 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
109
THE ANTIQUARY.
Ho, all ye Antiquaries! learn
A curious Tale of Thomas Hearn.
In Oxford, Town of classic Knowledge,
Is many a Hall, and many a College.
Besides those lesser Domes, that wait,
As Servitors, upon the Great:
Where Science oft an Evening passes,
And smokes her Pipe, and drinks her Glasses.
Of these not least renown'd is that,
Where Whittington still strokes his Cat
A Symbol rare to rouse the Wish up;
A black-Shoe-Boy may be a Bishop.
To this same Hall, respected Name,
Sage Thomas Hearn one Evening came:
Sage Thomas was no modern Sot;
He smok'd one Pipe, and drank one Pot.
When, lo! a Wight of just discerning,
Averse to part with so much Learning,
Profoundly sigh'd; and, Hearn, He said,
This sacred Floor, on which we tread;
This Floor, profan'd by modern Potters,
And call'd a Pavement of Sheep's Trotters,
Is, oh, th' abuse of Things ill-fated!
A roman Pavement tessellated.
“Ha! what, quoth Thomas, let me see:
And down He fell with Extasy.
Fixt to the Ground in Transport lay,
And kiss'd some half an Hour away.
Behold Him, Reader, as He lies;
Immortal Rome before his Eyes!
Coins, Busts He views — a glorious Train—
And thinks his writings o'er again.
Of these not least was Stunsfield rated;
Stunsfield to Bacchus dedicated.
To Bacchus? 'faith! a lucky Thought:
“Bring Thomas Hearn another Pot.
A curious Tale of Thomas Hearn.
In Oxford, Town of classic Knowledge,
Is many a Hall, and many a College.
Besides those lesser Domes, that wait,
As Servitors, upon the Great:
Where Science oft an Evening passes,
And smokes her Pipe, and drinks her Glasses.
Of these not least renown'd is that,
Where Whittington still strokes his Cat
110
A black-Shoe-Boy may be a Bishop.
To this same Hall, respected Name,
Sage Thomas Hearn one Evening came:
Sage Thomas was no modern Sot;
He smok'd one Pipe, and drank one Pot.
When, lo! a Wight of just discerning,
Averse to part with so much Learning,
Profoundly sigh'd; and, Hearn, He said,
This sacred Floor, on which we tread;
This Floor, profan'd by modern Potters,
And call'd a Pavement of Sheep's Trotters,
Is, oh, th' abuse of Things ill-fated!
A roman Pavement tessellated.
“Ha! what, quoth Thomas, let me see:
And down He fell with Extasy.
111
And kiss'd some half an Hour away.
Behold Him, Reader, as He lies;
Immortal Rome before his Eyes!
Coins, Busts He views — a glorious Train—
And thinks his writings o'er again.
Of these not least was Stunsfield rated;
Stunsfield to Bacchus dedicated.
To Bacchus? 'faith! a lucky Thought:
“Bring Thomas Hearn another Pot.
The Rites went round; when, lo! the Sage
Seiz'd by the God's imperious Rage,
Or drawn by some attractive Power,
Sunk on the tessellated Floor.
Dan Phæbus then who always good is
To Man that writes, or Man that studies,
Saw Thomas thus disabled laid,
And sent two Printers to his Aid.
Who, spite of Bacchus, free from Harm,
Led off our Hero, Arm by Arm.
Seiz'd by the God's imperious Rage,
Or drawn by some attractive Power,
Sunk on the tessellated Floor.
112
To Man that writes, or Man that studies,
Saw Thomas thus disabled laid,
And sent two Printers to his Aid.
Who, spite of Bacchus, free from Harm,
Led off our Hero, Arm by Arm.
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