A Satire is arrived this day, And it must be repelled this night: Ye Powers! assist us what to say, For, from ourselves, we nothing write.
We could have laughed at all you said, But when you writ — it struck us dead!— Megara!— do forbear to write, Or rage with less malignant spite.
Leave it to men to snap and snarl — Be you the sweet engaging girl — Great in your smiles — weak in your arm — All vengeance, with no power to harm.
I'll borrow from a scribbling set A Raven's feather, black as jet, And with the vengeance of the pen Create confusion in your Den.
This, from an impulse all unknown, Shall temper down your heart of stone, Turn storms of hail to showers of rain, And bring your happy smiles again.
But still, unwilling to resent What folly for a Satire meant, Peruse a fable that may blast, And your number one — make number last.
In ancient times, no matter when, A lady, in some ancient reign ( Perhaps in Greece, perhaps in Rome, Perhaps in countries nearer home. )
This lady, rather fond of Fun, Had put a suit of armour on: With bow and arrows, and her fan She conquered many an honest man.
One day she met, in a desart waste A wight unseemely to her taste; His brow, she thought, had too much frown; Thought she, “I'll fetch the fellow down.”
And strait she bends her twanging bow, And to his breast the arrows go! They tore a passage through his vest, But bounded from his solid chest.
Another dart she aimed, and missed, Then boarded him, and bit his fist — Her grinders left a trifling mark — They were not grinders of a shark.
She scampered then, and, as she flew, Another feeble arrow threw, Which though intended for one spot, It glanced aside, and touched him not.
Enraged, he threw his mantle off, And said, She shall be plagued enough! Then, swift as fate, her pace defied, Out went her trot, and joined her side.—
Megara was in such a glow!— When thus the ruffian hailed her, “Hoa!— What, Madam, are your spirits low?— Heave to!— you are my prisoner now!” —
Megara saw that all was gone!— She saw, her teeth would now be drawn: She saw her weapons were his prize, She saw it, and with flowing eyes,
And with a feeble squeak or two, She faintly bawled out, Who are you? “From whence I came, or what I am, “Perhaps I may inform you, Ma'am:
“I come from lands of Pure Delight, “Where female warriors do not Bite. “You view me with an eye of scorn!— “When I was old you were unborn:
“When I aspired on eagle's wings “You were among unthought of things. “And did you hope to escape my rage, “You toy-shop on a strolling stage!
“You insect of a puny race, “You baggage formed of gauze and lace! “The proudest strength you can assume, “Shakes not one feather from my plume.
“My lot is in the aether cast, “I sail upon the northern blast; “Am mostly seen when whirlwinds rise, “And love the storm that rends the skies.
“When thunders roar and lightnings flash, “Then is my time to cut a dash: “The clouds of hell alarm me less “Than you, some sad old fashioned dress.
“And, if to answer some great end, “I to this wrangling world descend, “With force unknown, and pinions strong, “I travel quick and stay not long.
“My spear is like a weaver's beam, “And pointed well at each extreme; “It flies with a tremendous force, “And rivals lightning in its course.
“Of all things that are seen or known, “I hate a Calm — and say, Begone “Stagnation from this rolling ball, “Or slumbers in this Dreadful All!
“I rise upon the drift of snow — “In polar frosts my spirits glow — “In the torrid zone, I temperate keep, “And wake!— when you, Megara, sleep.
“I come from ghosts, that dreary brood, “Whose aspect would congeal your blood! “A people on the infernal coast, “Who know me well, and love me most.
“I courted there, and found her kind, “A ghostess, suited to my mind; “Her wedding gown was flounced with soot, “And near her nose hung snuff and smut:
“She pointed to her father's gate, “( A graveyard was his whole estate ) “The bars were weak, the boards were thin, “She sung a psalm — and took me in.
“Of shadowy stuff my parents were, “Composed of fogs, or framed of air: “He sold his brimstone to the skies, “While nitre kindled in Her eyes.
“They feasted on the vapours blue, “Their glass of wine was evening dew; “On Etna's top they made their bed, “And there was I, their devil, bred.
“My prowess is almost adored, “I blunt the edge of Orion's sword; “I seize Aquarius by the throat, “Nor care for Libra, or the Goat.
“My word is, when I meet my foes, “Here's to the Lucky Wind that blows! “And, instant, all is sighs and groans, “And battered heads, and broken bones.
“I now reward you for your spite — “I draw my weapon — see, how bright! “My last exploit in war I crown, “And thus — and thus — I throw you down!
“Ah, miscreant! why that scream of death? “I only meant to — draw your teeth!— “Oh no!— I scorn to take your life — “Go, Madam,— be a prudent wife.
“But, lady, I would have you know “You lose your arrows and your bow: “They are indeed of slender make, “And, in your hands might kill a rake:
“So, to prevent such fatal harms, “I leave you destitute of arms — “I now must go!” — he, laughing, said, And vanished to the Stygian shade.
This contest with Megara done, Thou dear, defeated Amazon!— As happy, now, as man can be, I hang my pen on yonder tree:
It only asks one day of rest, It yields to every changing blast — Yes — let it stay suspended there, And strike My Colours — if you dare!
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