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A CURE FOR CANTING; AN ORIGINAL YANKEE POEM. IN TWO LETTERS.

ARGUMENT. A candidate for the Ministry of the Gospel is highly censured by a Physician, for some little familiarities taken with a young mai­den, whom he accidentally met with in his rambles into the fields, in the season for Strawberries—The Reverend Divine makes a spirited reply, and seems to justify him­self.

PHILADELPHIA: RE-PRINTED FROM THE NEW-ENGLAND EDITION, FOR THE BOOK-SELLERS—1800.

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A CURE FOR CANTING; AN ORIGINAL YANKEE POEM. IN TWO LETTERS.

LETTER I. C—H to D—W.

THE man of holy order trembles.
For plucking fruit behind the brambles.
The fruit was fair, it charm'd the sense,
Dress'd in the bloom of innocence;
Nor did he deem the touch a sin,
When acting o'er the harmless scene;
While all the mead, in frolic sporting,
Danc'd to the tune of harmless courting.
Strawberries chepuer'd o'er the soil,
Without the tint of artful guile:
The Priest was charm'd amid the show
Of fruit so fair, I know not how,
Nor should I tell, so I divine,
'Twould never make your feelings mine:
While some fair she your partner stood,
[Page 4] In natal charms, as nature should;
Yet careless she, without design,
Grew careful as a thing divine.
Without the aid of divination,
I must suspect your inclination,
From ancient stories something sim'lar,
Though in themselves near auricular.
For good king David, once at leisure,
Thought less of duty than of pleasure,
When Bathsheba was in the water,
(Poor thing, she thought of no such matter,)
His wanton eye beheld such beauty,
He leap'd the fence of sacred duty;
Nor poke, nor shackles could restrain
The giddy passions of the man,
Who in the absence of Uriah,
Grew waggish with new born desire;
Threw off his sacerdotal dress,
To grab a loyal subject's bliss;
And with an impious touch profane
The treasures of another man;
The cabinet to unlock and rifle,
And with this sacred thing to trifle;
Did what he would, without control,
And took possession of the whole.
Now, Sir, if fame and truth agree,
For such there is but one decree,
Which that good man had drawn in picture,
And painted with what some call scripture.
But I forbear, fame will tell lies,
And truth may fall a sacrifice.
Has Nathan paid a visit civil,
To warn you of a moral evil?
Or ever told in language plain,
"Behold thou art the very man?"
Has not some Delilah or other,
(The lovely creature of another)
By you been sought? O! here I rest,
[Page 5] And wish to leave you ever blest.
But Nathan knows, by revelation,
The secrets of imagination:
For if you only pluck away
A lamb, that in some bosom lay
With secrecy, and ne'er so still,
The harmless fraud he will reveal.
But kings and prophets are no more,
Nor can they breed on this our shore;
Where fair Delilah and lambs may sport,
And priests and people live unhurt.
Uriah and all the laws [...] gone,
With all the types that ever shone;
And nothing now but fair day light,
And naked truth obstructs the sight.
I beg your pardon, ask your favour,
Your servant, Sir, S—l C—h, forever.

LETTER II. D—W to C—H.

THINK you a sable vesture can
Suppress each passion of the man?
Drive Nature's feelings from their post,
And fill his youthful veins with frost?
Or, does fair Virtue ev'r require
T' extinguish all the am'rous fire?
Must he alone who preaches truth,
Be old and grey in midst of youth:
[Page 6] Nor treat a lass in social manner,
When he, by chance, comes pat upon her?
Nay, that I think is plaguy hard,
Impracticable and absurd.
And who forbids the harmless joy,
Are Deka-daimonasteroi:
For surely with the gospel mission
There's made for apostles full provision:
Have we not ample power to eat,
Just as we please, all kinds of meat?
To drink likewise, read news, and smoke,
And live as well as other folk?
Who'd go to war without some pelf?
What soldier fights and pays himself?
What man plants apples, peaches, pears,
And eats no fruit his orchard beaas?
Who makes a flock or herd his care,
And has no milk, nor clothes to wear?
Then is it not the highest reason,
That we who in, and out of season,
Sow spiritual things (for that's our trade)
Should be in CARNAL things repaid?
Tho' other cattle may be tether'd,
Muzzled, hamstring'd, pok'd and fetter'd:
Yet both the law and gospel warn,
To muzzle none that tread the corn.
Then blame not me for picking berries,
Or picking peaches, plumbs, or cherries;
Or any fruit of sweeter flavour,
Amid the vineyard where I labour:
For this is not a thing so awful.
But customary right and lawful
The ancient story you relate,
Of brave Uriah's wretched fate—
Of good king David, and his mistress,
Are hardly parallel with this case:
For David being a potent king,
Was not confin'd to one poor thing,
[Page 7] Taken for better or for worse,
Perhaps of life the plague and curse.
He had throughout a fruitful land—
Women enough at his command;
And to relieve an am'rous mood,
Might find a Venus where he would.
But as for me, I've neither wreath
Nor sword to conquer ladies with:
And tho' in solitude I pine,
I've neither queen nor concubine.
Beside, the lass mid flowers fine,
I found, as Pluto, Proserpine,
Was neither matron nor a wife,
But bloom'd in single rural life.
What tho' for her some swain did sigh,
Struck by the light'ning of her eye;
'Tis nothing strange, such eyes can dart
A flame into the coldest heart;
And each swains heart goes pat a pittey,
On seeing damsels all so pretty.
On this we need to go no farther,
T' exclude adultery and murder.
But still the case I'm free to put,
As may your sneakish fancy suit;
And say through Shelburne's flow'ry fields,
Where earth her virgin sweetness yields,
I on a fair and leisure day
For exercise and pleasure stray;
Where blooming clover, white and red,
Their mingled sweet effluvia shed;
And all the sweets of June appear,
Their charms display'd the sense to cheer;
Say, in a vale where Strawb'ries grow,
I met a nymph—no matter who—
In neat simplicity of dress,
Such as becomes a shepherdess,
Made light and thin for Summer's day,
[Page 8] To catch the zephyrs as they play,
Her neck as fair as lilly show'd,
And round her, jetty tresses flow'd,
Love sparkled in her sable eye,
Her cheeks with rosy damask vie,
Her lips like strawb'ries sweet appear'd,
With which her fingers were besmear'd,
Proportion through her stature ran,
Complete enough to charm the man—
With youthful modesty and grace,
And virgin blushes in her face,
A little basket neat and trim,
She bore, replenish'd to the brim,
Of choicest berries, blushing, and
All gather'd by her own fair hand.
Instead of counterfeiting fright,
Or striving to get out of sight,
Or squalling like some silly prude,
That mortal foe to flesh and blood—
"You need, dear Sir, no farther go,
"I've got enough for me and you."
This with a virgin blush she said,
And gave me tythes of all she had.
By all the charms of Venus, say,
Would you in this case run away?
Or, can it be, I did amiss,
To greet this sister with a kiss?
But superstition, grim and awful,
Declares point blank 'twas all unlawful;
Allows a priest no flesh and blood,
But a mere ghostly brotherhood:
For recreation gives no time,
And takes a smile to be a crime.
The preacher's lot, alas, how hard,
From every human joy debar'd!
Oblig'd, by longitude of face,
T' evince the extent of faith and grace!
[Page 9] Assume a solemn ghostly tone,
Cry reason and [...] passions down!
Look very sad, [...] much reserve,
And be content [...] freeze or starve!
Keep up his disregarded clack,
And dress in melancholy black
His outward man from head to foot!
An emblem of I know not what:
Have nought of wit, or if he has it,
Be very careful ne'er to use it;
Do many things entirely vain,
Merely to be seen by men:
Obey th' unthinking multitude,
Or else incur their censures rude:
Depend upon the vulgar throng,
His judges, as to right and wrong;
And as he suits the rabble rout,
Will keep his place, or be turn'd out.
The boy in school, suspected rogue,
That feels the lash of pedagogue,
With this consoles each sad disaster—
He has but one capricious master,
But the poor priest must lashing take,
From every villain, fool, and rake,
Still patient their caprices see;
A pupil to his pupils be,
And seel the censure and control
Of ev'ry blockhead in his school:
In chains of cruel custom bound,
Must walk formality's dull round:
And if too fast or slow he trudge,
In ev'ry neighbour meets his judge
And executioner, combin'd,
Nor benefit of Clergy find:
Invisible things must keep his eyes on,
And wine and women shun as poison;
Have nought to gratify his sense,
[Page 10] Except his pipe and indolence:
And if he hankers for a wife,
To smooth th' asperities of life,
No lovely lass, that suits his taste,
May ever be by him embrac'd:
In such a case he has no choice,
But must obey his neighbour's voice;
Who still upon him will be urging
Some tarnish'd widow, or stale virgin;
And he, to get the matter over,
Has nought to do but wed and love her:
Hence 'tis the Clergy oft embrace
The refuse of the female race;
Find nuptial couch a bed of ice,
Where ardour cools, and fancy dies:
One takes a sickly, pallid creature,
With death portray'd in ev'ry feature:
Another weds, for his vexation,
A mass of pride and affectation:
By fate, a third is doom'd to clench
A whining, dirty, peevish wench;
Another weds, from Juno's rage,
A virgin, past the flower of age,
Of low'ring front, and visage wan,
And face all bearded like a man,
Protub'rant bones, thick skin, and knees
All rough as shagbark walnut trees:
A breathing, frightful piece of carrion,
And still as Lybia's desart barren.—
These are the sweet and chosen dames
Assign'd to quench the Clergy's flames;
These are the joys to smooth the brows,
The lib'ral multitude allows.
O happy men to physic bred,
Who're not by such caprices led!
Who neither faith nor morals need;
And if they can but write and read,
[Page 11] May the profoundest ignorance wrap in
Hard crabbed sounds of Greek and Latin.
To them mankind much credit give,
Merely for letting patients live:
If some they kill, 'tis not their crime,
Poor men! 'twas their appointed time.
They, living in luxurious ease,
May say and do just what they please;
Whom custom, from the days of yore,
Allows to laugh, and drink, and whore.
On one of this licencious train,
Censorious breath is spent in vain.
Deism, toping, fornication,
In them is but our expectation;
And who to these becomes a slave,
Does but as doctors always have:
And though some people disapprove it,
There's little notice taken of it.
But if a Priest does deviate
One inch from path to heaven's gate,
He's gaz'd at like a blazing star,
Because the thing's so very rare;
And in a trice his fame is hurl'd
To ruin by a gabbling world.
Not so the man of medic skill,
Allow'd to ramble where he will:
In him to talk profane and loose,
Is reckon'd witty and jocose;
And if he courts Sir RICHARD'S aid,
'Tis necessary to his trade:
To keep his life and soul together,
Expos'd to all extreames of weather;
Sustain his heart, and cheer his head,
Among the dying and the dead.
If with some maid he gets amour'd,
The sex's ails must all be cur'd.
Hence he, t' investigate diseases,
[Page 12] May feel and fumble where he pleases;
And topics where requir'd apply,
Each exigence to satisfy.
What's more, the doctor still is paid
For his intrigues with wife or maid;
And if he's caught in her embrace.
He's but examining her case,
As every faithful doctor should,
To make his application good;
'Tis thus, the silly husband buys
His horns at a prodigious price.
But why do I thus interfere
With things beyond my proper sphere?
Too long delay'd, I scrible now,
Your servant, Sir, H—s D—w.
FINIS.

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