The Distressed Poet | ||
At the bare mention of the matter,
Vexation's teeth began to chatter,
And her eyes such a sparkle put on,
Each glitter'd like a coxcomb's button:
Doctor, says she, with hand and heart
I'll in this business take a part;
I know the fellow, to my cost,
By him I too some power have lost;
Men of his even, temp'rate mind,
To Me are ever disinclin'd;
He takes a pride to show me slights,
Still censures me in all he writes,
Meets me with contumelious eye,
Arm'd in his tough Philosophy:
Each, like Achilles, hath a heel,
Some weaker part that's sure to feel,
And in his Wisdom's spite, I'll teach him
Vexation knows the way to reach him.—
I've learnt his plan, and his intentions,
His Building seen, and its dimensions;
I've plac'd about him, One whose art
Shall steal on his unguarded heart,
And, whilst he thinks all's rightly doing,
I'll mark this Edifice for ruin.—
He may, by his own Fancy smitten,
Write jokes, as he before hath written;
He on delusive Taste may call ,
To decorate his destin'd wall,
Bidding it fly on treach'rous wing,
And on each side its Graces fling.
Whatever he has said or sung,
The Fool shall find himself is flung.
O'er the whole work (its sure perdition)
I'll spread a Magick Composition,
By which it ne'er shall dry, or answer,
But be eat out, as by a Cancer;
Nor here shall the Infection stop:
Quite from the bottom to the top
The Timbers all shall rot and slacken,
Their heart decay, their surface blacken;
All which I easily can master,
By this most wonder-working plaister,
Whose fermentation and rank juice
Shall make what's done of little use.
Thus, I by slow, yet sure degrees
Will shake his Building and his Ease,
And when I've tortur'd ev'ry feeling,
Sudden shall fall th' Etruscan Cieling;
The ground with beauteous fragments strewing,
Spreading a dusty cloud of ruin,
Whilst the scar'd Bard, his Child, and Wife,
Shall bless their stars, They scap'd with life;
For I'll so manage his condition,
A hair shall part him from perdition.
Vexation's teeth began to chatter,
And her eyes such a sparkle put on,
Each glitter'd like a coxcomb's button:
57
I'll in this business take a part;
I know the fellow, to my cost,
By him I too some power have lost;
Men of his even, temp'rate mind,
To Me are ever disinclin'd;
He takes a pride to show me slights,
Still censures me in all he writes,
Meets me with contumelious eye,
Arm'd in his tough Philosophy:
Each, like Achilles, hath a heel,
Some weaker part that's sure to feel,
And in his Wisdom's spite, I'll teach him
Vexation knows the way to reach him.—
I've learnt his plan, and his intentions,
His Building seen, and its dimensions;
I've plac'd about him, One whose art
Shall steal on his unguarded heart,
58
I'll mark this Edifice for ruin.—
He may, by his own Fancy smitten,
Write jokes, as he before hath written;
He on delusive Taste may call ,
To decorate his destin'd wall,
Bidding it fly on treach'rous wing,
And on each side its Graces fling.
Whatever he has said or sung,
The Fool shall find himself is flung.
O'er the whole work (its sure perdition)
I'll spread a Magick Composition,
By which it ne'er shall dry, or answer,
But be eat out, as by a Cancer;
Nor here shall the Infection stop:
Quite from the bottom to the top
59
Their heart decay, their surface blacken;
All which I easily can master,
By this most wonder-working plaister,
Whose fermentation and rank juice
Shall make what's done of little use.
Thus, I by slow, yet sure degrees
Will shake his Building and his Ease,
And when I've tortur'd ev'ry feeling,
Sudden shall fall th' Etruscan Cieling;
The ground with beauteous fragments strewing,
Spreading a dusty cloud of ruin,
Whilst the scar'd Bard, his Child, and Wife,
Shall bless their stars, They scap'd with life;
For I'll so manage his condition,
A hair shall part him from perdition.
The Distressed Poet | ||