and hears the straightning The sultry weather o'er her cheeks had spread
reint; A blush that added to her native red,
To art our bodies must obedient prove, And her fair breast, as polish'd marble white, If e'er we hope with graceful ease to move. Was half conceald and half ex pos’d to sight: Long was the dancing art unfix'd and free, Æolus, mighty god whom winds obey, Hence lost in error and uncertainty; Observ'd the beauteous maid as thus she lay, No precepts did it mind, or rules obey, O'er all her charnis he gaz'd with fond delight, But ev'ry master taught a different way: And suck'd in poison at the dangerous sight. Hence, ere each new-born dance was fully tried, He sighs, he burns, at last declares his pain, | The lovely product, e'en in blooming, died. But still he sighs, and still he wooes in vain ; Through various hands in wild confusion toss'd, The cruel nymph, regardless of his moan, Its steps were alter'd, and its beauties lost; Minds not his fame, uneasy with her own, Till Fuillet I, the pride of Gallia, rose, But still complains that he who ruld the air, And did the dance in characters compose ; Would not command one zephyr to repair | Each lovely grace by certain marks he taught, Around her face; nor gentle breeze to play And every step in lasting volunies wrote: Through the dark vale, to soothe the sultry day. | Hence o'er the world this pleasing art shall By love incited, and the hopes of joy,
spread, Th' ingenious god contriv'd this preity toy, And ev'ry dance in ev'ry clime be read; With gales incessant to relieve her flame; By distant masters shall each step be seen, And call'd it Fan, from lovely Fanny's name. Though mountains rise, and oceans roar be
tween : CANTO 11.
Hence with her sister arts shall Dancing claim
An equal right to universal fame; Now see, prepar'd to lead the sprightly dance, And Isaac's rigadoon shall live as long The lovely nymphs and well-dress'd youths As Raphael's painting, or as Virgil's song. advance;
Wise Nature ever with a prudent hand The spacious room receives its jovial guest, Dispenses various gifts to ev'ry land, And the floor shakes with pleasing weight | To every nation frugally imparts oppress’d;
A genius fit for some peculiar arts. Thick rang’d on every side, with various dies, To trade the Dutch incline, the Swiss to arms, The fair in glossy silks our sight surprise : Music and verse are soft Italia's charms: So in a garden bath'd with genial show'rs, Britannia justly glories to have found A thousand sorts of variegated flow'rs,
Land unexplor'd, and sail'd the globe around: Jonquils, carnations, pinks, and tulips rise, But none will sure presume to rival France, And in a gay confusion charm our eyes. Whether she forms or executes the dance; High o'er their heads with num'rous candles To her exalted genius 'tis we owe bright,
The sprightly Rigadoon, and Louvre slow; Large sconces shed their sparkling beams of The Borée, and Courant, unpractis'd long, light,
Th' immortal Minuet, and the smooth BreTheir sparkling beams that still more brightly tagne, How,
With all the dances of illustrious fame, Reflected back from gems and eyes below. That from their native country take their name; Unnumber'd fans to cool the crowded fair, With these let ev'ry ball be first begun, With breathing zephyrs, move the circling air. | Nor country-dance intrude 'till these are dope. The sprightly fiddle, and the sounding lyre, Each cautious bard, ere he attempts to sing, Each youthful breast with gen'rous warmth First gently flutt'ring tries his tender wing, inspire;
| And if he finds that with uncommon fire Fraught with all joys, the blissful moments fly, | The muses all his raptur'd soul inspire, Whilst music melts the ear, and beauty charms At once to heaven he soars in lofty odes, the eye.
| And sings alone of heroes and of gods: * Arte citæ veloque rates remoque moventur,
Arte leves currus.
t N ec audit currus habenas. | Fuillet wrote the Art of Dancing by Characters, in French, since translated by Weaver.
But if he trembling fears a flight so high, Then let the jovial country-dance begin,
| And the loud fiddles call each straggler in; And if in elegy he can't succeed,
But ere they come, permit me to disclose In past'ral he may tune the oaten reed. How first, as legends tell, this pastime rose :So should the dancer ere he tries to move, In ancient times (such times are now no With care his strength, and weight, and genius ... more) prove;
When Albion's crown illustrious Arthur wore, Then if he finds kind nature's gifts impart In some fair opening glade each summer's night, Endowments proper for the dancing art, Where the pale moon diffus'd her silver light, If in himself he finds together join'd
On the soft carpet of a grassy field, An active body and ambitious mind,
The sporting fairies their assemblies held: In nimble Rigadoons he may advance, Some lightly tripping with their pigmy queen, Or in the Louvre's slow majestic dance : In circling ringlets mark'd their level green; If these he fears to reach with easy pace, Some with soft notes bade mellow pipes resound, Let him the minuet's circling mazes trace: And music warbled through the groves around: Is this too hard, this 100 let him forbear, Oft lonely shepherds by the forest side, And to the country-dance confine his care. Belated peasants oft, their revels spied,
Would you in dancing ev'ry fault avoid, And home returning, o'er the nut-brown ale To keep true time be first your thoughts em Their guest diverted with the wondrous tale. ploy'd;
Instructed hence, throughout the British isle, All other errors they in vain shall mend, And fond to imitate the pleasing toil, Who in this one important point offend; Round where the trembling May-pole's fix'd For this, when now united hand in hand,
on high, Eager to start the youthful couple stand, And bears its Aow'ry honors to the sky, Let them a while their nimble feet restrain, The ruddy maids and sun-burnt swains resort, And with soft taps beat time to every strain : And practise ev'ry night the lovely sport. So for the race prepar'd two coursers stand, On ev'ry side Æolian artists stand, And with impatient pawings spurn the sand. Whose active elbows swelling winds command;
In vain a master shall employ his care, | The swelling winds harmonious pipes inspire, Where nature once has fix'd a clumsy air; And blow in ev'ry breast a gen'rous fire. Rather let such, to country sports confin'd, | Thus taught at first the country-dance began, Pursue the flying hare, or tim'rous hind: And hence to cities and to courts it ran; Nor yet, while I the rural squire despise, Succeeding ages did in time impart A mien effeminate would I advise ;
| Various improvements to the lovely art: With equal scorn I would the fop deride, | From fields and groves to palaces remov’d, Nor let him dance--but on the woman's side. Great ones the pleasing exercise approv'd :
And you, fair nymphs, avoid with equal care Hence the loud fiddle and shrill trumpet's A stupid dullness, and a coquet air.
sounds Neither with eyes that ever love the ground, Are made companions of the dancer's bounds; Asleep, likespinning tops, run roundand round; Hence gems and silks, brocades and ribands Nor yet with giddy looks, and wanton pride,
join, Stare all around, and skip from side to side. To make the ball with perfect lustre shine.
True dancing, like true wit, is best express'd So rude at first the tragic muse appear'd, By nature only, to advantage dress’d; Her voice alone by rustic rabble heard ; "Tis not a nimble bound, or caper high, Where twisting trees a cooling arbour made, That cap pretend to please a curious eye; The pleas'd spectators sat beneath the shade, Good judges no such tumbler's tricks regard, | The hoinely stage with rushes green was strew'd, Or think them beautiful because they're hard : | And in a cart the strolling actors rode; 'Tis not enough that every stander-by
1 Till time at length improv'd the great design, No glaring errors in your steps can spy; And bade the scenes with painted landscapes The dance and music must so nicely ineet,
shine : Each note should seem an echo to your feet; Then art did all the bright machines dispose, A nameless grace must in each movement And theatres of Parian marble rose; dwell,
Then mimic thunder shook the canyas sky, Which words can ne'er express, or precepts And gods descended from their towers on high. tell;
With caution now let ev'ry youth prepare Not to be taught, but ever to be seen
To choose a partner from the mingled fair : In Flavia's air, and Chloe's easy mien :
Vain would be here th'instructing muse's voice, "Tis such an air that makes her thousands fall, If she pretended to direct his choice : When Fielding dances at a birth-night ball: Beauty alone by fancy is expressid, Smooth as Camilla she skims o'er the plain, And charms in diff'rent forms each diff'rent And flies like her through clouds of heroes
A snowy skin this am'rous youth admires, Now when the minuet, oft repeated o'er, Whilst nut-brown cheeks another's bosom fires : (Like all terrestrial joys) can please no more, Small waist and slender limbs some hearts inAnd ev'ry nyoiph refusing to expand
spare, Her charms, declines the circulating hand, while others love the more substantial fair.
But let not outward charms your judgement | Now here, now there, they whirl along the sky, sway,
Now near approach, and now far distant fly: Your reason rather than your eyes obey, Now meet in the same order they begun, And in the dance, as in the marriage noose, And then the great celestial dance is done. Rather for merit ihan for beauty choose : Where can the moralist find a juster plan Be her your choice, who knows with perfect of the vain labors of the life of man? skill
A while through justling crowds we toil and When she should move, and when she should sweat, be still :
And eagerly pursue we know not what; Who uninstructed can perform her share, Then, when our trifling short-liv'd race is run, And kindly half the pleasing burthen bear. Quite tir'd, sit down just where we have begun. Unhappy is that hopeless wretch's fate
Though to your arms kind fate's indulgent Who, fetter'd in the matrimonial state, Has giv'n a partner exquisitely fair, care With a poor, simple, unexperienc'd wife, Let not her charms so much engage your heart, Is forc'd to lead the tedious dance of life; That you neglect the skilful dancer's part; And such is his, with such a partner join'd, Be not, when you the tuneful notes should hear, A moving puppet, but without a mind : Still whispering idle pratile in her ear; Still must his hand be pointing out the way,
When you should be employ'd be not at play, Yet ne'er can teach so fast as she can stray ; Nor for your joys all others' steps delay: Beneath her follies he must ever groan,
But when the finish'd dance you once haredone, And erer blush for errors not his own.
And with applause through every couple run, But now behold, united hand in hand, There rest a while : there snatch the fleeting Rang'd on each side the well-pair'd couple bliss,
The tender whisper, and the balmy kiss; Each youthful bosom beating with delight, Each secret wish, each softer hope confess, Waits the brisk signal for the pleasing sight; And her moist palm with easy fingers press: While lovely eyes that flash unusual rays, With smiles the fair shall hear your warm deAnd snowy bosoms seen above the stays,
sires, Quick busy hands and bridling heads declare When music melts her soul, and dancing fires. The fond ímpatience of the starting fair. Thus mix'd with love, the pleasing toil pursue And see, the sprightly dance is now begun! Till the unwelcome morn appears in view; Now here, now there, the giddy maze they run; Then when approaching day its beams displays, Now with slow steps they pace ihe circling ring, And the dull candle shines with fainter rays, Now all confus'd too swift for sight they spring : | Then when the sun just rises o'er the deep, So in a wheel with rapid fury toss'd,
And each bright eye is almost set in sleep, The undistinguish'd spokes are in the motion With ready hands, obsequious youths, prepare, lost.
Safe to her coach to lead each chosen fair, The dancer here no more requires a guide, | And guard her from the morn's inclement air: To no strict steps his nimble feet are tied ; | Let a warm hood enwrap her lovely head, The inuse's precepts here would useless be, And o'er her neck a handkerchief be spread; Where all is fancied, unconfin'd, and free. Around her shoulders let this arm be cast, Let him but to the music's voice attend, Whilst that from cold defends her slender waist; By this instructed he can ne'er offend. With kisses warm her balmy lips shall glow, If to his share it falls the dance to lead, | Unchill'd by nightly damps or wintry snow, In well-known paths he may be sure to tread; While gen'rous white wine mulld with ginger If others lead let him their motions view,
warm, And in their steps the winding maze pursue. Safely protects her inward frame from harm. In every country-dance a serious mind
But ever let my lovely pupils fear Turn'd for reflection, can a moral find. To chill their mantling blood with cold smallIn Hunt-the-squirrel, thus the nymph we view, beer; Seeks when we fly, but flies when we pursue : Ah, thoughtless fair! the tempting draught reThus in round dances, where our partners. fuse, change,
When thus forewarn'd by my experienc'd muse; And unconfin'd from fair to fair we range, Let the sad consequence your thoughts employ, As soon as one from his own consort Aies, Nor hazard future pains, for present joy; Another seizes on the lovely prize;
Destruction lurks within the pois' nous dose, A while the fav'rite youth enjoys her charms, | A fatal fever, or a pimpled nose. Till the next comer steals her from his arms; Thus through each precept of the dancing New ones succeed, the last is still her care:
art, How true an emblem of th' inconstant fair! The muse has play'd the kind instructor's part;
Where can philosophers and sages wise, | Through ev'ry maze her pupil she has lead, Who read the curious voluines of the skies, And pointed out the surest paths to tread : A model more exact than dancing name, No more remains; no more the goddess sings, Of the creation's universal frame?
But drops her pinions and unfurls her wings. Where worlds unnumber'd o'er th' ethereal On downy beds the weary dancers lie, way,
And sleep's silk cords tie down each drowsy In a bright regular confusion stray;
Delightful dreams their pleasing sports restore, I Comne, Christmas, father thou of mirth, Ande'en in sleep they seem to dance once morc. Patron of the festive hearth,
And now the work completely finish'd lies, | Around whose social evening flame
Canst catch the glow of exercise,
Who, ere the misty morn is gray,
To some high covert hark'st away, $ 210. Whitsuntide. Written at Winchester
While Sport, on lofty courser borne,
In concert winds his echoing horn College, on the immediate Approach of the
With the deeply thund'ring hounds, Holidays.
Whose clangor wild, and joyful sounds, Hence, thou fur-clad Winter, Ay;
While echo swells the doubling cry, Sire of shivering poverty!
Shake the woods with harmony. Who, as thou creep'st with chilblains lame
How does my eager bosom glow To the crowded charcoal flame,
To give the well-known tally-ho! With chattering teeth and ague cold,
Or show, with cap inverted, where Scarce thy shaking sides canst hold
Stole away the cautious hare. Whilst thou draw'st the deep cough out: Or, if the blast of winter keen God of foot-ball's noisy rout,
Spaugles o'er the silvery green, Tumult loud and boist'rons play,
Booted high thou lov'st to tread, The dang'rous slide, the snow-ball fray. Marking, through the sedgy mead,
But come, thou genial son of Spring, Where the creeping moor-hen lies, Whitsuntide, and with thee bring
Or snipes with sudden twittering rise ; Cricket, niinble boy and light,
Or joy'st the early walk to take In slippers red and drawers white;
Where through the pheasant-haunted brake, Who o'er the nicely-measur'd land
Oft as the well-aim'd gun resounds, Ranges around his comely band,
The eager-dashing spaniel bounds. Alert to intercept each blow,
For thee of buck my breeches tight, Each motion of the wary foe.
Clanging whip, and rowels bright, Or patient take thy quiet stand,
The hunter's cap my brows to guard, The angle trembling in thy hand,
And suit of sportive green's prepar'd; And mark, with penetrative eye,
For since these delights are thine,
Christmas, with thy bands 1 join.
$ 212. An Elegy on the Death of a mad Dog. Turns to the sun his speckled side.
GOLDSMITH Or lead where health, a Naiad fair,
Good people all, of every sort, With rosy cheek and dropping hair,
Give ear unto my song, From the sultry noon-tide beam, a
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes; If pleasures siich as these await
The naked every day he clad, Thy genial reign, with heart elate
When he put on his clothes. For thee I throw my gown aside,
And in that town a dog was found, And hail thy coming, Whitsuntide.
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, § 211. Christmas. Roberts.
And curs of low degree. Hence, Summer, indolently laid
This dog and man at first were friends ; To sleep beneath the cooling shade!
But, when a pique began, Panting quick with sultry heat,
| The dog, to gain his private ends, Thirst and faint fatigue, retreat!
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets | Through the street-door, or the area,
Or, in the country, through the dairy;
While the dustman, with his din, To bite so good a man.
Bawls and rings to be let in,
And at the fore, or the back-door, The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
Slowly plods his jades before. To ev'ry Christian eye ;
Oft hearing the sow-gelder's horn And while they swore the dog was mad,
Harshly rouse the snoring morn, They swore the man would die.
From the side of a large square, But soon a wonder came to light,
Through the long street grunting far. That show'd the rogues they lied;
Sometimes walking I'll be seen The man recover'd of the bite,
By Tower-hill, or Moorfields'-green,
Right against Old Bedlam-gate,
Where the mock king begins his state,
Cover' u o'er with jags and tags,
And milk maids' screams go through your OFF, blubbering Melancholy!
ears, Of the blue devils and book-learning born, And grinders sharpen rusty sheers, In dusty schools forlorn ;
And every crier squalls his cry Amongst black-gowns, square caps, and books Under each window he goes by. unjolly,
Straight mine eye hath caught new gambols, Hunt out some college cell,
While round and round this town it rambles: Where muzzing quizzes mutter monkish Sloppy streets and foggy day, schemes,
Where the blundering folks do stray; And the old proctor dreams;
Pavements, on whose slippery flags There, in thy smutty walls o'errun with dock, Swearing coachmen drive their nags; As ragged as thy smock,
Barbers jostled 'gainst your side, With rusty, fusty fellows ever dwell.
Narrow streets, and gutters wide. But coine, thou baggage, fat and free, Grub-street garrets now it sees, By gentles call'd Festivity,
To the muse open and the breeze, And by us rolling kiddies, Fun,
Where, perhaps, some scribbler hungers, Whom mother Shipton, one by one,
The hack of neighbouring newsmongers. With two Wapping wenches more,
Hard by, a tinker's furnace sirokes, To skipping Harlequino bore:
From betwixt two pastry-cooks, Qr whether, as some deeper say,
Where Dingy Dick and Peggy, met, Jack Pudding on a holiday
Are at their scurvy dinner set, Along with Jenny Diver romping,
Of cow-heel, and such cellar messes, As he met her once a pumping,
Which the splay-foot Rachael dresses ! There on heaps of dirt and mortar,
And then in haste the shop she leaves, And cinders wash'd in cabbage-water,
And with the boy the bellows heaves; Fill'd her with thee a strapping lassie,
Or if 'tis late and shop is shut, So spunky, brazen, bold, and saucy.
Scrubs at the pump her face from smut. Hip! here jade, and bring with thee
Sometimes, all for sights agog, Jokes and sniggering jollity,
To t' other end of the town I jog, Christmas gambols, waggish tricks,
When St. James's bells ring round, Winks, wry faces, licks and kicks,
| And the royal fiddles sound; Such as fall from Moggy's knuckles,
When every lord and lady's bum And love to live about her buckles;
Jigs it in the drawing-room ; Spunk, that hobbling watchmen boxes, And young and old dance down the tune And Horse-laugh hugging both his doxies; In honor of the fourth of June; Come, and kick it as you go,
Till candles fail and eyes are sore, On the stumping hornpipe-toe;
Then home we bie to talk it o'er, And in thy right-hand haul with thee, With stories told of many a treat," The Mountain brim French Liberty.
How Lady Swab the sweetmeats eat; And if I give thee puffing due,
She was pinch'd and something worse, Fun, admit me of thy crew,
And she was fobb'd and lost her purse: To pig with her, and pig with thee,
Tell how the drudging Weltjee sweat, In everlasting frolics free;
To bake his custards duly set, To hear the sweep begin his beat,
When in one night ere clock went seren, And squalling startle the dull street,
His 'prentice lad had robb'd the oven From his watch-box in the alley
Of more than twenty handfuls put in; Till the watch at six doth sally;
Then lies him down, a little glutton, Then to go, in spite of sleep,
Stretch'd lumb'ring 'fore the fire, they tell y, And at the window cry,“ Sweep! sweep!" And bakes the custards in his belly;