Engraving

TASTE IN HIGH LIFE,IN THE YEAR 1742.

 

The picture from which this print was copied, Hogarth painted by the order of Miss Edwards, a woman of large fortune, who having been laughed at for some singularities in her manners, requested the artist to recriminate on her opponents, and paid him sixty guineas for his production.

NOON.

 
Hail, Gallia's daughters! easy, brisk, and free;
Good humour'd, débonnaire, and dégagée:
Though still fantastic, frivolous, and vain,
Let not their airs and graces give us pain:
Or fair, or brown, at toilet, prayer, or play,

PLATE VIII.THE INDUSTRIOUS 'PRENTICE GROWN RICH, AND SHERIFF OF LONDON.

 

'With all thy gettings get understanding. Exalt her and she shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her.' Proverbs, chap. iv. verse 7, 8.

LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

 

THE HARLOT'S PROGRESS.PLATE I.

 
"The snares are set, the plot is laid,
Ruin awaits thee,—hapless maid!
Seduction sly assails thine ear,
And gloating, foul desire is near;
Baneful and blighting are their smiles,
Destruction waits upon their wiles;
Alas! thy guardian angel sleeps,

EVENING.

 
One sultry Sunday, when no cooling breeze
Was borne on zephyr's wing, to fan the trees;
One sultry Sunday, when the torrid ray
O'er nature beam'd intolerable day;
When raging Sirius warn'd us not to roam,
And Galen's sons prescrib'd cool draughts at home;
One sultry Sunday, near those fields of fame

PLATE IX.THE IDLE 'PRENTICE BETRAYED BY A PROSTITUTE, AND TAKEN IN A NIGHT CELLAR WITH HIS ACCOMPLICE.

 

"The adulteress will hunt for precious life." Proverbs, chap. vi. verse 26.

THE RAKE'S PROGRESS.

 

Of all the follies in human life, there is none greater than that of extravagance, or profuseness; it being constant labour, without the least ease or relaxation.

THE HARLOT'S PROGRESS.PLATE II.

 
"Ah! why so vain, though blooming in thy spring,
Thou shining, frail, adorn'd, but wretched thing
Old age will come; disease may come before,
And twenty prove as fatal as threescore!"

NIGHT.

 
Now burst the blazing bonfires on the sight,
Through the wide air their corruscations play;
The windows beam with artificial light,
And all the region emulates the day.
The moping mason, from yon tavern led,
In mystic words doth to the moon complain
That unsound port distracts his aching head,
Syndicate content