The text comes from Finch’s Miscellany Poems on Several Occasions (1713).
| What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev’ry thing dost ape? | ||
| Thou Proteus to abus’d Mankind, | ||
| Who never yet thy real Cause cou’d find, | ||
| Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape. | ||
| 5 | Still varying thy perplexing Form, | |
| Now a Dead Sea thou’lt represent, | ||
| A Calm of stupid Discontent, | ||
| Then, dashing on the Rocks wilt rage into a Storm. | ||
| Trembling sometimes thou dost appear, | ||
| 10 | Dissolv’d into a Panick Fear; | |
| On Sleep intruding dost thy Shadows spread, | ||
| Thy gloomy Terrours round the silent Bed, | ||
| And croud with boading Dreams the Melancholy Head: | ||
| Or, when the Midnight Hour is told, | ||
| 15 | And drooping Lids thou still dost waking hold, | |
| Thy fond Delusions cheat the Eyes, | ||
| Before them antick Spectres dance, | ||
| Unusual Fires their pointed Heads advance, | ||
| And airy Phantoms rise. | ||
| 20 | Such was the monstrous Vision seen, | |
| When Brutus (now beneath his Cares opprest, | ||
| And all Rome’s Fortunes rolling in his Breast, | ||
| Before Philippi’s latest Field, | ||
| Before his Fate did to Octavius lead) | ||
| 25 | Was vanquish’d by the Spleen. | |
| Falsly, the Mortal Part we blame | ||
| Of our deprest, and pond’rous Frame, | ||
| Which, till the First degrading Sin | ||
| Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in, | ||
| 30 | Still with the Other did comply, | |
| Nor clogg’d the Active Soul, dispos’d to fly, | ||
| And range the Mansions of it’s native Sky. | ||
| Nor, whilst in his own Heaven he dwelt, | ||
| Whilst Man his Paradice possest, | ||
| 35 | His fertile Garden in the fragrant East, | |
| And all united Odours smelt, | ||
| No armed Sweets, until thy Reign, | ||
| Cou’d shock the Sense, or in the Face | ||
| A flusht, unhandsom Colour place. | ||
| 40 | Now the Jonquille o’ercomes the feeble Brain; | |
| We faint beneath the Aromatick Pain, | ||
| Till some offensive Scent thy Pow’rs appease, | ||
| And Pleasure we resign for short, and nauseous Ease. | ||
| In ev’ry One thou dost possess, | ||
| 45 | New are thy Motions, and thy Dress: | |
| Now in some Grove a list’ning Friend | ||
| Thy false Suggestions must attend, | ||
| Thy whisper’d Griefs, thy fancy’d Sorrows hear, | ||
| Breath’d in a Sigh, and witness’d by a Tear; | ||
| 50 | Whilst in the light, and vulgar Croud, | |
| Thy Slaves, more clamorous and loud, | ||
| By Laughters unprovok’d, thy Influence too confess. | ||
| In the Imperious Wife thou Vapours art, | ||
| Which from o’erheated Passions rise | ||
| 55 | In Clouds to the attractive Brain, | |
| Until descending thence again, | ||
| Thro’ the o’er-cast, and show’ring Eyes, | ||
| Upon her Husband’s soften’d Heart, | ||
| He the disputed Point must yield, | ||
| 60 | Something resign of the contested Field; | |
| Till Lordly Man, born to Imperial Sway, | ||
| Compounds for Peace, to make that Right away, | ||
| And Woman, arm’d with Spleen, do’s servilely Obey. | ||
| The Fool, to imitate the Wits, | ||
| 65 | Complains of thy pretended Fits, | |
| And Dulness, born with him, wou’d lay | ||
| Upon thy accidental Sway; | ||
| Because, sometimes, thou dost presume | ||
| Into the ablest Heads to come: | ||
| 70 | That, often, Men of Thoughts refin’d, | |
| Impatient of unequal Sence, | ||
| Such slow Returns, where they so much dispense, | ||
| Retiring from the Croud, are to thy Shades inclin’d. | ||
| O’er me alas! thou dost too much prevail: | ||
| 75 | I feel thy Force, whilst I against thee rail; | |
| I feel my Verse decay, and my crampt Numbers fail. | ||
| Thro’ thy black Jaundice I all Objects see, | ||
| As Dark, and Terrible as Thee, | ||
| My Lines decry’d, and my Employment thought | ||
| 80 | An useless Folly, or presumptuous Fault: | |
| Whilst in the Muses Paths I stray, | ||
| Whilst in their Groves, and by their secret Springs | ||
| My Hand delights to trace unusual Things, | ||
| And deviates from the known, and common way; | ||
| 85 | Nor will in fading Silks compose | |
| Faintly th’ inimitable Rose, | ||
| Fill up an ill-drawn Bird, or paint on Glass | ||
| The Sov’reign’s blurr’d and undistinguish’d Face, | ||
| The threatning Angel, and the speaking Ass. | ||
| 90 | Patron thou art to ev’ry gross Abuse, | |
| The sullen Husband’s feign’d Excuse, | ||
| When the ill Humour with his Wife he spends, | ||
| And bears recruited Wit, and Spirits to his Friends. | ||
| The Son of Bacchus pleads thy Pow’r, | ||
| 95 | As to the Glass he still repairs, | |
| Pretends but to remove thy Cares, | ||
| Snatch from thy Shades one gay, and smiling Hour, | ||
| And drown thy Kingdom in a purple Show’r. | ||
| When the Coquette, whom ev’ry Fool admires, | ||
| 100 | Wou’d in Variety be Fair, | |
| And, changing hastily the Scene | ||
| From Light, Impertinent, and Vain, | ||
| Assumes a soft, a melancholy Air, | ||
| And of her Eyes rebates the wand’ring Fires, | ||
| 105 | The careless Posture, and the Head reclin’d, | |
| The thoughtful, and composed Face, | ||
| Proclaiming the withdrawn, the absent Mind, | ||
| Allows the Fop more liberty to gaze, | ||
| Who gently for the tender Cause inquires; | ||
| 110 | The Cause, indeed, is a Defect in Sense, | |
| Yet is the Spleen alledg’d, and still the dull Pretence, | ||
| But these are thy fantastick Harms, | ||
| The Tricks of thy pernicious Stage, | ||
| Which do the weaker Sort engage; | ||
| 115 | Worse are the dire Effects of thy more pow’rful Charms | |
| By Thee Religion, all we know, | ||
| That shou’d enlighten here below, | ||
| Is veil’d in Darkness, and perplext | ||
| With anxious Doubts, with endless Scruples vext, | ||
| 120 | And some Restraint imply’d from each perverted Text. | |
| Whilst Touch not, Taste not, what is freely giv’n, | ||
| Is but thy niggard Voice, disgracing bounteous Heav’n. | ||
| From Speech restrain’d, by thy Deceits abus’d, | ||
| To Desarts banish’d, or in Cells reclus’d, | ||
| 125 | Mistaken Vot’ries to the Pow’rs Divine, | |
| Whilst they a purer Sacrifice design, | ||
| Do but the Spleen obey, and worship at thy Shrine. | ||
| In vain to chase thee ev’ry Art we try, | ||
| In vain all Remedies apply, | ||
| 130 | In vain the Indian Leaf infuse, | |
| Or the parch’d Eastern Berry bruise; | ||
| Some pass, in vain, those Bounds, and nobler Liquors use. | ||
| Now Harmony, in vain, we bring, | ||
| Inspire the Flute, and touch the String. | ||
| 135 | From Harmony no help is had; | |
| Musick but soothes thee, if too sweetly sad, | ||
| And if too light, but turns thee gayly Mad. | ||
| Tho’ the Physicians greatest Gains, | ||
| Altho’ his growing Wealth he sees | ||
| 140 | Daily encreas’d by Ladies Fees, | |
| Yet dost thou baffle all his studious Pains. | ||
| Not skilful Lower thy Source cou’d find, | ||
| Or thro’ the well-dissected Body trace | ||
| The secret, the mysterious ways, | ||
| 145 | By which thou dost surprize, and prey upon the Mind. | |
| Tho’ in the Search, too deep for Humane Thought, | ||
| With unsuccessful Toil he wrought, | ||
| ’Till thinking Thee to’ve catch’d, Himself by thee was caught, | ||
| Retain’d thy Pris’ner, thy acknowledg’d Slave, | ||
| 150 | And sunk beneath thy Chain to a lamented Grave. |