The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge Including several pieces never before published: with an account of his life and character, by his son, George Owen Cambridge |
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 | The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge |  |
49
AN APOLOGY FOR WRITING VERSE;
ADDRESSED TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES YORKE.
(Written in the Year 1745.)
THO' all the censuring World upbraid,
That thus I ply this idle trade,
That, strangely singular, I leave
What they call useful, great, or grave,
To follow Phoebus and the Muses;
Yet you, my Charles, could find excuses,
And back your reasons with example,
To make th' apology more ample:
Or, if the Bard should bring a fit one,
Found or in ancient Greece or Britain,
With pleasure wou'd the Tale attend,
That serves to vindicate your friend.
A Case I'll send you from a book,
A case in point, tho' not in Coke.—
When Philip's warlike preparations
Spread terror round the neighbouring nations,
All prompted by their sev'ral fears,
Provide their bucklers, swords, and spears;
Obedient to the Mason's call,
They roll the stones and raise the wall,
And work as patriot ardour fired 'em;
The very women too bestir'd 'em;
For Corinth's lusty dames we're told
Were mettled combatants of old:
Mean while Diogenes alone
At ease surveys the busy town,
And stalks with philosophic pace,
Contemplating each earnest face;
At length the Cynic grasp'd his club,
And fell in warlike mood to drub
That peaceful domicil his tub;
As if he meant t' avenge the quarrel
Of Greece on th' outside of his barrel;
Or humble Philip's pride by jerking
The sides of sympathetic firkin.
And now the Sage began to roll
His passive vessel like a bowl;
When thus a stander-by, “Pray neighbour,
Why dost thou thy poor tub belabour?
Why thus mispend thy time and wit
But to torment thyself and it?”—
“And art thou at this busy season
At loss to find th' apparent reason?”
The Sage replies: “sure you might chide well,
If I alone should now stand idle;
When all with me embark'd together,
This dark suspicious low'ring weather,
Are striving hard to keep afloat
The common weal, our leaky boat:
While at the pump or oar they tug hard,
Shall I appear the only sluggard?
What tho' my talents not avail
To guide the helm or hand the sail,
Yet shall it ne'er be said, that I
Thro' sloth or indolence lay by.”—
He said, and strait resum'd his task,
And bounc'd and thwack'd the trundling cask.
That thus I ply this idle trade,
That, strangely singular, I leave
What they call useful, great, or grave,
To follow Phoebus and the Muses;
Yet you, my Charles, could find excuses,
And back your reasons with example,
To make th' apology more ample:
Or, if the Bard should bring a fit one,
Found or in ancient Greece or Britain,
With pleasure wou'd the Tale attend,
That serves to vindicate your friend.
50
A case in point, tho' not in Coke.—
When Philip's warlike preparations
Spread terror round the neighbouring nations,
All prompted by their sev'ral fears,
Provide their bucklers, swords, and spears;
Obedient to the Mason's call,
They roll the stones and raise the wall,
And work as patriot ardour fired 'em;
The very women too bestir'd 'em;
For Corinth's lusty dames we're told
Were mettled combatants of old:
Mean while Diogenes alone
At ease surveys the busy town,
And stalks with philosophic pace,
Contemplating each earnest face;
At length the Cynic grasp'd his club,
And fell in warlike mood to drub
That peaceful domicil his tub;
As if he meant t' avenge the quarrel
Of Greece on th' outside of his barrel;
Or humble Philip's pride by jerking
The sides of sympathetic firkin.
And now the Sage began to roll
His passive vessel like a bowl;
51
Why dost thou thy poor tub belabour?
Why thus mispend thy time and wit
But to torment thyself and it?”—
“And art thou at this busy season
At loss to find th' apparent reason?”
The Sage replies: “sure you might chide well,
If I alone should now stand idle;
When all with me embark'd together,
This dark suspicious low'ring weather,
Are striving hard to keep afloat
The common weal, our leaky boat:
While at the pump or oar they tug hard,
Shall I appear the only sluggard?
What tho' my talents not avail
To guide the helm or hand the sail,
Yet shall it ne'er be said, that I
Thro' sloth or indolence lay by.”—
He said, and strait resum'd his task,
And bounc'd and thwack'd the trundling cask.
Thus I, who midst this restless crowd
Capricious nature has allow'd
Such parts and talents, as might serve
To help some wretched wit to starve,
With pleasure see my busy friends,
Earnest alike for various ends;
While these the means of peace prepare;
These arming 'gainst the chance of war;
Alike all anxious for their fate,
And lab'ring to preserve the state.
Yet I, t' amuse the vacant hour,
Careless of honours, wealth, or power,
Civic or military fame;
Nor hoping praise nor fearing shame,
Still ply like him my idle game.
Capricious nature has allow'd
Such parts and talents, as might serve
To help some wretched wit to starve,
With pleasure see my busy friends,
Earnest alike for various ends;
52
These arming 'gainst the chance of war;
Alike all anxious for their fate,
And lab'ring to preserve the state.
Yet I, t' amuse the vacant hour,
Careless of honours, wealth, or power,
Civic or military fame;
Nor hoping praise nor fearing shame,
Still ply like him my idle game.
| The Works of Richard Owen Cambridge | |