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| TELL me, ye prim adepts in Scandal’s school, | |
| Who rail by precept, and detract by rule, | |
| Lives there no character, so tried, so known, | |
| So decked with grace, and so unlike your own, | |
| That even you assist her fame to raise, | 5 |
| Approve by envy, and by silence praise! | |
| Attend!—a model shall attract your view— | |
| Daughters of calumny, I summon you! | |
| You shall decide if this a portrait prove, | |
| Or fond creation of the Muse and Love. | 10 |
| Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage, | |
| Ye matron censors of this childish age, | |
| Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare | |
| A fixed antipathy to young and fair; | |
| By cunning, cautious; or by nature, cold, | 15 |
| In maiden madness, virulently bold!— | |
| Attend, ye skilled to coin the precious tale, | |
| Creating proof, where innuendos fail! | |
| Whose practised memories, cruelly exact, | |
| Omit no circumstance, except the fact!— | 20 |
| Attend, all ye who boast,—or old or young,— | |
| The living libel of a slanderous tongue! | |
| So shall my theme as far contrasted be, | |
| As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny. | |
| Come, gentle Amoret (for ’neath that name | 25 |
| In worthier verse is sung thy beauty’s fame); | |
| Come—for but thee who seeks the Muse? and while | |
| Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile, | |
| With timid grace, and hesitating eye, | |
| The perfect model, which I boast, supply:— | 30 |
| Vain Muse! couldst thou the humblest sketch create | |
| Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate— | |
| Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace | |
| The faintest wonder of her form and face— | |
| Poets would study the immortal line, | 35 |
| And Reynolds own his art subdued by thine; | |
| That art, which well might added lustre give | |
| To Nature’s best, and Heaven’s superlative: | |
| On Granby’s cheek might bid new glories rise, | |
| Or point a purer beam from Devon’s eyes! | 40 |
| Hard is the task to shape that beauty’s praise, | |
| Whose judgment scorns the homage flattery pays! | |
| But praising Amoret we cannot err, | |
| No tongue o’ervalues Heaven, or flatters her! | |
| Yet she by Fate’s perverseness—she alone | 45 |
| Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her own. | |
| Adorning fashion, unadorned by dress, | |
| Simple from taste, and not from carelessness; | |
| Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild, | |
| Not stiff with prudence, nor uncouthly wild: | 50 |
| No state has Amoret; no studied mien; | |
| She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen. | |
| The softer charm that in her manner lies | |
| Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise; | |
| It justly suits the expression of her face,— | 55 |
| ’Tis less than dignity, and more than grace! | |
| On her pure cheek the native hue is such, | |
| That, formed by Heaven to be admired so much, | |
| The hand divine, with a less partial care, | |
| Might well have fixed a fainter crimson there, | 60 |
| And bade the gentle inmate of her breast— | |
| Inshrinèd Modesty—supply the rest. | |
| But who the peril of her lips shall paint? | |
| Strip them of smiles—still, still all words are faint. | |
| But moving Love himself appears to teach | 65 |
| Their action, though denied to rule her speech; | |
| And thou who seest her speak, and dost not hear, | |
| Mourn not her distant accents ’scape thine ear; | |
| Viewing those lips, thou still may’st make pretence | |
| To judge of what she says, and swear ’tis sense: | 70 |
| Clothed with such grace, with such expression fraught, | |
| They move in meaning, and they pause in thought! | |
| But dost thou farther watch, with charmed surprise, | |
| The mild irresolution of her eyes, | |
| Curious to mark how frequent they repose, | 75 |
| In brief eclipse and momentary close— | |
| Ah! seest thou not an ambushed Cupid there, | |
| Too timorous of his charge, with jealous care | |
| Veils and unveils those beams of heavenly light, | |
| Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight? | 80 |
| Nor yet, such pleasing vengeance fond to meet, | |
| In pardoning dimples hope a safe retreat. | |
| What though her peaceful breast should ne’er allow | |
| Subduing frowns to arm her altered brow, | |
| By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles, | 85 |
| More fatal still the mercy of her smiles! | |
| Thus lovely, thus adorned, possessing all | |
| Of bright or fair that can to woman fall, | |
| The height of vanity might well be thought | |
| Prerogative in her, and Nature’s fault. | 90 |
| Yet gentle Amoret, in mind supreme | |
| As well as charms, rejects the vainer theme; | |
| And, half mistrustful of her beauty’s store, | |
| She barbs with wit those darts too keen before:— | |
| Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach, | 95 |
| Though, Greville, or the Muse, should deign to teach, | |
| Fond to improve, nor timorous to discern | |
| How far it is a woman’s grace to learn; | |
| In Millar’s dialect she would not prove | |
| Apollo’s priestess, but Apollo’s love, | 100 |
| Graced by those signs which truth delights to own, | |
| The timid blush, and mild submitted tone: | |
| Whate’er she says, though sense appear throughout, | |
| Displays the tender hue of female doubt; | |
| Decked with that charm, how lovely wit appears, | 105 |
| How graceful science, when that robe she wears! | |
| Such too her talents, and her bent of mind, | |
| As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined: | |
| A taste for mirth, by contemplation schooled, | |
| A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled, | 110 |
| A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide; | |
| An awe of talent, which she owns with pride! | |
| Peace, idle Muse! no more thy strain prolong, | |
| But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong; | |
| Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise | 115 |
| Thy feeble verse, behold th’ acknowledged praise | |
| Has spread conviction through the envious train, | |
| And cast a fatal gloom o’er Scandal’s reign! | |
| And lo! each pallid hag, with blistered tongue, | |
| Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung— | 120 |
| Owns all the colours just—the outline true; | |
| Thee my inspirer, and my model—CREWE! | |
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