Do you correct your gait, adjust your air,
And bid your tailor take uncommon care?
Before your glass each morning do you stand,
And tie your neckcloth with a critic's hand?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For dressing ever was a mark of love.
Do books and worldly cares no longer please?
Can no diversions give your heart-pains ease?
Have wealth and honours lost their wonted charms?
And does ambition yield to Cupid's arms?
Is your whole frame dissolv'd, by love engross'd,
To study, interest, and preferment lost?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For if aught else prevails, you do not love.
Do all your thoughts, your wishes, and desires,
Comply with her's, and burn with mutual fires?
If she loves balls, assemblies, operas, plays,
Do they in you the same amusement raise ?
If she at Ombre loves to waste the night,
Do you
in Ombre take the same delight?
If to the ring her graceful horses prance,
Does your new chariot to the ring advance ?
If in the Mall she chuses to appear,
Or if at court, do you attend her there?
What she commends, does your officious tongue
Approve, and censure what she judges wrong?
Are all her loves and her aversions thine?
In all her joys and sorrows dost thou join?
Art thou, my friend, united to her frame,
Thy heart, thy passions, and thy soul the same?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For without sympathy you cannot love.
Didst thou e'er strive, once more sincerely say,
With friends and wine to drive thy cares away?
And have e'en these endeavours prov'd in vain,
Will neither friends nor wine remove thy pain?
Dost thou sit pensive, full of thought, repine,
And in thy turn forget the circling wine?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For if wine drowns your flame you do not love.
Art thou a tame, resign'd, submissive swain?
Canst thou bear scorn, repulses, and disdain ?
Can no ill-treatment nor unkind returns,
Quench the strong flame that in thy marrow burns?
But do they rather aggravate thy smart,
And give a quicker edge to every dart?
Does not each scornful look or angry jest,
Drive the keen passion deeper in thy breast?
Do not her poignant questions and replies,
Thy partial ears agreeably surprize?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For if you can resent, you do not love.
Whole live-long days you have enjoy'd her sight;
Say, were your eyes e'er sated with delight?
Did not you wish each moment to return?
Did not
your breast with stronger ardours burn?
Did not each view another view provoke?
And every meeting give a deeper stroke?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For there is no satiety in love.
Perhaps you judge it an imprudent flame,
And therefore live at distance from the dame:
But what is the effect? does absence heal
Those wounds, which smarting in her sight you feel?
Does not to her your mind unbidden stray?
Does not your heart confess her distant sway?
Does not each rising thought enhance your pain?
And don't you long to see her once again?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For that which absence cancels is not love.
Suppose, once more, your parents or your friends Either for peevish or prudential ends,
Should thwart thy choice, thy promis'd bliss oppose,
Would'st thou for her engage all these thy foes?
Would'st thou despise an angry father's frown,
And scorn the noisy censures of the town?
Could'st thou, possess'd of her, with patience see
The coxcomb's finger pointed forth at thee?
Would it not vex you, as you pass along,
To hear the little spleen of every tongue?
"There goes the fond young fool, who t'other day,
"In heedless wedlock threw himself away;
"And to indulge the rash, ungovern'd heat.
"Of a vain passion, lost a good estate !"
Would not such insults grate thy tender ear?
Could'st thou, besides, without compunction bear
The scornful smile, and the disdainful sneer?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For he who loves with reason, does not love..
Still must I touch thee in a tend❜rer part:
Would not a happy rival stab thy heart?
Could'st thou behold the darling of thy breast
With freedom by another youth caress'd?
Say, could'st thou to thy dearest friend afford
A kiss, a smile, or one obliging word?
Say, at the public ball, or private dance,
When the brisk couples artfully advance,
Could'st thou, unmov'd with indignation, stand:
If to another she resign'd her hand?
Would your heart rest at ease, or would it swell
With all the pains, the sharpest pains of hell?
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For, without jealousy, you cannot love.
To the last question of thy trusty friendTho' many more might still be ask’d-attend : To purge her virtue, or revenge her wrongs, For beauty is the theme of busy tonguesShould blood be call'd for in the doubtful strife, Would'st thou with pleasure part with blood-or life? Would'st thou all dangers in her cause despise, And meet unequal foes for such a prize? Would it not plant new courage in thy heart, And double vigour to thy arm impart ?
To screen thy mistress from the slightest harms, Wouldst not thou purchase death, and would not death have charms
From hence a real passion you may prove,
For never yet was coward known to love.
By these prescriptions judge your inward part,
Put all these questions closely to your heart;
And if by them your flame you can approve,
Then will I own that you sincerely love.
Moses Brown was not a native of Kent, and is connected with that county only by residing there in the latter part of his life, when chaplain of Morden College.
In his youth he is said to have been a pen-cutter; he did not however, content himself with forming that most important instrument, he had an ambition to try his powers in using it, and upon the establishment of the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1731, became one of Mr. Urban's earliest poetical, and probably general correspondents. He was a competitor for the prizes offered to poetical writers, by the worthy proprietor of that miscellany, the memorable Edward Cave, and in three or four instances bore away the palm. He was then according to his own statement-"in perfect obscurity"-but he afterwards seems, if an opinion may be formed by the notices scattered through his published works, to have secured the notice and patronage of several eminent persons; particularly of George B. Doddington, Esq. afterwards Lord Melcombe, Lord Orrery the Countess of Hertford, and the Reverend Mr. Hervey, author of the "Meditations."
His earliest detached publication was a series of mine Piscatory Eclogues, which he addressed to
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