The Force Of Beauty Poem by Cornelius Arnold

Fair Celia! when I prais'd your Charms,
Your lovely Face and circling Arms;
Your sparkling Eyes so full of Fire,
That kindle at each Glance Desire;
Your snowy Breast that rise and fall,
Your Leg so taper neat and small;
An envious Cur sat leering by,
And giving thus my Tale the Lie,
Cry'd hold! your Love runs on too fast,
Believe me 'tis too hot to last;
But why so full of Celia's Praise?
Excuse the Laugh your Raptures raise;
They rather should my Pity move,
To see how Men are gull'd by Love;
How can they thus themselves degrade,
Wer'n't they for higher Uses made?
Patience, good Sir! don't testy be;
The Gods above, as well as we,
Have been to blame, if Love's a Fault,
A Thousand Cases might be brought,
To prove the Thing; well do so then-
That can I both from Gods and Men-
The Thund'rer having Right to claim,
As first of Gods, the first to name;
Great Jove himself did ne'er dispute,
To quit the God, commence the Brute;
The Bull's majestic Stride put on,
How soon Europa's Heart he won!
His Head brimful of Leda ran,
He did not scruple turning Swan;
He gain'd Alcmena in Disguise,
Alcmena an Amphitryon plies:
Nay more, his Godship deign'd so far,
E'n Things inanimate to wear;
Fair Danae's lovely Charms he'd win,
And in a Golden Show'r dropt in:
Grave Neptune lov'd his Amphitrité,
They say she'd Charms that would invite ye:
Nay, Pluto, that grim God of Hell,
'Tis said lov'd Proserpine so well;
He left his dusky Realm for Love,
And blaz'd in Sunshine here above;
'Till he could meet the lucky Chance,
And with his Proserpine could prance:
Now these three are your first-rate Gods,
Which prove's there's no more need of Words;
For no one e'er would be so rude,
To say the Gods don't know what's good;
But craving Patience-I will on,
And make the Case as clear as Noon:
Mars, best distinguish'd by his Scar,
Tho' stil'd the dreadful God of War;
Yet couldn't resist young Cupid's Dart,
Venus and he were found alert;
So blinded too their love-fraught Eyes,
That Vulcan's Net did both surprize:
Bacchus, that drunken frantic God,
Would drink, and then 'twas no ways odd;
Would wench, then drink, then wench, and so,
The various Round of Mirth would go;
Fair Ariadne was his Flame,
But when drunk, 'twas e'en just the same,
Whether the Daughter of a King,
Or any Drab, mean paltry Thing:
Apollo too, great Wisdom's God!
But Wisdom's sometimes seen to nod;
'Tis strange, but yet with all his Cunning,
Couldn't help after Daphne running:
Swift Daphne ran, the God pursu'd;
Could he have caught her, he'd been rude:
One would ha' thought that he'd known better,
And made coy Daphne gallop after.
So much for Gods, I'll e'en begin,
Hercules, as first of Men to sing;
Hercules, that Hero, Man of Might,
Who fifty Boys could get i'th'Night;
That Scourge of Tyrants, Monsters Dread,
The Urchin Cupid tamely led;
Omphale would wear the Lion's Skin,
The while she made him sit and spin;
His Club too he must throw away,
The Distaff take, and with her play:
Achilles too, forsooth, couldn't fight,
Out of Deidamia's Sight;
Oh! how his Stars he oft would bless,
Whilst lay disguis'd in Female Dress;
Among the Royal Fair One's rov'd,
Who highly the Campaign approv'd;
Whilst in their Arms he found Repose,
A Fig for Greece and all her Foes:
Nay, what is stranger yet to tell,
Some Folks have e'en gone down to Hell;
'Tis said Eurydice the fair,
Made crazy Orpheus tramp down there:
If there was need of farther Store,
I could produce a Thousand more;
'No, no, you've made the Thing appear;
'Your Pardon, Sir! 'tis very clear:'
Why all I meant by't is to shew,
That Gods above, and Men below;
All, Celia! own the Pow'r divine;
All, all must feel such Charms as thine.