"Well! does that make you wise, / Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!"
— Duncombe, John (1729-1786) [pseud.]
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for W. Owen
Date
1752
Metaphor
"Well! does that make you wise, / Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!"
Metaphor in Context
You seek the marry'd Dame--I walk the Street,
And pick up the first willing Wench I meet;
Lust eggs us both--Lust is in both the same;
Our Passions differ not, unless in Name;
She takes me to her Room--We kiss, we toy;
I task her to the Height of am'rous Joy--
Unhurt in Character, I quit her Charms,
Nor care what happier Rival fills her Arms.
Whilst you, disguis'd, and fearful to be known,
Quit, for the Habit of a Slave, your own.
Disguis'd in vain, wake from your foolish Dream,
And own yourself the very Slave you seem;
The Slave of Passion; which perverts Truth's Plan,
And sinks the virtuous in the vicious Man.
With Caution introduc'd, you trembling move,
Unfit for the rough Exercise of Love:
Behold, the Object of your Pleasure near,
You thrill with Rapture, and you shake with Fear.
The Husband comes--New Terrors fill your Head;
The dreaded Sword already dooms you dead.
Perhaps the Confidant, to save you, tries,
And hides you from the jealous Husband's Eyes.
Cramm'd in some Chest, you writhe all Night with Pain,
And dare not for your Safety once complain:
The Man whom, by your Rank, abroad you awe,
Sits in your Place, and gives his Lord the Law.
But tell me, Which for Vengeance loudest calls,
The Wretch who tempts, or who, when tempted, falls?
Alike to blame, but diff'ring in Degree,
Each Eye your greater Infamy can see.
Less criminal by far, she sought not you,
Nor chang'd her Garb, to shun the public View;
Ev'n in the Height of Joy, which warms the Heart,
She acted a constrain'd imperfect Part;
A cumb'rous Load within her Arms you lay,
And all her Joys dissolv'd in Fears away.
All this you know--yet risk for this your All,
Life, Fortune, Fame; what Men still dearest call.
But you escape--Well! does that make you wise,
Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!
Caution'd in vain--Oh! ever Passion's Slave!
You tempt your Fate, and the same Dangers brave;
You seek again each Terror to renew,
And meet the Punishment so much your Due.
What Beast but Man, who once has broke his Chain,
Returns, and seeks to put it on again?
And pick up the first willing Wench I meet;
Lust eggs us both--Lust is in both the same;
Our Passions differ not, unless in Name;
She takes me to her Room--We kiss, we toy;
I task her to the Height of am'rous Joy--
Unhurt in Character, I quit her Charms,
Nor care what happier Rival fills her Arms.
Whilst you, disguis'd, and fearful to be known,
Quit, for the Habit of a Slave, your own.
Disguis'd in vain, wake from your foolish Dream,
And own yourself the very Slave you seem;
The Slave of Passion; which perverts Truth's Plan,
And sinks the virtuous in the vicious Man.
With Caution introduc'd, you trembling move,
Unfit for the rough Exercise of Love:
Behold, the Object of your Pleasure near,
You thrill with Rapture, and you shake with Fear.
The Husband comes--New Terrors fill your Head;
The dreaded Sword already dooms you dead.
Perhaps the Confidant, to save you, tries,
And hides you from the jealous Husband's Eyes.
Cramm'd in some Chest, you writhe all Night with Pain,
And dare not for your Safety once complain:
The Man whom, by your Rank, abroad you awe,
Sits in your Place, and gives his Lord the Law.
But tell me, Which for Vengeance loudest calls,
The Wretch who tempts, or who, when tempted, falls?
Alike to blame, but diff'ring in Degree,
Each Eye your greater Infamy can see.
Less criminal by far, she sought not you,
Nor chang'd her Garb, to shun the public View;
Ev'n in the Height of Joy, which warms the Heart,
She acted a constrain'd imperfect Part;
A cumb'rous Load within her Arms you lay,
And all her Joys dissolv'd in Fears away.
All this you know--yet risk for this your All,
Life, Fortune, Fame; what Men still dearest call.
But you escape--Well! does that make you wise,
Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!
Caution'd in vain--Oh! ever Passion's Slave!
You tempt your Fate, and the same Dangers brave;
You seek again each Terror to renew,
And meet the Punishment so much your Due.
What Beast but Man, who once has broke his Chain,
Returns, and seeks to put it on again?
Categories
Provenance
Searching HDIS for "master passion"
Citation
See Horace, Book II. Satire vii. Imitated: or, a Dialogue Between a Man of Fashion and His Valet. Inscribed to Richard Owen Cambridge, Esq; by Sir Nicholas Nemo, Knt. (London: Printed for W. Owen, 1752). <Link to ESTC> <Link to LION> [No attribution in ESTC].
Theme
Mind's Eye
Date of Entry
06/01/2004
