THE book appears to my perusing sight So rambling, scambling, florid, and polite, That, tho' a @3manly@1 skill may trace the clue, A simple @3female@1 knows not what to do, Where to begin remark, or where to close, Lost in a thousand—beauties, I suppose. One specious proof of such a coalition Of num'rous beauties is—a fifth edition, As I have, reading authors, just now found In the Whitehall—"Price three and sixpence, bound." Many a good book, but less of print concise, Less clean of margin, sells for half the price. So that the nation grows in books, 'tis plain, "Luxurious, effeminate, and vain," That is, the purchasers;—or, if I durst, I would have said the writers of them first; And the @3luxuriant@1 framer of this plan First of the first, should be the leading man. Somewhere before the middle of the book, It seems, the author (whom I really took But for a POLITICIAN) was, in fine, To my surprise, a PROTESTANT DIVINE; A Protestant Divine, in whose high flight The @3question capital@1 is, "who shall fight?" Not "who shall pay?"—as some Divines have plann'd, From what we hear, @3the capital demand:@1 Both needless questions when Divines arose Who neither sued their friends, nor fought their foes. Now, what more "vain, effeminate, luxurious" Than parson's talk, so "capitally" furious? Truly, the works of distaff and of needle Are worth whole volumes of courageous tweedle, With the sum total—"Britons! all be free; "Take the BROWN musket up and follow me; "Let us be @3strong,@1 be @3hardy, sturdy, rough,@1 "Till we are all beatify'd in BUFF." With manners just the same, as we are told, Men are effeminate and women bold.§ If aught like satire, or like ridicule, Should seem to rise, we must apply this rule To solve the case,—and so, I think, we may,— "It comes from folly's natural display." Person and dress are left us to apply, And little else, to know the sexes by. Characteristics formerly made out, Are now confounded by a present rout; All would be lost, if, as the cassock warm, With rage as just the petticoat should arm. But while men fight, both clergify'd and lay, Who left but women to cry,—"let us pray?" While men are marshalling in prose Pindaric "Religion, Virtue, Warburton, and Garrick," Women must pray that heav'n would yet annex Some little grace to the talk-valiant sex. "Love of our country," is the manly sound That clads in armour all the virtues round. Where is this lovely country to be sought? Why, 'tis GREAT Britain in their LITTLE thought; And the two states,—which these Divines advance,— The Heav'n of England and the Hell of France. Women must pray, and (if Divines can reach No higher a theology) must preach. This world—this sea-bound spot of it—may seem The central paradise in @3men's@1 esteem, Who have great souls:—but @3women.@1 who have none, Have other realms to fix their hearts upon: If such there be, the only certain scheme To guard against each possible extreme Is to put on, amidst the world's alarms, With a good heart our @3real country's@1 arms, FAITH, HOPE, AND PATIENCE, from the tow'rs above, ALL-BEARING MEEKNESS, AND ALL-CONQ'RING LOVE. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND by THOMAS CAMPBELL TWO VOYAGERS by EMILY DICKINSON THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS; OR, THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA by FRANCIS HASTINGS CHARLES DOYLE BELINDA'S RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS by WILLIAM BROOME THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: ON THE SEA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |