The Powers of the Pen A poem addressed to John Curre ... By E. Lloyd ... The second edition, with large additions |
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 | The Powers of the Pen |  |
Blush then, ungrateful World, that He
Who slit the Pen, and gave it Thee,
Receiv'd no Honours at thy Hands,
Nor 'mongst recorded Merit stands;
While ev'ry puny Artist draws
Misplac'd Rewards, misplac'd Applause.
If the Invention be but new,
No matter what—a Bottle-screw,
A Squib that Fire can frighten out,
A Nostrum for the Stone or Gout:
Balsam, or wonder-working Pill
Invented and prepar'd by Hill.
Whether he gulls You of your Money,
Steeping your Lungs in Chymic Honey,
Or boasts the Art to make the Age
Immortal, by the Use of Sage.
Or Ludgate's Quack ascend the Rostrum,
Vending some pox-expelling Nostrum,
Repairing Manhood to begin
To damn itself afresh by Sin.
Or Ward some Panacëan Pill
Invent, that Death itself can kill.
Who slit the Pen, and gave it Thee,
Receiv'd no Honours at thy Hands,
Nor 'mongst recorded Merit stands;
While ev'ry puny Artist draws
Misplac'd Rewards, misplac'd Applause.
If the Invention be but new,
No matter what—a Bottle-screw,
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A Nostrum for the Stone or Gout:
Balsam, or wonder-working Pill
Invented and prepar'd by Hill.
Whether he gulls You of your Money,
Steeping your Lungs in Chymic Honey,
Or boasts the Art to make the Age
Immortal, by the Use of Sage.
Or Ludgate's Quack ascend the Rostrum,
Vending some pox-expelling Nostrum,
Repairing Manhood to begin
To damn itself afresh by Sin.
Or Ward some Panacëan Pill
Invent, that Death itself can kill.
| The Powers of the Pen | |