University of Virginia Library

The ANSWER.

Your letter I receiv'd, dear swain,
But the address is all in vain.
In vain the pow'rs of verse essay
To make black white, or midnight day.
Money has charms; let parsons preach,
Their lives far other doctrines teach.
Gold you would undervalue: right;
Little, my swain, you have to slight.
His foxship scorn'd the grapes as sour,
Because—remov'd beyond his pow'r.
That you have merit, is most true,
Talents and virtues, not a few;
But these, with person, youth, and health,
Are poor equivalents for wealth.
Beside, you doubtless must confess,
These I as well as you possess.
Say then, alike accomplish'd thus,
What's offer'd for my overplus?
Rather would I a title wed,
Than take mere merit to my bed.
Mere merit, in mere private life,
Mere Love's, or Friendship's simple strife,
May figure; but how awkward still,
And disconcerted at—quadrille?
Riches already I may vaunt,
A title's only what I want.
A title makes the vulgar gaze,
Commands respect at balls and plays;
O'erawes the bailiff, and takes place
Where Virtue still—shows not her face;
Than which, with wealth, nought we possess
More truly good—but happiness.
Perhaps, when twoscore years are past,
If your regard so long can last,
No coronet, in all that space,
Obtain'd, no Ladyship, no Grace;
With a bold favour'd lover's ease,
You may approach me—if you please.
Meantime farewell, keep hope in store,
Twice twenty springs will soon pass o'er.