Classic Poem

A fable

Fashion, a motley nymph, of yore
The Cyprian Queen to Proteus bore:
Various herself, in various climes,
She moulds the manners of the times;
And turns in every age and nation,
The chequer'd wheel of variegation;
True female, that ne'er knew her will,
Still changing, tho' immortal still.
One day as the inconstant maid
Was careless on her sofa laid,
Sick of the sun, and tir'd with light,
She thus invok'd the gloomy night:
" Come — these malignant rays destroy,
Thou skreen of shame, and rise of joy,
Come from thy western ambuscade,
Queen of the rout and masquerade;
Nymph, without thee no cards advance,
Without thee halts the loitering dance,
Till you approach, all, all's restraint,
Nor is it safe to game or paint;
The belles and beaux thy influence ask,
Put on the universal mask;
Let us invert, in thy disguise,
That odious nature, we despise. "
She ceas'd — the sable mantled dame,
With slow approach and awful came,
And frowning with sarcastic sneer
Reproach'd the female rioteer:
" That nature you abuse, my fair,
Was I created to repair
And contrast with a friendly shade,
The pictures heav'n's rich pencil made,
And with my sleep-alluring dose,
To give laborious art repose;
To make both noise and action cease,
The queen of secrecy and peace
But thou a rebel vile and vain,
Usurp'st my lawful old domain;
My sceptre thou affect'st to sway,
And all the various hours are day;
With clamours of unreal joy,
My sister Silence you destroy,
The blazing lamp's unnatural light
My eye balls weary and affright;
But if I am allow'd one shade,
Which no intrusive eyes invade,
There all th' atrocious imps of hell,
Theft, murder, and pollution dwell;
Think then how much, thou toy of chance,
Thy praise is like my worth t'inhance;
Blind thing, that run'st without a guide,
Thou whirlpool in a rushing tide,
No more my fame with praise pollute,
But damn me into some repute. "