 | A collection of poems |  |
The ANSWER.
From Dr. Wenstanley's Poems, printed at Dublin. 1742.
Can you, much honour'd man, excuse
The first lisps of an infant muse?
Young as I am, my lips would patter
An instant answer to your letter.
The first lisps of an infant muse?
Young as I am, my lips would patter
An instant answer to your letter.
In gilded edge your lines appear,
So morning cloud speaks Phœbus near.
Ambition sets my mind on fire
And like Apollo you inspire:
Inspir'd, I only can indite:
—Milton and Homer could not write.
So morning cloud speaks Phœbus near.
Ambition sets my mind on fire
And like Apollo you inspire:
Inspir'd, I only can indite:
—Milton and Homer could not write.
39
Here, Sir, your little nephew stands,
And pants, and burns to kiss your hands:
Those hands, from which so oft have come
The citron-peel, and sugar-plumb.
And pants, and burns to kiss your hands:
Those hands, from which so oft have come
The citron-peel, and sugar-plumb.
See the tea-table ready drest,
Proud to receive so great a guest.
Peru, with silver tea-pots, smiles
And sugar floats from western isles;
Japan the glitt'ring tables lends;
China her beauteous dishes sends;
The tea on Ganges' borders grew:
All nations joyn to pleasure you.
Compleat, if you adorn the room;
—Papa and Mamma are at home.
Proud to receive so great a guest.
Peru, with silver tea-pots, smiles
And sugar floats from western isles;
Japan the glitt'ring tables lends;
China her beauteous dishes sends;
The tea on Ganges' borders grew:
All nations joyn to pleasure you.
Compleat, if you adorn the room;
—Papa and Mamma are at home.
China, and Ganges, and Japan
Are words my Papa taught my pen.
He says, they're countrys to be found
In a strange world below the ground;
Where folks with feet erected tread,
And distant downward hangs the head:
Fearless, they topsy-turvey run,
With nought beneath—but skies and sun.
Are words my Papa taught my pen.
He says, they're countrys to be found
In a strange world below the ground;
Where folks with feet erected tread,
And distant downward hangs the head:
Fearless, they topsy-turvey run,
With nought beneath—but skies and sun.
This, all my nurse's tales exceeds,
Of giants with an hundred heads!
I know of knights in ev'ry region,
Who singly slew, at least, a legion;
And fiery dragons too, trapan'd,
As big as twenty miles of land;
Their skin was brass, their teeth were steel;
A nation was their common meal:
Of goblins pale, with saucer eyes,
To catch the naughty boy that cries:
I credit all of ghosts, they say,
Who on a pins-point dance the haye;
Unheard, unseen, along they glide,
And stately thro' a key-hole ride:
(So heroes made their pompous marches,
In chariots, thro' triumphal arches:)
Of hideous hags, who nightly fly,
On groves of broom-sticks thro' the sky:
Of faries, who the moon-shine prize;
And pigmies, half an inch in size:
These, as they're things I've seen the prints of,
I very fully am convinc'd of.
Of giants with an hundred heads!
40
Who singly slew, at least, a legion;
And fiery dragons too, trapan'd,
As big as twenty miles of land;
Their skin was brass, their teeth were steel;
A nation was their common meal:
Of goblins pale, with saucer eyes,
To catch the naughty boy that cries:
I credit all of ghosts, they say,
Who on a pins-point dance the haye;
Unheard, unseen, along they glide,
And stately thro' a key-hole ride:
(So heroes made their pompous marches,
In chariots, thro' triumphal arches:)
Of hideous hags, who nightly fly,
On groves of broom-sticks thro' the sky:
Of faries, who the moon-shine prize;
And pigmies, half an inch in size:
These, as they're things I've seen the prints of,
I very fully am convinc'd of.
But that a vessel ever sails
Where nought grows upwards but cows tails;
That servants sent to fetch the claret,
Should find the cellar in the garret;
That work-men the whole roof should spread,
Before the least foundation's laid;
That evening sees the rising sun,
And when 'tis midnight, then 'tis noon,
That birds descend the more they soar,
And hills rise downwards low'r and low'r;
And, that folks always walk so ev'n,
They ne'er drop upwards down to heav'n,
Are things I can't believe not I:
—Tho' sure my Papa cannot lye.
Where nought grows upwards but cows tails;
That servants sent to fetch the claret,
Should find the cellar in the garret;
That work-men the whole roof should spread,
Before the least foundation's laid;
41
And when 'tis midnight, then 'tis noon,
That birds descend the more they soar,
And hills rise downwards low'r and low'r;
And, that folks always walk so ev'n,
They ne'er drop upwards down to heav'n,
Are things I can't believe not I:
—Tho' sure my Papa cannot lye.
But manners bids me hasten home:
My country's common father, come,
Come, let me still your fondness prove,
And boast in your's, a parent's love.
Your golden cane, I'll still bestride,
And rapid round the study ride.
You sav'd me from the gasp of death,
When wheezing quinsies held my breath,
John lash'd the dapples two-fold pair,
And whirl'd me thro' the winter air;
Clos'd up in glass, secure I ride,
And mock the snows on ev'ry side;
Your coach convey'd me safe from harms,
From nurses, to my Mamma's arms:
Here oft your goodness I commend,
And often bless your bounteous hand;
Here still my grateful passions work,
And still I live to make my mark.
My country's common father, come,
Come, let me still your fondness prove,
And boast in your's, a parent's love.
Your golden cane, I'll still bestride,
And rapid round the study ride.
You sav'd me from the gasp of death,
When wheezing quinsies held my breath,
John lash'd the dapples two-fold pair,
And whirl'd me thro' the winter air;
Clos'd up in glass, secure I ride,
And mock the snows on ev'ry side;
Your coach convey'd me safe from harms,
From nurses, to my Mamma's arms:
Here oft your goodness I commend,
And often bless your bounteous hand;
Here still my grateful passions work,
And still I live to make my mark.
| A collection of poems | |