An Elegy written in an empty Assembly-Room. Richard Owen Cambridge Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 302-306. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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An Elegy written in an empty Assembly-Room . By the Same . — Semperque relinqui Sola sibi — VIRG. ADVERTISEMENT .

This poem being a parody on the most remarkable passages in the well-known epistle of Eloisa to Abelard , it was thought unnecessary to transcribe any lines from that poem , which is in the hands of all , and in the memory of most readers .

IN scenes where HALLET'S genius has combin'd With BROMWICH to amuse and cheer the mind ; Amid this pomp of cost , this pride of art , What mean these sorrows in a female heart ? Ye crowded walls , whose well-enlighten'd round With lovers sighs and protestations sound , Ye pictures flatter'd by the learn'd and wise , Ye glasses ogled by the brightest eyes , Ye cards , which beauties by their touch have blest , Ye chairs , which peers and ministers have prest , How are ye chang'd ! like you my fate I moan , Like you , alas ! neglected and alone — For ah ! to me alone no card is come , I must not go abroad — and cannot be at home . Blest be that social pow'r , the first who pair'd The erring footman with th' unerring card . 'Twas VENUS sure ; for by their faithful aid The whisp'ring lover meets the blushing maid : From solitude they give the cheerful call To the choice supper , or the sprightly ball : Speed the soft summons of the gay and fair , From distant Bloomsbury to Grosvenor's square ; And bring the colonel to the tender hour , From the parade , the senate , or the Tower . Ye records , patents of our worth and pride ! Our daily lesson , and our nightly guide ! Where'er ye stand dispos'd in proud array , The vapours vanish , and the heart is gay ; But when no cards the chimney-glass adorn , The dismal void with heart-felt shame we mourn ; Conscious neglect inspires a sullen gloom , And brooding sadness fills the slighted room . If but some happier female's card I've seen , I swell with rage , or sicken with the spleen ; While artful pride conceals the bursting tear , With some forc'd banter or affected sneer : But now grown desp'rate , and beyond all hope , I curse the ball , the d—ss , and the pope . And as the loads of borrow'd plate go by , Tax it ! ye greedy ministers , I cry . How shall I feel , when Sol resigns his light To this proud splendid goddess of the night ! Then when her aukward guests in measure beat The crowded floors , which groan beneath their feet ! What thoughts in solitude shall then possess My tortur'd mind , or soften my distress ! Not all that envious malice can suggest Will sooth the tumults of my raging breast . ( For Envy's lost amid the numerous train , And hisses with her hundred snakes in vain ) Though with contempt each despicable soul Singly I view , — I must revere the whole . The methodist in her peculiar lot , The world forgetting , by the world forgot , Though single happy , tho' alone is proud , She thinks of heav'n ( she thinks not of a crowd ) And if she ever feels a vap'rish qualm , Some The title of a book of modern devotion . drop of honey , or some holy balm , The pious prophet of her sect distils , And her pure soul seraphic rapture fills ; Grace shines around her with serenest beams , And whisp'ring W*** prompts her golden dreams . Far other dreams my sensual soul employ , While conscious nature tastes unholy joy : I view the traces of experienc'd charms , And clasp the regimentals in my arms . To dream last night I clos'd my blubber'd eyes ; Ye soft illusions , dear deceits arise ; Alas ! no more ; methinks I wand'ring go To distant quarters 'midst the Highland snow : To the dark inn where never wax-light burns , Where in smoak'd tap'stry faded DIDO mourns ; To some assembly in a country town , And meet the colonel — in a parson's gown — I start — I shriek — O ! could I on my waking brain impose , Or but forget at least my present woes ! Forget 'em — how ! — each rattling coach suggests The loath'd ideas of the crowding guests . To visit — were to publish my disgrace ; To meet the spleen in ev'ry other place ; To join old maids and dowagers forlorn ; And be at once their comfort and their scorn ! For once , to read with this distemper'd brain , Ev'n modern novels lend their aid in vain . My MANDOLINE — what place can music find Amid the discord of my restless mind ? How shall I waste this time which slowly flies ! How lull to slumber my reluctant eyes ! This night the happy and th' unhappy keep Vigils alike , — N*** has murder'd sleep .