The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

You charg'd me, from the Bell, Maidstone,
To write about myself alone;
“For why? My health, and my glad cheer,
“Was all the news, you long'd to hear.”

Mary! I love to meet your will,
But this injunction mocks my skill:
Your Bard, I'll rhyme; your Slave, I'll run;
But cannot do, what can't be done.

For instance;—note the truths I tell—
“Your Bishop has arriv'd right well;”

“Enjoy'd a journey, warm, but good,”
“And pleasant—as you wish'd he shou'd;”
“O'er his lamb-chop to you he drinks:”
“Of you, when happiest, most he thinks.”

Now mark!—and speak, what justice ought.—
—Could this be written, told, or thought,
Without (pray count them, if you please)
At least as many you's as me's?

While then, your kind concern I own,
I've no such thing, as self alone:
Expression can no more disjoin,
My-self from yours, your-self from mine,
Than time or tide, can ever part,
One Faith in both; one Will; one Heart!

And I must be a strange forgetter,
If e'er, in fancy, phrase, or letter,
By any means, on any spot,
I share a self, which you share not;

Or let two words, in my mind's eye,
Unite more close, than You, and I.

Bate this impossible condition,
In all things else, I'm all submission:
But every mention how I fare,
Must one predominant feature bear;
While each idea's constant clue,
Begins with me!—to end with you!