The Powers of the Pen A poem addressed to John Curre ... By E. Lloyd ... The second edition, with large additions |
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 | The Powers of the Pen |  |
And if with Life's full Load opprest,
Breathless and faint he sinks to Rest,
At sultry Noon, or drizzly Eve,
Strength for his Journey to receive:
Whether by Helicon he sit,
To taste the sparkling Stream of Wit,
Or Humour's living Waters drink,
Reclin'd on Aganippe's Brink:
The sprightly Beverage to bring,
And tend upon the sacred Spring,
Shakespear a Servitor hath made,
A Mountain of the waiting Trade,
Who'd weigh a Dozen, at the least,
Such Skips as wait at City Feast,
From whom an Army might be cut,
Of Horse and Foot, for Lilliput;
—'Tis Falstaff—Lo! there stands plumb Jack!
Ready to ease each Trav'ller's Back!
Himself will undertake to bear
Their Cares on his sleek Back (if Care
Can stick her Claws and fasten there)
If He unfolds not every Frown,
And shakes the Load of Sorrow down.
These were the Gifts of Shakespear's Pen,
In vain we hope such Gifts again:
Eor Nature, various in her Scheme,
Intends not all her Works the same;
And hence, of Men and Pens we see
An infinite Variety.
She strikes a general Line of Man,
And we must fill it, as we can.
Yet search the World's great Circle through,
Diff'rence you'll find 'twixt ev'ry Two:
Thus from one Line may be exprest
Atlas's Load, or Chloe's Breast.
Breathless and faint he sinks to Rest,
At sultry Noon, or drizzly Eve,
Strength for his Journey to receive:
Whether by Helicon he sit,
To taste the sparkling Stream of Wit,
Or Humour's living Waters drink,
Reclin'd on Aganippe's Brink:
The sprightly Beverage to bring,
And tend upon the sacred Spring,
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A Mountain of the waiting Trade,
Who'd weigh a Dozen, at the least,
Such Skips as wait at City Feast,
From whom an Army might be cut,
Of Horse and Foot, for Lilliput;
—'Tis Falstaff—Lo! there stands plumb Jack!
Ready to ease each Trav'ller's Back!
Himself will undertake to bear
Their Cares on his sleek Back (if Care
Can stick her Claws and fasten there)
If He unfolds not every Frown,
And shakes the Load of Sorrow down.
These were the Gifts of Shakespear's Pen,
In vain we hope such Gifts again:
Eor Nature, various in her Scheme,
Intends not all her Works the same;
And hence, of Men and Pens we see
An infinite Variety.
She strikes a general Line of Man,
And we must fill it, as we can.
17
Diff'rence you'll find 'twixt ev'ry Two:
Thus from one Line may be exprest
Atlas's Load, or Chloe's Breast.
| The Powers of the Pen | |