 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Yet fancy not that your vindictive State
Is able to decide a Poet's Fate;
He cannot feel Destruction's iron Rod,
'Till he's deserted by the World, and God.
'Tis yours a Curate's Pittance to suppress;
I'll not be studious, nor be gay the less:
From London can my Expectations fail,
Where sweet Humanity and Taste prevail?
London's my Bar—I hear the Muses Call,
I rise by London, or by London fall.
Is able to decide a Poet's Fate;
He cannot feel Destruction's iron Rod,
'Till he's deserted by the World, and God.
'Tis yours a Curate's Pittance to suppress;
I'll not be studious, nor be gay the less:
From London can my Expectations fail,
Where sweet Humanity and Taste prevail?
London's my Bar—I hear the Muses Call,
I rise by London, or by London fall.
| Churchill defended, a poem | |