Classic Poem

Well, here I come — and almost out of breath,
'Twixt love, fire, fear, and widowhood and death;
While I for such fictitious strife am harness'd —
I feel — I suffer — more than half in earnest:
By Bramins' seiz'd — those bloody-minded fellows —
My hair-breadth 'scapes were greater than Othello's!
Nought could have sav'd me from the jaws of fate,
Had my French lover came one breath too late. —
The pile prepar'd and kindling brisk as tinder,
They'd burn'd your poor Lanissa to a cinder!

But well our author had contriv'd the whole,
And seems, in truth, a right good-natur'd soul:
He swears himself his drama, without vanity,
Is founded on the basis of humanity;
Without one RULE or UNITY infringing,
He sav'd his heroine from a mortal singing —
So after all this mighty fire and rattle,
Our bloodless play is like a bloodless battle.

Am I to blame, if, this dear life to save,
I lik'd a lover better than a grave;
Prefer'd your christian maxims for a drama,
To all the murd'rous rites of pagan Brama;
And held, retreating from my fun'ral urn,
" 'Twas better far to marry than to burn? "
No — I'll be burn'd, but ev'ry maid and widow
Would do, in such a case, just as I did do.

Yes — thank your stars, Columbia's happy dames!
Ye need not fear those frightful fun'ral flames: —
Of other lands let foreign bards be dreaming,
But this, this only is the land for women: —
Here ye invert the Bramins' barb'rous plan,
And stretch your sceptre o'er the tyrant — man.

Ye men, if I offend, I ask your pardon,
I would not for the world your sex bear hard on.
Ye are the fathers, founders of a nation,
The gods on earth, the lords of this creation!
And let philosophers say what they please,
You're not grown less by coming o'er the seas: —
We know your worth, and dare proclaim your merit. —
The world may ask your foes, " if you want spirit? "
Your vict'ries won — your revolution ended —
Your constitution newly made — and mended —
Your fund of wit — your intellectual riches —
Plans in the closet — in the senate speeches —
Will make this age of heroes, wits, and sages,
The first in story to the latest ages!
Go on — and prosper with your projects blest,
Till your millennium rises in the west: —
We wish success to your politic scheming,
Rule ye the world! — and then — be rul'd by women! —

For here, ye fair, no servile rites bear sway,
Nor force ye — (though ye promise) — to obey:
Blest in the mildness of this temp'rate zone,
Slaves to no whims, or follies — but your own. —
Here custom, check'd in ev'ry rude excess,
Confines its influence to the arts of dress,
O'er charms eclips'd the side-long hat displays,
Extends the hoop, or pares away the stays,
Bedecks the fair with artificial geer,
Breast-works in front, and bishops in the rear: —
The idol rears, on beauty's dazzling throne,
Mankind her slaves, and all the world her own;
Bound by no laws a husband's whims to fear,
Obey in life, or burn upon his bier;
She views with equal eye, sublime o'er all,
A lover perish — or a lap dog fall —
Coxcombs or monkeys from their chains broke loose —
And now a husband dead — and now a goose.

But jesting all apart — and such droll strictures;
We'll strive to charm you with still fairer pictures —
For 'tis our object to divert — not tease you —
To make you laugh or cry — as best shall please you —
So as it suits each kind spectator's turn,
You'll come to see me play the fool — or burn —
Ladies and gentlemen! on this condition,
I humbly offer my sincere petition,
That you'll come oft to hear me sing or say —
" And poor Lanissa will for ever pray. "