Classic Poem

IN former Times it so befel,
But where, our Author does not tell;
No Matter——whether F RANCE or Spain ,
So Fable makes the Moral plain.

A Spark on Brink of Hymen's Joys,
And fond of his elected Choice,
Unto a Painter does repair,
And bids him use his utmost Care:
Draw me (quoth he) a Piece divine,
Where Hymen may in Lustre shine:
Let all his Joys at once appear
Serenely Good, and heav'nly Fair,
With everlasting Graces crown'd,
And little L OVES attending round.
Now Artist! now exert thy Fame,
And paint a Bliss, I cannot name:
Reward shall far Desire excel,
And future Times thy Praise shall tell.

With humble Cringe, the Painter said,
Your Orders, Sir, shall be obey'd:
Nor will I fear to shew my Piece,
With those of Italy, or Greece.

'Twas said—'tis done—the Table's brought,
Nor Envy's self could find a Fault:
But when he look'd for due Regard,
His Patron thus does him reward.

Here, take your boasted N OTHING home,
For N OTHING for this Piece will come:
Your Hymen is too gay and fair,
Too bright his Torch, too free his Air:
If you more solemnly had wrought,
You better had express'd my Thought.

Well, Sir, the nettled Artist cries,
My Works by Time in value rise;
Nor does the Likeness of my paint
Appear, till Time embrune the Tient.
I stand——pray clear your Brow,
Such diff'rent Tastes we must allow
A L OVER then, a H USBAND now.

I'll take this back, and make you one,
Which you, and all the World must own;
Shall your Resentments quite subdue,
And L OVER please, and H USBAND too.

To Work he went, with curious Thought.
And by L AMY 's Perspective wrought
A Piece, which did all else excel,
Without a Fault, or Parallel.

Here, at a Distance, Hymen shew'd
All that was lovely, dear, or good:
But on a nearer View was seen
A mere Grotesque of surly Spleen:
The tender Visor cast aside,
And nought remain'd, but thwarting Pride.

From this odd Tale, instructive Moral flows,
And the Deficiency of N ATURE shews:
For when, with long Expence of Time and Pain,
We do, perhaps, the wish'd for Good attain,
With S OLOMON we find, 'tis empty all, and vain.