Shall lick no more their lady's br--- Shall die of looseness, claps, or itch, Fair Thames from either echoing shore Shall hear and dread my manly roar. See, Bounce, like Berecynthia, crown'd With thund'ring offspring all around, Beneath, beside me, and atop, A hundred sons! and not one Fop. Before my children set your beef, Not one true Bounce will be a thief; Not one without permission feed, ---ns hungry breed)
(Tho' some of J--
But whatsoe'er the father's race,
From me they suck a little grace:
While your fine whelps learn all to steal, Bred up by hand on chick and veal.
My eldest born resides not far,
Where shines great Stafford's glitt'ring star;
My second (child of Fortune!) waits At Burlington's Palladian gates; A third majestically stalks,
(Happiest of Dogs!) in Cobham's walks; One ushers friends to Bathurst's door, One fawns at Oxford's on the poor. Nobles whom arms or arts adorn,
Wait for my infants yet unborn. None but a Peer of wit and grace
Can hope a puppy of my race.
And, Oh! would Fate the bliss decree To mine, (a bliss too great for me) That two my tallest sons might grace, Attending each with stately pace, Iülus' side, as erst Evander's, *
To keep off flatt'rers, spies, and panders; To let no noble slave come near, And scare Lord Fannies from his ear; Then might a royal youth and true Enjoy at least a friend---or two; A treasure which of royal kind,
Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave)
Shall wag her tail within the grave.
A PANEGYRICAL EPISTLE
TO MR. THOMAS SNOW,
GOLDSMITH, NEAR TEMPLE-BAR.
Occasioned by his buying and selling of the Third Subscriptions, taken in by the Directors of the South-Sea Company, at a thousand per cent.
DISDAIN not, Snow! my humble verse to hear:
Stick thy black pen a while behind thy ear. Whether thy counter shine with sums untold, And thy wide-grasping hand grow black with gold;
Whether thy mien erect and sable locks, In crowds of brokers overawe the stocks; Suspend the worldly bus'ness of the day, And to enrich thy mind attend my lay.
O Thou! whose penetrative wisdom found
The South-sea rocks and shelves, where thousands drown'd;
When credit sunk, and commerce gasping lay, Thou stood'st, nor sent'st one bill unpaid away; When not a guinea chink'd on Martin's boards, And Atwell's self was drain'd of all his hoards, Thou stood'st (an Indian king in size and hue) Thy unexhausted shop was our Peru.
Why did Change-Alley waste thy precious hours, Among the fools who gap'd for golden show'rs?
No wonder if we found some poets there
Who live on fancy, and can feed on air;
No wonder they were caught by South-Sea schemes, Who ne'er enjoy'd a guinea but in dreams;
No wonder that their Third Subscriptions sold, For millions of imaginary gold;
No wonder that their fancies wild could frame Strange reasons that a thing is still the same, Tho' chang'd throughout in substance and in name. But you (whose judgment scorns poetic flights) With contracts furnish boys for paper kites.
Let Vulture H---ns stretch his rusty throat,
Who'd ruin thousands for a single groat:
I know thou spurn'st his mean, his sordid mind, Nor with ideal debts wouldst plague mankind. Why strive his greedy hands to grasp at more ?--- The wretch is born to want, whose soul is poor. Madmen alone their empty dreams pursue, And still believe the fleeting vision true: They sell the treasure which their slumbers get, Then wake, and fancy all the world in debt. If to instruct thee all my reasons fail, Yet be diverted by this moral tale. ---
Thro' fam'd Moorfields extends a spacious seat, Where mortals of exalted wit retreat; Where wrapp'd in contemplation and in straw, The wiser few from the mad world withdraw: There in full opulence a banker dwelt, Who all the joys and pangs of riches felt; His side-board glitter'd with imagin'd plate, And his proud fancy held a vast estate.
As on a time he past the vacant hours
In raising piles of straw and twisting bow'rs, A poet enter'd of the neighb'ring cell, And with fix'd eyes observ'd the structure well: A sharpen'd skewer cross his bare shoulders bound A tatter'd rug, which dragg'd upon the ground.
The banker cry'd, "Behold my castle walls, "My statues, gardens, fountains, and canals, "With land of twenty thousand acres round! "All these I sell thee for ten thousand pound."
The bard with wonder the cheap purchase saw, So sign'd the contract (as ordains the law.)
The banker's brain was cool'd; the mist grew clear: The visionary scene was lost in air.
He now the vanish'd prospect understood And fear'd the fancy'd bargain was not good: Yet loath the sum entire should be destroy'd, "Give me a penny and the contract 's void."
The startl'd bard with eye indignant frown'd; "Shall I, ye Gods! (he cries) my debts compound!" So saying, from his rug the skewer he takes, And on the stick ten equal notches makes;
With just resentment flings
"There take my tally of ten thousand pound."
ON A MISCELLANY OF POEMS,
TO BERNARD LINTOTT.
Ipse varietate tentamus efficere, ut alia aliis; quaedam fortasse omnibus placeant.
As when some skilful cook, to please each guest, Would in one mixture comprehend a feast, With due proportion and judicious care He fills his dish with diff'rent sorts of fare, Fishes and fowls deliciously unite,
To feast at once the taste, the smell, and sight:
« ZurückWeiter » |