Suppose Cadenus flourished then, He must adore such God-like men.
If one short volume could comprise All that was witty, learned, and wise, How would it be esteemed, and read, Although the writer long were dead?
If such an author were alive, How all would for his friendship strive;And come in crowds to see his face?
And this she takes to be her case.
Cadenus answers every end, The book, the author, and the friend, The utmost her desires will reach, Is but to learn what he can teach;His converse is a system fit Alone to fill up all her wit;While ev'ry passion of her mind In him is centred and confined.
Love can with speech inspire a mute, And taught Vanessa to dispute.
This topic, never touched before, Displayed her eloquence the more:
Her knowledge, with such pains acquired, By this new passion grew inspired.
Through this she made all objects pass, Which gave a tincture o'er the mass;As rivers, though they bend and twine, Still to the sea their course incline;Or, as philosophers, who find Some fav'rite system to their mind, In every point to make it fit, Will force all nature to submit.
Cadenus, who could ne'er suspect His lessons would have such effect, Or be so artfully applied, Insensibly came on her side;It was an unforeseen event, Things took a turn he never meant.
Whoe'er excels in what we prize, Appears a hero to our eyes;Each girl, when pleased with what is taught, Will have the teacher in her thought.
When miss delights in her spinnet, A fiddler may a fortune get;A blockhead, with melodious voice In boarding-schools can have his choice;And oft the dancing-master's art Climbs from the toe to touch the heart.
In learning let a nymph delight, The pedant gets a mistress by't.
Cadenus, to his grief and shame, Could scarce oppose Vanessa's flame;But though her arguments were strong, At least could hardly with them wrong.
Howe'er it came, he could not tell, But, sure, she never talked so well.
His pride began to interpose, Preferred before a crowd of beaux, So bright a nymph to come unsought, Such wonder by his merit wrought;'Tis merit must with her prevail, He never know her judgment fail.
She noted all she ever read, And had a most discerning head.
'Tis an old maxim in the schools, That vanity's the food of fools;Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit.
So when Cadenus could not hide, He chose to justify his pride;Construing the passion she had shown, Much to her praise, more to his own.
Nature in him had merit placed, In her, a most judicious taste.
Love, hitherto a transient guest, Ne'er held possession in his breast;So long attending at the gate, Disdain'd to enter in so late.
Love, why do we one passion call?
When 'tis a compound of them all;
Where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet, In all their equipages meet;Where pleasures mixed with pains appear, Sorrow with joy, and hope with fear.
Wherein his dignity and age Forbid Cadenus to engage.
But friendship in its greatest height, A constant, rational delight, On virtue's basis fixed to last, When love's allurements long are past;Which gently warms, but cannot burn;
He gladly offers in return;
His want of passion will redeem, With gratitude, respect, esteem;With that devotion we bestow, When goddesses appear below.
