תמונות בעמוד
PDF
ePub

EPISTLE X.

TO MY INGENIOUS AND WORTHY FRIEND

WILLIAM LOWNDS, ESQ;

AUTHOR OF THAT CELEBRATED TREATISE IN FOLIO, CALLED THE LAND-TAX BILL.

WHEN Poets print their works, the fcribbling crew

Stick the bard o'er with bays, like Christmas-pew:

Can meagre poetry such fame deferve?

Can poetry, that only writes to starve ?

And shall no laurel deck that famous head,
In which the Senate's annual law is bred?
That hoary head, which greater glory fires,
By nobler ways and means true fame acquires.
O had I Virgil's force, to fing the man,
Whose learned lines can millions raise per ann.
Great Lownds's praife should fwell the trump of fame,
And rapes and wapentakes refound his name!

If the blind Poet gain'd a long renown

By finging every Grecian chief and town;
Sure Lownds's profe much greater fame requires,
Which fweetly counts five thousand knights and
fquires,

Their feats, their cities, parishes, and fhires.

VOL. I.

P

Thy

Thy copious preamble so smoothly runs,
Taxes no more appear like legal duns;

Lords, Knights, and Squires, th' Affeffor's power obey,
We read with pleasure, though with pain we pay.
Ah! why did Coningsby thy works defame !
That author's long harangue betrays his name.
After his fpeeches can his pen fucceed?

Though forc'd to hear, we 're not oblig'd to read.
Under what science shall thy works be read?
All know thou wert not Poet born and bred.
Or dost thou boast th' Historian's lasting pen,
Whose annals are the acts of worthy men?
No. Satire is thy talent; and each lash
Makes the rich Mifer tremble o'er his cash.
What on the Drunkard can be more fevere,
Than direful taxes on his ale and b.er?

Ev'n Button's wits are nought, compar'd to thee, Who ne'er were known or prais'd but o'er his tea; While thou through Britain's distant isle shalt spread, In every hundred and divifion read.

Criticks in Claffics oft' interpolate,

But every word of thine is fix'd as Fate.

Some works come forth at morn, but die at night,
In blazing, fringes round a tallow-light.

Some may perhaps to a whole week extend,
Like Steele (when unaffifted by a friend):
But thou fhalt live a year, in spite of Fate ;
And where's your author boasts a longer date?
Poets of old had such a wondrous power,
That with their verfes they could raise a tower:

But

But in thy profe a greater force is found;
What Poet ever rais'd ten thousand pound?
Cadmus, by fowing dragons' teeth, we read,
Rais'd a vast army from the poisonous feed.
Thy labours, Lownds, can greater wonders do;
Thou raisest armies, and canft pay them too.
Truce with thy dreaded pen; thy annals cease;
Why need we armies when the land's in peace?
Soldiers are perfect devils in their way;

When once they're rais'd, they 're curfed hard to lay.

[blocks in formation]

EPISTLE
TLE XI.

TO A

YOUNG

YOUNG LAD Y,

WITH SOME LAMPREYS.

WITH lovers 'twas of old the fashion

By presents to convey their paffion;

No matter what the gift they sent,

The lady faw that love was meant.
Fair Atalanta, as a favour,

Took the boar's head her Hero gave her ;
Nor could the briftly thing affront her;
'Twas a fit present from a hunter.
When squires fend woodcocks to the dame,
It ferves to fhew their abfent flame.

Some by a fnip of woven hair,
In pofied lockets, bribe the fair.
How many mercenary matches

Have fprung from diamond-rings and watches!
But hold—a ring, a watch, a locket,

Would drain at once a Poet's pocket;

He should fend fongs that coft him nought,
Nor ev'n be prodigal of thought.

Why then fend Lampreys? Fye, for fhame!
'Twill fet a virgin's blood on flame.
This to fifteen a proper gift!

It might lend fixty-five a lift.

I know your maiden aunt will scold, And think my prefent fomewhat bold.

5

I fee

I fee her lift her hands and eyes:

"What! eat it, Niece; eat Spanish flies!
"Lamprey 's a most immodest diet:
"You'll neither wake nor fleep in quiet.
"Should I to-night eat Sago-cream,

" "Twould make me blush to tell my dream ;
"If I eat Lobster, 'tis fo warming,
"That every man I fee looks charming;
"Wherefore had not the filthy fellow
"Laid Rochester upon your pillow?
"I vow and fwear, I think the present
"Had been as modeft and as decent.
"Who has her virtue in her power?
"Each day has its unguarded hour;
"Always in danger of undoing,

blood,

"A prawn, a fhrimp, may prove our ruin!
"The shepherdess, who lives on fallad,
"To cool her youth, controls her palate.
"Should Dian's maids turn liquorish livers,
"And of huge lampreys rob the rivers,
“Then, all befide each glade and visto,
"You'd fee Nymphs lying like Calisto.
"The man, who meant to heat your
"Needs not himself fuch vicious food-"
In this, I own, your aunt is clear,
I fent you what I well might spare :
For, when I fee you, (without joking)
Your eyes, lips, breasts, are so provoking,
They fet
my heart more cock-a-hoop,
Than could whole feas of craw-fish soup.

[blocks in formation]
« הקודםהמשך »