Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420378" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fan : A Poem. Book I.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sing that graceful toy, whose waving play,<br>With gentle gales relieves the sultry day.<br>Not the wide fan by Persian dames display'd, <br>Which o'er their beauty casts a grateful shade;<br>Nor that long known in China's artful land,<br>Which, while it cools the face, fatigues the hand;<br>Nor shall the muse in Asian climates rove,<br>To seek in Indostan some spicy grove,<br>Where stretch'd at ease the panting lady lies,<br>To shun the fervour of meridian skies,<br>While sweating slaves catch every breeze of air,<br>And with wide-spreading fans refresh the fair;<br>No busy gnats her pleasing dreams molest,<br>Inflame her cheek, or ravage o'er her breast,<br>But artificial zephyrs round her fly,<br>And mitigate the fever of the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor shall Bermudas long the muse detain,<br>Whose fragrant forests bloom in Waller's strain,<br>Where breathing sweets from every field ascend,<br>And the wild woods with golden apples bend; <br>Yet let me in some odorous shade repose,<br>Whilst in my verse the fair Palmetto grows:<br>Like the tall pine it shoots its stately head,<br>From the broad top depending branches spread;<br>No knotty limbs the taper body bears,<br>Hung on each bough a single leaf appears,<br>Which shrivell'd in its infancy remains,<br>Like a clos'd fan, nor stretches wide its veins,<br>But as the seasons in their circle run,<br>Opes its ribb'd surface to the nearer sun;<br>Beneath this shade the weary peasant lies,<br>Plucks the broad leaf, and bids the breezes rise.<br>Stay, wandering muse, nor rove in foreign climes, <br>To thy own native shore confine thy rhymes.<br>Assist, ye Nine, your loftiest notes employ,<br>Say what celestial skill contriv'd the toy;<br>Say how this instrument of love began,<br>And in immortal strains display the fan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Strephon had long confest his amorous pain,<br>Which gay Corinna rally'd with disdain;<br>Sometimes in broken words he sigh'd his care,<br>Look'd pale, and trembled when he view'd the fair;<br>With bolder freedoms now the youth advanc'd,<br>He dress'd, he laugh'd, he sung, he rhym'd, he danc'd:<br>Now call'd more powerful presents to his aid,<br>And, to seduce the mistress, brib'd the maid;<br>Smooth flattery in her softer hours apply'd,<br>The surest charm to bind the force of pride.<br>But still unmov'd remains the scornful dame,<br>Insults her captive, and derides his flame.<br>When Strephon saw his vows dispers'd in air, <br>He sought in solitude to lose his care:<br>Relief in solitude he sought in vain,<br>It serv'd, like music, but to feed his pain.<br>To Venus now the slighted boy complains,<br>And calls the goddess in these tender strains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O potent queen, from Neptune's empire sprung, <br>Whose glorious birth admiring Nereids sung,<br>Who 'midst the fragrant plains of Cyprus rove,<br>Whose radiant presence gilds the Paphian grove,<br>And curling clouds of incense hide the skies;<br>O beauteous goddess, teach me how to move,<br>Inspire my tongue with eloquence of love,<br>If lost Adonis e'er thy bosom warm'd, <br>If e'er his eyes or godlike figure charm'd,<br>Think on those hours when first you felt the dart,<br>Think how you pin'd in absense of the swain:<br>By those uneasy minutes know my pain.<br>Even while Cydippe to Diana bows,<br>And at her shrine renews her virgin vows,<br>The lover, taught by thee, her pride o'ercame;<br>She reads his oaths, and feels an equal flame!<br>Oh, may my flame, like thine, Acontius prove,<br>May Venus dictate, and reward my love.<br>When crowds of suitors Atlanta try'd, <br>She wealth and beauty, wit and fame defy'd;<br>Each daring lover with advent'rous pace<br>Pursu'd his wishes in the dangerous race;<br>Like the swift hind, the bounding damsel flies,<br>Strains to the goal, the distanc'd lover dies.<br>Hippomenes, O Venus, was thy care,<br>You taught the swain to stay the flying fair,<br>Thy golden present caught the virgin's eyes,<br>She stoops; he rushes on, and gains the prize.<br>Say, Cyprian deity, what gift, what art,<br>Shall humble into love Corinna's heart,<br>If only some bright toy can charm her sight,<br>Teach me what present may suspend her flight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus the desponding youth his flame declares.<br>The goddess with a nod his passion hears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far in Cytherea stands a spacious grove,<br>Sacred to Venus and the god of love;<br>Here the luxuriant myrtle rears her head,<br>Like the tall oak the fragrant branches spread;<br>Here nature all her sweets profusely pours,<br>And paints the enamell'd ground with various flowers;<br>Deep in the gloomy shade a grotto bends,<br>Wide thro' the craggy rock an arch extends,<br>The rugged stone is cloth'd with mantling vines,<br>And round the cave the creeping woodbine twines.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here busy Cupids, with pernicious art,<br>Form the stiff bow, and forge the fatal dart;<br>All share the toil; while some the bellows ply,<br>Others with feathers teach the shafts to fly:<br>Some with joint force whirl round the stony wheel,<br>Where streams the sparkling fire from temper'd steel;<br>Some point their arrows with the nicest skill,<br>And with the warlike store their quivers fill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A different toil another forge employs;<br>Here the loud hammer fashions female toys.<br>Hence is the fair with ornament supply'd,<br>Hence sprung the glittering implements of pride;<br>Each trinket that adorns the modern dame,<br>First to these little artists ow'd its frame.<br>Here an unfinish'd diamond-crosslet lay,<br>To which soft lovers adoration pay;<br>There was the pollish'd crystal bottle seen,<br>That with quick scents revives the modish spleen<br>Here the yet rude unjointed snuff-box lies,<br>Which serves the rally'd fop for smart replies;<br>There piles of paper rose in glided reams,<br>The future records of the lover's flames;<br>Here clouded canes 'midst heaps of toys are found,<br>And inlaid tweezer-cases strow the ground.<br>There stands the toilette, nursery of charms,<br>Completely furnish'd with bright beauty's arms;<br>The patch, the powder-box, pulville, perfumes,<br>Pins, paints, a flattering glass, and black-lead combs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The toilsome hours in different labour slide,<br>Some work the file, and some the graver guide;<br>From the loud anvil the quick blow rebounds,<br>And their rais'd arms descend in tuneful sounds.<br>Thus when Semiramis, in ancient days,<br>Bade Babylon her mighty bulwarks raise;<br>A swarm of labourers different tasks attend:<br>Here pullies make the pond'rous oak ascend,<br>With echoing strokes the cragged quarry groans,<br>While there the chissel forms the shapeless stones;<br>The weighty mallet deals resounding blows,<br>Till the proud battlements her towers enclose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now Venus mounts her car, she shakes the reins,<br>And steers her turtles to Cythera's plains;<br>Straight to the grot with graceful step she goes,<br>Her loose ambrosial hair behind her flows:<br>The swelling bellows heave for breath no more,<br>All drop their silent hammers on the floor;<br>In deep suspense the mighty labour stands,<br>While thus the goddess spoke her mild commands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Industrious Loves, your present toils forbear,<br>A more important task demands your care;<br>Long has the scheme employ'd my thoughtful mind,<br>By judgement ripen'd, and by time refin'd.<br>That glorious bird have ye not often seen<br>Who draws the car of the celestial queen?<br>Have ye not oft survey'd his varying dyes,<br>His tall all gilded o'er with Argus' eyes?<br>have ye not seen him in the sunny day<br>Unfurl his plumes, and all his pride display,<br>Then suddenly contract his dazzling train,<br>And with long-trailing feathers sweep the plain?<br>Learn from this hint, let this instruct your art;<br>Thin taper sticks must from one centre part:<br>Let these into the quadrant's form divide,<br>The spreading ribs with snowy paper bide;<br>Here shall the pencil bid its colours flow,<br>And make a miniature creation grow.<br>Let the machine in equal foldings close,<br>And now its plaited surface wide dispose.<br>So shall the fair her idle hand employ,<br>And grace each motion with the restless toy,<br>With various play bid grateful zephyrs rise,<br>While love in ev'ry grateful zephyr flies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The master Cupid traces out the lines,<br>And with judicious hand the draught designs,<br>The expecting Loves with joy the model view,<br>And the joint labour eagerly pursue.<br>Some slit their arrows with the nicest art,<br>And into sticks convert the shiver'd dart;<br>The breathing bellows wake the sleeping sire,<br>Blow off the cinders and the sparks aspire;<br>Their arrow's point they soften in the flame,<br>And sounding hammers break its barbed frame:<br>Of this, the little pin they neatly mold,<br>From whence their arms the spreading sticks unfold;<br>In equal plaits they now the paper bend,<br>And at just distance the wide ribs extend,<br>Then on the frame they mount the limber skreen,<br>And finish instantly the new machine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The goddess pleas'd, the curious work receive,<br>Remounts her chariot, and the grotto leaves;<br>With the light fan she moves the yielding air,<br>And gales, till then unknown, play round the fair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unhappy lovers, how will you withstand, <br>When these new arms shall grace your charmer's hand?<br>In ancient times, when maids in thought were pure,<br>When eyes were artless, and the look demure,<br>When the wide ruff the well-turn'd neck enclos'd,<br>And heaving breasts within the stays repos'd,<br>When the close hood conceal'd the modest ear,<br>Ere black lead-combs disown'd the virgin's hair;<br>Then in the muff unactive fingers lay,<br>Nor taught the fan in fickle forms to play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How are the sex improv'd in amorous arts,<br>What new-found snares they bait for human hearts!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When kindling war the ravish'd globe ran o'er,<br>And flatten'd thirsty plains with human gore,<br>At first, the brandish'd arm the javelin threw,<br>Or sent wing'd arrows from the twanging yew;<br>In the bright air the dreadful fauchion shone,<br>Or whistling slings dismiss'd the uncertain stone.<br>Now men those less destructive arms despise,<br>Wide-wasted death from thundering cannon flies,<br>One hour with more battalions strows the plain,<br>Than were of yore in weekly battles slain.<br>So love with fatal airs the nymph supplies,<br>Her dress disposes, and directs her eyes.<br>The bosom now its panting beauty shows,<br>The experienc'd eye resistless glances throws;<br>Now vary'd patches wander o'er the face,<br>And strike each gazer with a borrow'd grace;<br>The fickle head-dress sinks and now aspires<br>A towery front of lace on branching wires.<br>The curling hair in tortur'd ringlets flows,<br>Or round the face in labour'd order grows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How shall I soar, and on unweary'd wing<br>Trace varying habits upward to their spring!<br>What force of thought, what numbers can express,<br>The inconstant equipage of female dress?<br>How the strait stays the slender waist constrain,<br>How to adjust the manteau's sweeping train?<br>What fancy can the petticoat surround,<br>With the capacious hoop of whalebone bound?<br>But stay, presumptuous muse, nor boldy dare<br>The Toilette's sacred mysteries declare;<br>Let a just distance be to beauty paid; <br>None here must enter but the trusty maid.<br>Should you the wardrobe's magazine rehearse,<br>And glossy manteaus rustle in thy verse;<br>Should you the rich brocaded suit unfold,<br>Where rising flowers grow stiff with frosted gold,<br>The dazzled muse would from her subject stray,<br>And in a maze of passions lose her way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Gay">John Gay</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420378" data-title="The Fan : A Poem. Book I. de John Gay" data-description="I sing that graceful toy, whose waving play,
With gentle gales relieves the sultry day.
Not the wide fan by Persian dames display'd, 
Which o'er their beauty casts a grateful shade;
Nor that long known in China's artful land,
Which, while it cools..."></div>
</div>
</div>