Nothing but acid left behind; From passion you may then be freed, When peevishness and spleen succeed. Say, Stella, when you copy next, Will you keep strictly to the text? Dare you let these reproaches stand, And to your failing set your hand? Or, if these lines your anger fire, Shall they in baser flames expire? Whene'er they burn, if burn they must, They'll prove my accusation just.
[Footnote 1: At Bridewell; see vol. i, "A Beautiful Young Nymph," at p. 201.—W. E. B.] [Footnote 3: A cant word for a rhyme.—W. E. B.]
STELLA VISITING ME IN MY SICKNESS
1720 Pallas, observing Stella's wit Was more than for her sex was fit, And that her beauty, soon or late, Might breed confusion in the state, In high concern for human kind, Fix'd honour in her infant mind. But (not in wrangling to engage With such a stupid, vicious age) If honour I would here define, It answers faith in things divine. As natural life the body warms, And, scholars teach, the soul informs, So honour animates the whole, And is the spirit of the soul. Those numerous virtues which the tribe Of tedious moralists describe, And by such various titles call, True honour comprehends them all. Let melancholy rule supreme, Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm, It makes no difference in the case, Nor is complexion honour's place. But, lest we should for honour take The drunken quarrels of a rake: Or think it seated in a scar, Or on a proud triumphal car; Or in the payment of a debt We lose with sharpers at piquet; Or when a whore, in her vocation, Keeps punctual to an assignation; Or that on which his lordship swears, When vulgar knaves would lose their ears; Let Stella's fair example preach A lesson she alone can teach. In points of honour to be tried, All passions must be laid aside: Ask no advice, but think alone; Suppose the question not your own. How shall I act, is not the case; But how would Brutus in my place? In such a case would Cato bleed? And how would Socrates proceed? Drive all objections from your mind, Else you relapse to human kind: Ambition, avarice, and lust, A factious rage, and breach of trust, And flattery tipt with nauseous fleer, And guilty shame, and servile fear, Envy, and cruelty, and pride, Will in your tainted heart preside.
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