AN HEROIC ANSWER, FROM RICHARD TWISS, Eſq F.R.S.
[]FROM various perils of the land and main,
By Venus wafted to Batavia's plain,
Where kindly [...]ens, and genial fogs ſurround,
His Pinna's lines her anxious lover found.
Not dearer tumults to my kindling heart
A fungus, toad, or tadpole could impart:
Not with more joy ſome virtuoſo ſpies
The firſt embraces of two foreign [...]lies,
Whoſe deeds of love his eager fancy feed
With ſmiling omens of a laſting breed.
Scarce to thy Twiſs more tranſport could it give
To lodge in cellars, or with pigs to live.
[6]Thy melting ſtrains both pain and pleaſure move,
Pain for thine abſence, pleaſure for thy love.
I trac'd thy hand ev'n at a ſingle view,
Thy ſoul ſtill better in the purport knew.
Thy gentle lines I drank with eager haſte,
My lips purſu'd thee where thy fingers paſt;
My tears bedew'd the lines my kiſſes dry'd—
I ſung—I danc'd—I fiddle'd—and I ſigh'd—
Gods! can it be? — too full, too perfect bliſs!
Does then my Pinna ſtill remember Twiſs?
Is Richard's image to her fancy dear?
And Richard's name ſtill ſoothing to her ear?
Now, ſpend your malice, curſt Hibernian kind!
For Richard lives within Tereſa's mind.
Rail, write, and rage; I prize the ſordid cry
Leſs than the hummings of the ſmalleſt fly.
1 [7]Yet let me own, appall'd I trod the ground,
Where dangers lour'd, and ſhames lay ſcatter'd round.
A thouſand tongues from ſtage to ſtage purſu'd,
And freſh diſgrace th' unwearied gibe renew'd:
Thus down the chimney ſome poor ſparrow ſtrays,
And roams the parlour with a wild amaze;
Dogs, cats, and children, a malignant crew,
The hapleſs ſtranger round the room purſue.
Some demon ſure attends the youth, who roves
To bogs and horſe-ponds from the maid he loves.
Oh! I have much to tell, and thou to hear;
A tale of ſorrows, that will rend thine ear.
Thy gentle ſpirit feels no vengeful flame;
Thou little know'ſt the curſt Hibernian dame;
What thirſt of vengeance fires an Iriſh maid,
What ready arts that thirſt of vengeance aid.
Heav'n arms its creatures for their proper ſtate
With various weapons of defence, or hate.
[8]To ſerpents, teeth; to ſcorpions gave a tail;
To me, my printer, and my leaden flail;
Hibernian dames are train'd to cuff and kick,
And nature arm'd them,—for their legs are thick.
The thirſt of vengeance ev'ry breaſt inſpires,
And bowls of whiſkey feed their cruel fires.
Lyaeus thus the Theban dames poſſeſt,
And goads and ſtings inflam'd the madding breaſt.
"Revenge! Revenge!" the dire Agave cry'd—
"Revenge! Revenge!" the vocal hills reply'd.
Citheron's ſummits heard the frantic ſhout,
And Pentheus trembled at the revel rout.
He ſcour'd, he fled before th' inhuman train,
In vain—his limbs beſtrew'd th' impurpled plain.
2[9]From forging franks, each pert Hibernian Miſs
Converts the quill, and has her fling at Twiſs.
The deſp'rate inkhorn arms uncounted throngs
With puns and poſies, anecdote and ſongs.
Revenge inſpires them in Apollo's ſpite;
A Twiſs provokes; and well, or ill, they write.
How ſhall the muſe to thee, my fair! explain
The ſtudied vengeance of the ſavage train?
What terms of art the ſecret ſhall declare!
Inform thy mind, and yet thy bluſhes ſpare!
Haſt thou not ſeen a vaſe of antique mold,
Of Parian marble, or Barbaric gold,
Doom'd to enſhrine ſome lovers cold remains,
Or pour libations at ſome myſtic fanes?
Such are thoſe utenſils, ordain'd by fate,
The ſhameful engines of barbarian hate,
(Save that one handle, more for uſe than pride,
Shoots diſproportion'd from the veſſel's ſide)
3[10]For off'rings hallow'd, which my charmer made
With purer zeal amid the citron ſhade;
They grace the cloſet, by the couch they ſtand,
And, night and morning, load the faireſt hand.
Without, a foliage crowns the poliſh'd frames,
And burniſh'd gold on flowers of purple flames;
Within, the potter plants thy Richard's face,
And bids him ſtare, in horrible grimace.
Thro' lakes of amber as the face appears,
The face repentant ſeems bedew'd with tears.
The liſt'ning figure (by the painter's ſkill)
Attunes its fiddle to the purling rill.
Sure had I trod the dire Conatian wild,
The blood of
Twiſs had ſavage hands defil'd:
4[11]But heav'n in viſion touch'd my trembling car,
Some God inſpir'd me with a prudent fear.
A form, methought, half beaſt, half human, ſtood,
And cry'd, "My ſon, I warn thee for thy good."
(A mighty ſtink-pot in his hand appear'd,
And aſs's ears were on his temples rear'd)
"Once, like thyſelf, I travel'd, lied, and wrote,
"An author then, tho' now a mountain goat.
"But ſoon, the victim of ill-manners, fell;
"A youth of Galway hurl'd me down to hell:
"Chang'd to a goat, to travel mountains ſent,
"What was my paſtime, is my puniſhment.
"If life is ſweet, the wilds of Connaught ſpare;
"Beware of all; of Galway moſt beware.
"Yet thirſt of railing, greater than thy fear,
"Will ſpeak, tho' vengeance threats the votive ear;
"Untir'd, intrepid, as the taylor's wife,
"Will deal invectives, tho' they coſt thy life.
[12]"The furious taylor plung'd her in the tide,
"Her fingers rail'd, when accents were denied,
"In death unconquer'd, ſhew'd the darling vice,
"And ſeem'd to crack imaginary lice."
Not vainly was the warning fantom ſent;
My backward courſe with timely fear I bent.
Yet ſtill in dreams th' ideal terrours riſe,
Stain all my cloaths, and ſeal my blacken'd eyes;
And oaken cudgels whiſtle in the wind,
And ſharp-toed ſhoes aſſail me from behind.
Now Pinna ſeems to claſp me to her breaſt,
Now pats my cheeks, and whiſpers me to reſt,
With ſticking plaiſter heals her Richard's ſcars,
Diſgraceful tokens of unequal wars,
Or ſeems the lenient flannel to prepare,
For love diſdains not ſuch a menial care,
Foments my head, ſtill ſoft from weary blows,
And regions livid from eternal toes.
But ſay, what ſprings this perſecution move?
The hate of woman, for neglected love.
[13]Here droning pipes the tortur'd organs wound,
And yells funereal thro' the vales reſound,
No lemon groves with harp and viol ring,
No maids and ſtriplings tonadillas ſing;
Their voice, their touch diſgrace the ſoft guitar,
My catches mangle, my cantatas mar.
Let not thy boſom harbour jealous flames;
My ſteady ſcorn repuls'd th' Iernian dames.
My love of thee, the love of muſic aids;
I ſpurn th' addreſſes of untuneful maids.
A thouſand ſonnets ſpoke the tender fear;
But, out of tune, no ſonnet reach'd my ear.
Me more it charm'd with beggar-wench to ſtray,
In wanton dalliance, all a ſummer's day,
Thro' darkſome lanes, that vie with Tempe's vales,
Where frequent dram-ſhop balmy cloud exhales,
And ſteaming whiſkey trulls and butcher's boys regales;
Whiſkey, that mantles in the ſparkling glaſs,
And, bleſt Nepenthe, chears the northern laſs.
[14]I tun'd my fiddle with Amphion's arts,
To melt and harmonize barbarian hearts.
I would have taught the ſavage maids to move
In graceful dance, that paints the joys of love;
I would have taught them the guitar to ſtring,
To troll the tonadil, the catch to ſing;
But ſcreams of diſcord all my ſenſes wound,
And, rule diſdaining, ſharps and flats confound.
This guilty cauſe inflam'd the wives of Thrace
'Gainſt thee, muſician of celeſtial race!
To teach them catches hapleſs Orpheus ſtrove;
They ſcorn'd his fiddle, but they ſought his love.
A ſong he gave them, but a kiſs deny'd;
So bard and fiddle down the Hebrus glide.
Each moment bade ſome indecorum riſe,
Some beaſtly cuſtom ſhock'd my tortur'd eyes.
Heav'ns! how I tremble, chill'd with panic fear,
When water-glaſſes at the board appear!
5[15]How ſhall the hapleſs traveller ſcape undrown'd,
When direful females ſpout the table round!
Yes, Pinna, yes; conceive the ſoul diſgrace;
A mouthful oft was ſpurted in my face.
Thus, when a ſtorm has plough'd the watery way,
And whales, in fulneſs of their bellies, play;
A thouſand noſtrils ſeem to threat the ſky,
And lab'ring barks the ſpouting deluge fly.
Too well, my love, thou know'ſt the guilty ſhore,
And "perils ſuch as never errant bore."
And ſay, what prize repay'd the toil and pains?
What joy ſeduc'd me to the fatal plains?
No ſpeaking picture crowns the lordly dome,
No breathing marble of old Greece or Rome;
[16]No ſpreading towns the traveller's eye delight,
No ſtately villas burſt upon his ſight;
Along the road, nor lord nor eſquire waits,
To tempt the traveller to his open gates;
Fled the laſt honour of the ſavage kind,
Their only boaſt, the hoſpitable mind.
Some, once invited, never aſk'd me more;
And ſome againſt me ſhut the niggard door;
Some whiſper'd while I play'd my fav'rite airs;
And ſome, more civil, ſhew'd me down their ſtairs.
But never will I mourn my toil and pains,
My weary wanderings on Hibernian plains,
Tho' drag'd thro' lakes, or into rivers hurl'd,
Since there I ſaw the wonder of the world.
A wond'rous trout exalts one favour'd lake;
And months and years I'd journey for its ſake.
6[17]Of fiſh they talk'd with gizzard like a bird:
I went, by doubtful, faint emotions, ſtir'd.
Heavens! have I caught it! rapture fires my mind!
Gods! Gods! the gizzard of the winged kind!
Here ſmack your horſe-whips, let your cudgels fall,
Hibernian Squires! for this I'd ſcorn them all.
I gain'd the trout, the precious trophy bore,
Preſerv'd in whiſkey, from the magic ſhore.
Haſte, haſte, ye ſages! ye whom nature fires!
Gaze on my fiſh, and ſatiate your deſires!
In vain his brethren ſeek, a curious train,
The darling treaſure from thy Twiſs to gain;
For when, my Pinna, Murcia's bowers I ſee,
Both trout and gizzard ſhall be fry'd for thee.
[18]Well might an artiſt travel from afar,
To view the ſtructure of a low-back'd car.
A downy mattreſs on the car is laid,
The rev'rend father mounts, and tender maid.
Some back to back, ſome ſide by ſide are plac'd,
The raviſh'd maid by panting youth embrac'd.
By dozens thus, full many a Sunday morn,
With dangling legs the jovial croud is borne;
Clontarf they ſeek, or Howth's aſpiring brow,
Or
Leixlip, ſmiling on the ſtream below.
7[19]When eaſe and cheapneſs would thy Twiſs en⯑gage,
Cars he prefer'd to noddies or to ſtage.
Oft on a car Buvindus ſaw me ride
From Tredagh's towers along his verdant ſide.
Wonders like theſe, of nature and of art,
Midſt all his ſuff'rings chear'd thy Richard's heart;
And ſocial comforts lent their genial rays,
When ſome kind Bufo gave his port and praiſe.
But why, my Pinna, kill me with thy tears,
Thy cauſeleſs ſorrows, and thy idle fears?
Wrong not, my fair, thy lover and thy ſelf! —
What!—Twiſs deſert the Murcian maid for pelf!
Yet ſay, that gold could win thy Richard's charms,
Or grandeur lure him from thy conſtant arms:
[20]Fear not a rival on th' Hibernian plain;
I ſcorn its damſels, a penurious train.
Scarce by their portions are their gowns ſupply'd,
And all their little wealth is dreſs and pride.
No Cupid there his arrows tips with gold,
Nor
Plutus knits the bands that lovers hold.
8[21]No wary ſouls in bonds of Ind are caught,
No little loves arithmetic are taught;
But home-bred virtue lurks with idle ſtealth,
And boaſts in honour what it wants in wealth.
Ceaſe, fond upbraider! ceaſe the melting ſigh;
For, big with joy, the teeming moments fly:
Not long ſhall fate disjoin our plighted hands,
Or hold thy Twiſs from love's delicious bands.
One only wandering for the youth remains:
Then Venus wafts him to th' Iberian plains.
Now fair occaſion courts his ſwelling ſails,
To fiſh on Greenland's happy ſhore for whales;
To ſtrike th' harpoon, uncoil the kindling line,
To boil the blubber, and the fat refine;
9[22]To roam with bears on drifted ice that live,
'Till gentle converſe full refinement give;
'Till meet aſſociates happy nature aid,
And make him perfect for the Murcian maid.
FINIS.
