 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
To some Disbanded Officers upon the late Vote of the House of Commons.
Have we for this serv'd full nine hard Campaigns?Is this the Recompence for all our Pains?
Have we to the remotest Parts been sent,
Bravely expos'd our Lives, and Fortunes spent,
To be undone at last by Parliament?
504
And flaming Sword turn'd Pruning knife and Spade?
T---b, S---, F---, and thousands more,
Must now return to what they were before.
No more in glitt'ring Coaches shall they ride,
No more the Feathers shew the Coxcombs Pride.
For Thee poor—my Muse does kindly weep,
To see disbanded Colonels grown so cheap.
So younger Brothers with fat Jointures fed,
Go despicable, once their Widows dead.
No Ship by Tempest from her Anchor torn,
Is half so lost a thing, and so forlorn.
On every Stall, in every Broker's Shop,
Hang up the Plumes of the dismantled Fop,
Trophies like these we read not of in Story,
By other Ways the Romans got their Glory.
But in this, as in all things, there's a Doom,
Some die i'th' Field, and others starve at home.
| Poems upon several occasions | |