Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux

“ The gilded Sign hangs o’re the Shops :
Miss won’t come in to Buy, before
She spies the Knick-knack at the Dore.
Thus Queasie Madams meat forbear
Until they read, The Bill of Fare.
Instead a Frontispiece, or Babbie,
We plac’t to please some puiney Rabbie,
Who hates an Author that enlarges,
And cons the Index to save charges.
Discord, that Tearing, Hectoring Ranter,
Provokes a Dean and his Arch-chanter,
Who had liv’d friendly forty years,
To fall together by the ears ”

“ As soon as Fear lent them the use of Feet
Away they trudge, fill’d with shame and Regret ;
The Nave they soon recover ; whil’st their hair
Stands bristling on their heads, dissolving fear
Makes their Knees quiver underneath their Bodies,
And there they sneaking stand like baffled Noddies,
Sheltred by the same Darkness brought them thither,
The Squadron flies at last, they knew not whither. ”

“ Shall e're thy favours slide out of my mind ?
The Rhine shall first his streams mix with the Loire,
Ere I forget the fence of my Devoir ;
Nay first shall France keep Faith and Oath with Spain,
E're I thy love-sick Agonies disdain :
But never Dream, that when I gave my Troth,
I would become a Slave unto my Oath ;
Our Nation knows no such nice Obligation,
The Ancient Faith's now quite worn out of fashion ”

“ The Prelate mingles, shakes 'em well again.
⁠All crowd and watch the Draught with eager Haste,
Each hopes his own great Name may be the last.
Oh Boirude! how shall I thy Joys relate,
When in the Prelate's Eyes thou readst thy Fate,
And saw in them thy faithful Name appear?
Such Transports, Mighty Sexton, who cou'd bear? ”

“ And if we carry’t, then Sir !
Down goes the Innovation, once agen Sir !
The sage Advice repriev’d some little while
The trembling Pulpit : The Chanter feigns a smile !
Call then a Chapter ! Run ! Make hast ! Away ! ”

“ The moving Sight her Lord's brave Soul opprest;
Honour and Love contended in his Breast.
Till calling his known Courage to his Aid,
Thus to the Queen of his Desires he said:
(But with a Voice which spoke divided Care,
A Lover's Sweetness, and a Husband's Air,)
Madam, Should I my Happiness disown,
And Joys so often reap'd from you alone;
I should to Honour a curst Traytor prove,
Unworthy of your Bed, and lavish Love ”

“ Should spend their Tongues, who could not use their Chops.
The Chanter though he saw his plot succeed,
Yet fear’d Delay might unseen Danger breed ;
Rising with blubber’d eyes brim full of Tears.
Unbosoms to them all his Griefs and Fears.
But Chanon Everard, whose barking May
All Hungry Guests, but yet no Victuals saw,
Impatient of delay, as he was able,
Cry’d out aloud ; Pray Sirs, bring in the Table ;
What mean you thus to frustrate our rais’d Hopes ?
Must we sit alwayes pining in our Copes ?
The Chanter conscious of his cheat, gave way
To his Just Indignation ”

“ My Masters, A-la-mort ? time’s precious !
Why stand we trembling, trifling, shall I, shall I ?
Our work’s before us, let’s no longer dally !
The Pulpit must be rais’, that by to morrow
Our Dean may see’t with Joy, his Foes with Sorrow ! ”

“ Each man abides his Doom, what e’re comes on it.
Thrice had the Dean with hands lift up to Heaven
Unto this Pious Work the Blessing given ;
His holy Hand thrice shakes the fatal Cap,
And happy man be’s Dole who has the Hap ! ”

“ Dar'st thou then, Traytor, so perfidious prove
To plighted Faith, and Hymeneal Love?
Are all th' Indearments of a Wedded Life,
The soft Embraces of a tender Wife,
(A Wife alas! just ready to expire)
Too Weak to conquer one unkind Desire? ”

“ Then study brave Revenge, despised Love,
Nor shall Repentance e're my Pity move ;
And when thay Ears shall hear my Passing-bell,
Then, then expect Another kind of Knell ;
My Angry Ghost shall haunt thy Conscious Soul,
I'le Ring thee such a Peal, shall make thee Howl ;
Hobgoblins shall thy house turn topsey-turvey,
Conscience shall then upbraid thee, what a Scurvey
Knave thou hast been to thy Deserted Wife,
And make thee Pulpits Curse, whil'st thou hast Life ! ”

“ For one poor lowzy Pew, to break our Brains :
‘Tis more Ingenious to Study Meat,
Let his Thin Chops his Musty Authors Eat !
We’ve other Fish to fry ! I am a man
That Read alike Bible and Alchoran !
If I can learn what Rents my Tenants owe :
When Mortgag’d Vineyards forfeited to grow ;
Can I precisely learn the Quarters day,
When wooden Shooes trudge up their dues to pay ”

“ Sleep’st thou securely, till the Chanter come,
“ And without Bull, or Brief procur’d from Rome,
“ Whilst thou’re wrap in sloath, and free from Fears,
“ Rotchet and Surplice shall pluck o’re thy Ears ?
“ Sluggard, awake, arise, bestir thee quick,
“ Renounce thy Ease, or quit thy Bishoprick !
She spoke, and from her Poysonous Mouth did fling
Into his Soul the Zeal of Quarrelling.
The Dean awakes ; The choler in his breast
Formented boils ; yet he the Fury Blest ! ”

“ While the wrong'd Widow want of Justice mourns,
And the vex'd Air each empty groan returns;
Pale Want and Famine, like some injur'd Ghost,
Stalk o'er the Ground, and weep their Treasures lost.
Infamous Poverty, Devouring Care,
And Everlasting Toil, and lean Despair,
And black Chagrin, Compleat the Mournful Part;
The wretched Off-spring of her Cursed Art!
Case-Books and Codes the Busy [errata 1] Hag Consume,
And Dies her self to dig another's Tomb;
At every Meal, the hungry Fury Eats
Fair Palaces, strong Castles, Country Seats. ”

“ Resolves, what e'er Fate means, to stand the Blow;
When from his Powdry Roost the Bird of Night
With Fate-denouncing Outcries takes his Flight;
Like Statues, Petrefy'd with chilly Fear,
Unable to resist, they shake, they stare. ”

“ Run from one paultry Owl ? ne’re look about you !
Where are those boasts which late breath’d nought but Thunder ?
Fie ! Shall a harmless Bird disperse y’ asunder ?
How would you sneak, vilce Souls, if at the Barr,
My daily sport, you met with horrid Warr ?
How would you stand a tedious Chanc’ry Hearing,
If poor Hobhowchin puts you in this fearing ?
Hw would your hearts misgive to bide a Triall,
No Friend at Hand, nor in your Purse a Ryall ?
Believe me ( Cowards ! ) I, with Grace be’t spoken,
Simply thô I stand here, have foil’d and broken
A Chapter, with her Chanons, Prebends, Dean ”

“ A Dog can't rest, whil'st one worries another :
And which provokes me most to Indignation,
The whole world's set a gog on Reformation.
What Holy Mother Church, Imposing faith,
This Age receives not with Implicit Faith ;
Nay Blind Obedience now is styl'd A Vice,
Sawcy Dissenters will be counted wise ;
Men now Plead Conscience, make a heavy Din
With Heaven and Hell ; of Duty prate, and Sin :
These empty Names have set the Worlds on fire !
Now e're they swallow, the will first enquire ;
They'l see a Reason given for Church Commands,
And use their Eyes, e're they bestir their Hands. ”

“ She saw Three Champions, who delight in War:
Proudly they march'd beneath her thick Disguise,
Safe in their Strength, secure from Human Eyes:
While Discord's fiery Brands their Souls inflame,
Who threatens here to Aggrandize her Name. ”

“ Shall all your Learning e’re make me believe,
“ That this is Lent, or any Saints dayes Eve ?
“ Then Reassume your self, forbear to Doat,
“ Meat heated twice, is not worth half a Groat !
Thus reseason’d Gilotin, and very loath
T’ adjourn a Meal, bed ‘em serve in the broath.
The Prelate stood a while in deep suspence,
He ey’d the Soupe with Holy Reverence ;
O’recome at last with Reason and good Nature
He yields, and sits him down to tast the Creature :
‘Yet inward Rage did all the while provoke him,
Twas fear’d each Morsel would go near to choke him ”

“ Twice the Pragmatick Chanter, thô in vain,
Pesum’d to discompose thy peaceful Reign ;
Twice with Schismatick Pride did enterprise
To force the Chapter in Rebellion rise ;
As oft the Dean him swoln with envious rage,
Hurl’d Headlong from high hopes ; and by sage
Sexton assisted, terrify’d the People
Who durst dispute the Title to his Steeple.
Instruct me Muse, for thou canst tell, what Thirst
Of sweeet Revenge, thô Dire, engaged first
Religious Souls to break the Sacred Tye
Of blessed Peace and heaven-born Amitie,
To make old Friends new Rivals ”

“ You will find very Great, but necessary Variations from the Original; whether for the better or the worse, I submit to You, from whose Judgment there is no Appeal.
Nothing checks and deadens the Fancy more than a too superstitious Respect for the Original, especially in Poetry; It is commonly the Cause that an Idolatrous Translator (as la Motte calls such a one) endeavouring too exactly to render All the Beauties of his Author, gives you in Truth never a one. Every Minute Circumstance of a Thought cannot be preserv'd with any tolerable Grace, nor is it indeed necessary ”

“ Come Girot ! lend thy friendly helping hand,
If I have breath and strength, it shall not stand !
He spoke ! his Arm waited upon his words,
Strength fill’d his Arm, and Fury strength affords :
Arrests the Pulpit ”