Nicholas Amhurst

1697-1742 / England

To Miss Polly Peachum A Town Pastoral

Farewell! ye Nymphs, who range the humble Plains;
Henceforth a nobler Subject swells my Strains;
Aid all ye Muses; all your Strength combine;
For in dear Polly all the Muses shine.

When on the Stage you act the moving Part,
My Ears and Eyes conspire to rack my Heart;
I gaze, I listen; and in Doubt am lost
Which happy Faculty is ravish'd most;
Thy Charms transport me, while I bless thy Voice,
And in the general, loud Applause rejoice.

Through every Scene thy rigid Fate I moan,
And in thy soft Distress forget my own;
Domestick Charges, Courtly Bills unpaid,
Increasing Taxes and declining Trade,
Debts, Pensions, Bribes no more disturb my Mind,
And ev'n the Coal--Act leaves no sting behind.

With Thee when Lucy dares dispute the Prize,
On the vain Slut I fix my scornful Eyes;
Contempt and Rage my throbbing Heart invade,
And from my Soul I curse--the Saucy Jade!

When bound in Chains the great Macheath I see,
Betray'd and sentenced to the fatal Tree,
Moved with thy Tears, my Patriot--Fires decay,
And publick Zeal to private Love gives Way,
Compassion rises for the Robbing Race,
And, for thy Sake, I beg an Act of Grace.

But shall my Lips, against the righteous Laws,
Vouchsafe to plead a publick Robber's Cause?
Ah! no--since Justice dooms him to the Cart,
Let him be hang'd, that I may gain thy Heart--
Yet how can I expect thy Heart to gain,
When Nobles sigh and Ribons glare in vain?

Once more I long, with unexampled Art
To see Thee act this dear, delightful Part;
When not in vain thou shalt thy Fate bemoan,
The Rapture ours, the Benefit thy own.
Close in my Purse a Guinea, golden--bright,
I keep reserved for that expected Night;
More would I give!--but what my Stars deny,
Let Courtiers and contending Peers supply.

Nor groundless is the Hope--with Joy I see
Courtiers and Peers contend in praising Thee;
Sooth'd with thy British Notes and warbling Flights,
The Patriot and Pensioner unites.
Ev'n thy own Sex thy shining Charms extol,
And, young or old, acknowledge pretty Poll;
While Envy is itself in Wonder lost,
And Factions strive who shall applaud Thee most.
79 Total read