THE BELDAMES.

BY —.

HAIL, happy Beldames! yours those joys
Which time, nor accident destroys. 
Sickness and cares your bliss dilate,
And pain but whets your lust of hate. 

The flower of Youth will soon decay,
Health, Beauty, Pleasure fade away. :
Sharp sorrows sting the breast humane,
And hopes are false, and wishes vain. 
But hence your joys eternal flow,
Their source exhaustless, human woe. 

For you fierce War high-piles his dead,
Disease thick-strews her squalid bed;
Famine and Plagues their myriads sweep,
And Tempests lash th' all-whelming deep. 
The fiery meteors hear your call,
And houses blaze, and temples fall. 

But far remote from Britain's eye
The vaster scenes of ruin lie:
The cities in Vulcanos lost,
The scatter'd realms in whirlwinds tost,
Or, feller scourge, a Tyrant's brand
Wide-flaming o'er a blasted land:
[Page 157]23  Imperfect joy, the wretch unknown,
Unmark'd the pang, unheard the groan. 

Here mighty Horror scarce appears;
One plague perhaps in ninety years:
And Faction, long depriv'd of food,
Sits pining over public good;
Or feeds, with self-tormenting spleen,
In present bliss, on ills foreseen,

But here more exquisite delight
From private woes soothes ranc'rous Spight. 
In pride of youth our Frederic dies,
And Anguish seals my Lonsdale's eyes:
Richmond his generous soul resign'd,
And Ca'ndish, friend to human kind,
Ev'nthoughtlessll Upon Mr. Pelham's death the places of public diversion were for a time deserted.
Pleasuredroop'dherhead,
While Britain wept o'er Pelham's bed. 
Yet such your joys, as when the bell
First toll'd unhappy S—'s knell;
When by that hand, which thousands sed,
The best, the bravest Briton bled;
And clos'd a lise in virtue past
With one wrong deed, his first and last. 

Whether impure and hard of soul
The Daughter mix'd the deadly bowl;
Or if seducing Love betray'd
To crimes unknown the yielding maid;
Whether in weakness or in guilt,
One joy is sure, her blood is spilt:
[Page 158]51  And still to raise the transport higher,
Believe her innocent expire! 

By no degree, no sex defin'd,
Their Virtues stamp the Beldame-kind,
Who cringe and slander, sting and fawn,
In rags, or lace, or fur, or lawn;
Whether in perriwigs or pinners,
If Whitefield's saints, or Arthur's sinners;
If now the scold at Wapping flames,
Or flaunts a Dutchess at St. James' ;
Alike, if they revile or flatter,
(Who lie in praise, will lie in satire)
All the foul sisterhood compose,
All those, and all resembling those. 

But some, in hoary Age's train,
By sixty winters chill'd in vain,
With hearts that melt, and nerves that feel,
Display a breast unarm'd with steel. 
How few are these! and of these few
Good Heaven hath seiz'd on Montagu. 
Germain yet lives, not half reveal'd,
Her bounties more than half conceal'd;
And should I add another name,
Blushing she flies pursuing Fame. 
For such is Virtue's aukward pride,
Scarce more intent to give than hide. 
Peace to all such in silent state,
So few scarce worth the Beldame's hate. 

'Tis not enough that Nature's plan
To Cares, to Death predestines Man;
[Page 159]81  That ev'n those few, we happy call,
Bend to the general doom of all,
While bliss, a scanty portion, flows
Mixt in the stream of bitter woes:
Not one escapes the Beldame's hate,
Great leveller to one estate. 

As in the Sun's meridian blaze
A cloud obscene of insects plays,
Or with invenom'd sting invades
The quiet of sequester'd shades,
Now swarms on filth, and now pollutes
The nectar of the fairest fruits:
So thro' each rank, thro' every stage
Wantons the ceaseless Beldame's rage. 
Sublimely rapt in patriot heat,
Furious she shakes the Monarch's seat,
Now stooping spurns the lowly cell
Where calm Content, and Concord dwell,
Well pleas'd degraded Worth to see,
Or Felons load the groaning tree. 

Yet shall the tear of Pity flow,
Yet shall her hand exalt the low;
Shall pull aspiring Merit down,
And deck the base with Honor's crown;
Intent to lower, not fond to raise,
Hatred her friendship, spite her praise. 
Or when some all-respected name,
High-borne upon the tide of Fame,
In Glory's pomp resistless draws
A nation breathless in applause;
[Page 160]111  The Beldame loud exalts her voice,
And bids a gladden'd world rejoice;
Yet then dissembling Art will blend
Th' unwilling censure of a Friend:
Lavish in praise she pours her soul,
But one Exception damns the whole. 

Behold the Fiend all pallid stand,
A pencil trembling in her hand:
See Malice mix the various dies
Of fainter truths and bolder lies. 
The deepening gloom thick spreads around
And lowering shades the dusky ground. 
There Sickness blights the cheek of Health,
And Beggary soils the robe of Wealth. 
Here, Columns moulder in decay;
There, Virtue sets with dubious ray. 
Now heavenly Beauty fades, and now
The laurel droops on Valour's brow. 

Around the Daemon throngs her race,
The weak, the busy, and the base;
Eager to copy, and disperse:
Hence slanderous Prose, and ribald Verse;
The heaps that crowd Suiila's board,
And swell wise Paulo's precious hoard. 
There Scandal all its store unloads,
Ballads, and Epigrams, and Odes:
Stern Party whets her blunted knife,
And stabs the Husband thro' the Wife;
While Notes historically sage
Fill the broad margin of each Page;
[Page 161]141  Initials, dashes well supply'd,
And all that fear or shame would hide;
Faithful record for future times
To harden by their fathers' crimes. 

No Beldam Bard with phrenzy sir'd,
No prophetess by hell inspir'd,
Creative boasts so rich a vein
As swells the Beldame's teeming brain,
And mocking study, wit, and sense,
Flows in unletter'd eloquence. 

Thus beyond Truth's contracted line
Invention's Universe is thine. 
Thine every tale that Fiction brings,
Whether she soars with painted wings,
Or plunges in the depths of night
For horrid deeds, unknown to light. 
There should she mark some real blot,
Tho' long forgiv'n, tho' long forgot;
God's cancell'd Grace her rage resumes,
The crime rejudg'd, the man she dooms;
In deeper dyes she spreads the stain,
And pitying Heaven relents in vain. 

Fitly, o'er Libya's horrid sand,
The javelin arms the Huntsman's hand. 
Lo! where the mangled traveller lies,
Drawn by the false Hyaena's cries;
And dreadful stalking o'er the plain,
The Lion shakes his brindled main. 
But why shall barbarous Rage invade
The tenant of yon peaceful shade,
[Page 162]171  While issuing with the morning's dawn,
Playful she prints the dewy lawn? 
O why that hostile pomp prepare
To vex the timorous harmless hare? 
As if some monster, yet untam'd,
Single a host of Heroes claim'd:
While Echo o'er the hills resounds
Horsemen, and steeds, and horns, and hounds. 

Such, nor less eager in their chace,
Forth springs the clamorous Beldame race:
Harsh Chorus of discordant notes
From yelping tongues and time-crack'd throats;
Where lewder Youth outstrips the wind,
And limping Eighty lags behind:
Yet faithful to the beaten track
The slow-pac'd sluggard hunts the pack. 
Meek Virtue to the covert flies
With panting heart and clouded eyes. 
Ah! spare the gentle coward's fears
Who only answers with her tears;
And trembles at imputed sin
Tho' all be innocence within. 

But Lions to their shaggy breast
Shall fostering press the fearless guest;
The sooth'd Hyaena shed a tear
O'er prostrate man, with soul sincere;
The Priest with hesitating hand
Awhile suspend th' uplifted brand;
Ere Pity melts the Beldame's eyes,
Glutted with human sacrifice. 

[Page 163]

With liquid fire the goblet crown'd,
The livid tapers gleaming round,
While Wisdom, Valour, Beauty sleep,
The midnight hags their sabbath keep;
And recent from impure delights
Fell Hecat' leads th' infernal rites. 
O'er her wan cheek diffusely spread
Fierce glares the bright vermillion's red. 
The borrow'd hair in ringlets flows
Adown her neck of art-form'd snows;
While baleful drugs in vain renew
Departing Beauty's faded hue. 

Some spotless name their rage demands,
The name rebellowing thro' the bands;
Some holy Sage of sainted life,
A Virgin pure, a faithful Wife. 
And you, who dauntless dar'd to brave
The ruthless foe and threatening wave,
Vainly you 'scap'd th' unequal fight;
Deep yawns the gulph of deadlier spight;
There plung'd — th' insatiate Beldames roar,
And the wide ruin gapes for more. 

Where trees their mantling foliage spread,
And roses bend their blooming head,
Ye, Virgins, tread with cautious feet,
And cautious pluck the tempting sweet:
There lurks the snake with speckled crest,
There broods the toad with bloated breast;
With poisons dire the reptiles fill'd,
From Heaven's transparent dews distill'd. 

[Page 164]

— But O! more wary trace the maze,
Where Youth in frolic pastime plays:
There dread the spight-swoln Beldame's wrath,
Glancing thro' Pleasure's flowery path,
And subtle drawing foul offence
From the chaste breath of innocence. 

Or should the tender bosom yield
Transpierc'd thro' Honor's frailer shield;
O Virtue smooth thy brow austere,
Accept the penitential tear:
Raise the fall'n mourner from the ground,
And pour sweet mercy o'er the wound;
Nor join these furies in their chace,
Nor drive her 'midst that hellish race. 
Angels shall hear the suppliant's voice,
And Beldames howl, and Heaven rejoice. 

Let the obdurate Stoic's pride
Climb the steep mountain's craggy side;
Where far remote from mortal ken
Virtue usurps the Tyger's den,
And scowling on the crowd below
Nor feels, nor pities human woe. 
Let holy zeal, with frantic mien,
And haggard look and garb obscene,
Spurn every gift the Heavens dispense,
And pine in sullen abstinence;
Yet drink with eager ears and eyes
The tortur'd wretches agonies. 

Hence, hell-born Fiends! nor dare bely
The Seraph with indulgent eye:
[Page 165]261  Whence Science beams eternal day,
Enlightening millions with her ray;
Whence Arts their genial influence spread
O'er smiling Nature's teeming bed;
Whence Bounty with extended hand
Scatters her blessings o'er the land;
And Love, the universal soul,
Pervades, unites, inspires the whole. 

So Virtue dwelt, celestial guest,
O Lonsdale! in thy spotless breast. 
Tho' pure as Heaven from moral stain,
Tho' torn with unrelenting pain,
'Twas thine for others woes to melt,
And pardon frailties never felt. 
While Youth thy gayer converse sought,
And Age instructed heard and thought. 

And thou, my Friend, for such my claim,
And such my best, my dearest Fame,
Tho' Time with shrivel'd fingers throws
Thick o'er thy head unmingled snows,
Still in that eye the spark divine
Shall with unfading lustre shine;
Still flow the stream of copious sense
Clear as in Attic eloquence. 

So thro' the meadow's silver bed,
With lilies and with snow-drops spread,
Far-honour'd Thames, our Britain's pride,
Majestic rolls his crystal tide,
Where many an ancient brook distils
Its wealth in tributary rills. 

[Page 166]

And in the happy social hour
Well sav'd from state, and cares, and power,
Long may I come a welcome guest
To share the treasures of that breast,
Where Spleen ne'er rankled at the heart,
Nor Malice lodg'd her rusty dart. 

Text

TEI/XML [chunk] (XML - 530K / ZIP - 53K) / ECPA schema (RNC - 357K / ZIP - 73K)
Plain text [excluding paratexts] (TXT - 11K / ZIP - 5.5K)

Facsimile (Source Edition)

(Page images digitized from a copy in the Bodleian Library [(OC) 280 o.791].)

Images

Image #1 (JPEG - 6.6M)
Image #2 (JPEG - 6.6M)
Image #3 (JPEG - 6.3M)
Image #4 (JPEG - 6.4M)
Image #5 (JPEG - 6.6M)
Image #6 (JPEG - 6.5M)
Image #7 (JPEG - 6.6M)
Image #8 (JPEG - 6.3M)
Image #9 (JPEG - 6.4M)
Image #10 (JPEG - 6.4M)
Image #11 (JPEG - 5.7M)

PDF

All Images (PDF - 16M)

About this text

Title (in Source Edition): THE BELDAMES.

Author: Anonymous

Themes: virtue; vice

Genres: ode

References: DMI 32660

Text view / Document view

Source edition

Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London: printed for G. Pearch, 1770, pp. 156-166. 4v. ; 8⁰. (ESTC T116245; DMI 1137; OTA K093079.004) (Page images digitized from a copy in the Bodleian Library [(OC) 280 o.791].)

Editorial principles

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this ECPA text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

THE BELDAMES.

Text

Facsimile (Source Edition)

Images

PDF

About this text

Source edition

Editorial principles

Phonological layer

Morphological layer

Syntactic layer

Semantic layer

Pragmatic layer