The Three Suitors

Miss Porden

 Three suitors once a Damsel wooed,
 Of faultless form, and noble blood,
 One an Astronomer of name,
 The next a Chemist, high in fame,
 The third, an Architect renowned,
 For science, taste, and art profound.
  One day the Damsel they addressed
 In turn, and strove to speak their best.
 The Chemist the discourse began
 And thus its fluid tenor ran.

Oh fairest compound of celestial parts,
 Of dire effects the dear unconscious cause,
Whose eyes with radiant heat now fuse our hearts,
 And bid us own attractions sovereign laws
No longer with that frigid glance congeal
 The vermil globules that our veins distend
But let some melting word its passage steal
 And in solution, grains of pity send.

No more with that chill negative dispense
Electric shocks thro’ each benumbed sense
But let the positive, that saccharine word,
To me the acme of delight afford.

 The Architect next tried his art
 To build his image in her heart.

Oh matchless temple, sweet perfection’s shrine
The noblest raised by Nature’s power
Where all the parts in just proportion join
And make you o’er you sister beauties tower
Unused to speak, how shall I frame my strain
To reach the summit of perfection’s height,
To rise superior to your high disdain
Alas I fear I vainly try the flight.

Thy love to compass, what would I not do — 
Be ruled by me, and this my plan pursue,
Let Hymen in firm bonds our hands combine
And let so fair an ddifice be mine.

 Next to the Astonomer t’was given
 To scale the azure vault of Heaven.

Th’ Astronomer the next essayed
To win the favour of the maid.
And then to ease his amorous pains
Addressed in celestial strains.

My cynosure, my sun, no longer lour,
Nor with malignant aspect blast my hope.
But sweetly smile on this propitious hour
Thou brightest light beneath the starry cope.

Celestial Maid, some gracious sign impart
Nor thus eccentric to my hopes appear
Favour the flame that lights thy lover’s heart
Thou richest glory of our nether sphere.
No more let thine opposing voice destroy
Each promised system of delight and joy
But in conjunction to my wishes move
And own bright fair, the heavenly light of love.

They spoke. Ye British Nymphs declare,
Who most deserved to win the Fair.

Whose eloquence the best might move,
A maiden’s youthful heart to love
And fix the dubious fair.