Anne Finch, Countess Of Winchilsea(1661–1720)

The Spleen

A PindaricPoem3

What art thou, Spleen, which ev'ry thing dost ape,

T h o u P r o t e u s 4 t o a b u s e d m a n k i n d ,

W h o n e v e r yet thy real c a u s e c o u l d find,

O r fix t h e e t o r e m a i n i n o n e c o n t i n u e d s h a p e .

Still varying thy p e r p l e x i n g f o r m ,

Now a Dead Sea 5 thou'lt represent,

A calm of stupid 0 discontent,unfeeling, unreasoning

Then, dashing on the rocks wilt rage into a storm.

T r e m b l i n g s o m e t i m e s t h o u dost appear,

Dissolved into a panic fear;

O n s l e e p i n t r u d i n g dost thy s h a d o w s spread,

T h y g l o o m y terrors r o u n d t h e silent b e d ,

And crowd with boding 0 dreams the melancholy head;forboding

Or, when the midnight hour is told,

And drooping lids thou still dost waking hold,

Thy fond delusions cheat 0 the eyes,deceive

Before them antic 0 spectres dance,antique; bizarre

Unusual fires their pointed heads advance,

A n d airy p h a n t o m s rise.

S u c h w a s t h e m o n s t r o u s v i s i o n s e e n ,

W h e n B r u t u s 6 ( n o w b e n e a t h his c a r e s opprest,

And all Rome's fortunes rolling in his breast,

Before Philippi's latest field,

Before his fate did to Octavius lead)

Was vanquished by the Spleen.

Falsely, the mortal part we blame

Of our depressed, and pond'rous 0 frame,heavy, unwieldy

Which, till the first degrading sin

Let thee, its dull attendant, in,spleen

Still with the other did comply,7

Nor clogged the active soul, disposed to fly,

And range the mansions of its native sky.

Nor, whilst in his own heaven he dwelt,

Whilst Man his paradise possessed,

His fertile Garden in the fragrant East,

And all united odors smelled,

No armed sweets,8 until thy reign,

Could shock the sense, or in the face

A flushed, unhandsome color place.

Now the jonquil 0 o'ercomes the feeble brain;daffodil

We faint beneath the aromatic pain,

Till some offensive scent thy pow'rs appease,

And pleasure we resign 0 for short and nauseous ease.give up

In ev'ry one thou dost possess,

New are thy motions, and thy dress:effects

Now in some grove a list'ning friend

Thy false suggestions must attend,

Thy whispered griefs, thy fancied sorrows hear,

Breathed in a sigh, and witnessed 0 by a tear;confirmed

Whilst in the light and vulgar crowd,9

Thy slaves, more clamorous and loud,

By laughters unprovoked, thy influence too confess.

In the imperious wife thou vapors1 art,

Which from o'erheated passions rise

In clouds to the attractive2 brain,

Until descending thence again,

Through the o'er-cast and show'ring eyes,

Upon her husband's softened heart,

He the disputed point must yield,

Something resign of the contested field;

Till lordly Man, born to imperial sway,

Compounds 0 for peace, to make that right away,bargains

And Woman, arm'd with Spleen, does servilely obey.

T h e f o o l , t o i m i t a t e t h e wits,

C o m p l a i n s of thy p r e t e n d e d fits,

A n d d u l l n e s s , b o r n w i t h h i m , w o u l d lay

U p o n 3 thy a c c i d e n t a l sway;

B e c a u s e , s o m e t i m e s , t h o u dost p r e s u m e

I n t o t h e a b l e s t h e a d s t o c o m e :

T h a t , o f t e n , m e n of t h o u g h t s refined,

I m p a t i e n t o f u n e q u a l s e n s e ,

Such slow returns, where they so much dispense,

Retiring from the crowd, are to thy shades inclined. 4

O'er m e alas! t h o u d o s t t o o m u c h prevail:

I f e e l thy f o r c e , w h i l s t I against t h e e rail;

I feel my verse decay, and my cramped numbers 0 fail.verses, poetry

Through thy black jaundice I all objects see,

As dark and terrible as thee,

My lines decried, and my employment thought

An useless folly, or presumptuous fault:

W h i l s t in the M u s e s ' 5 p a t h s I stray,

W h i l s t in their groves, a n d by their s e c r e t springs

My hand delights to trace 0 unusual things,write

And deviates from the known and common way;

Nor will in fading silks compose

Faintly th' i n i m i t a b l e rose,

Fill up an ill-drawn bird, or p a i n t on glass6

The sov'reign's blurred and undistinguished face,

The threat'ning angel, and the speaking ass. 7

Patron thou art to ev'ry gross 0 abuse,flagrant

The sullen husband's feigned excuse,

When the ill humor with his wife he spends, 0exhausts

And bears recruited 0 wit, and spirits 0 to hisstrengthened I cheerfulness

friends.

T h e s o n o f B a c c h u s 8 p l e a d s thy pow'r,

A s t o t h e g l a s s h e Still r e p a i r s , 0continually I returns to

Pretends but to remove thy cares,

Snatch from thy shades one gay and smiling hour,

And drown thy kingdom in a purple show'r. 9

When the Coquette, 1 whom ev'ry fool admires,

Would 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 0 the wand'ring fires,diminishes

The careless posture, and the head reclined,

The thoughtful, and composed face,

Proclaiming the withdrawn, the absent mind,

Allows the Fop2 more liberty to gaze,

Who gently for the tender cause inquires;

The cause, indeed, is a defect in sense,

Yet is the Spleen alleged, and still the dull pretence.blamed

But these are thy fantastic 0 harms,imaginary

The tricks of thy pernicious stage,

Which do the weaker sort engage;

Worse are the dire effects of thy more pow'rful charms.

By thee Religion, all we know,

That should enlighten here below,

Is veiled in darkness, and perplexed

With anxious doubts, with endless scruples 0 vexed,uncertainties

And some restraint implied from each perverted text.3

Whilst touch not, taste not, what is freely giv'n,

Is but thy niggard 0 voice, disgracing bounteous heav'n. 4miserly

From speech restrained, by thy deceits abused,

To deserts banished, or in cells reclused,

Mistaken vot'ries 0 to the pow'rs divine,devout ivorshipers

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,

In vain the Indian leaP infuse,tea

Or the parched Eastern berry 0 bruise;coffee

Some pass, in vain, those bounds, and nobler liquors use.

Now harmony, in vain, we bring,

Inspire the flute, and touch the string.

From harmony no help is had;

Music but soothes thee, if too sweetly sad,

And if too light, but turns thee gaily mad.

Though the physicians greatest gains,

Although his growing wealth he sees

Daily increased by ladies' fees,

Yet dost thou baffle all his studious pains.

Not skillful Lower5 thy source could find,

Or through the well-dissected body trace

The secret, the mysterious ways,

By which thou dost surprise, and prey upon the mind.

Though in the search, too deep for humane thought,

With unsuccessful toil he wrought,worked

'Till thinking thee to've catched, himself by thee was caught,

Retained thy pris'ner, thy acknowledged slave,

And sunk beneath thy chain to a lamented grave.