The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

By these arch wags (you heard 'em speak)
I'm fairly ousted from the week:
Here, as else-where, all business goes:—
My seniors and my betters chose:—
Seven poets just seven days could share;
The eighth might for himself take care—
So each seiz'd one as each thought best:—
To me, they kindly left—the rest.

But this is neither here nor there;
I suffer only neighbour's fare:

141

So 'tis; so 'twas; so 'twill be ever;
No period man from self can sever,
But that one morrow—which comes never.

You know last summer, what parade
With catches, canons, glees, was made:
Loud echo'd Ranelagh's rotunda
With Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday:
While Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday push in,
Like bobbins on a laceman's cushion;
High, low, they run the strains sonorous,
Base, treble, tenor, solo, chorus:—
But what of this? Sing, say, who will,
I stick by my own thesis still:
Altho' the day I write upon,
Be found in no week past and gone;
Tho' to the world's end you pursue it,
Yet never come the nearer to it,
I challenge Envy in it's praise;—
I say it is the Day of Days.

142

To-morrow that comes never, Sirs!
Would raise the hair upon your furs;
'Tis all with miracles replete,
As any mortal egg with meat.

You, and all like you, wish, with me,
Another age of Gold to see;
In Morals, when with power benign
Spirit and innocence shall join;
In Trade, when nothing shall be gain,
But what strict Honor may explain;
In Taste, when Genius shall prevail,
And simple Nature hold the scale;
When Virtue only shall be Worth;
Truth Wit, Sense Learning—and so forth—
Why these, and stranger things than these,
One Morrow will effect with ease;

143

All will fall out, smack, smooth, and elever,
Upon—To-morrow, that comes never.

Sour Scorn perhaps may sneer this now;
And curl her nose, and arch her brow;
But let Scorn know, that I despise her;
Upon my Morrow, she'll be wiser.

What would you give me to ensure
French Faith in Treaties?—to secure
Portuguese Gratitude?—Neutrality
In Dutchmen, and Impartiality?
Why Gemmen, I'll engage to lay
A trifle, that I name the day,
On which all this will come about,
Beyond the shadow of a doubt;—
A day from which 'twill hold for ever—
—To wit—the Morrow that comes never.

At that time too, in every street,
Will be, (whoever lives to see't)

144

What now we deem most rare and strange—
—Women, with minds, that never change—
—Beauties, that wish not to be seen—
—State Ministers, that want no screen—
—Great Scholars, with plain Sense and Breeding—
—Great Blockheads, that affect not Reading—
—Criticks, with Candor and Civility—
—Poets, with Money and Humility—
Ah me! such changes will obtain,
One scarce shall know the world again;
Ev'n boys like these (and to say truth,
This group holds many an hopeful youth)
In utter contrast will appear
To all, who study—Marbles, here;
Will love Greek, more than tarts and jellies;
And cram their heads, before their bellies.

Whoever thinks this Prophecy,
A bam, a banter, or a lie,

145

Let him, as 'tis but just, be dumb,
'Till that same Day, I speak of, come;
—Then, if he chance to catch me napping,
If what I've mention'd do not happen,
Let him indulge his angry fit;
Call me a bite; or say I'm bit;
I freely will to all submit;—
Nor shall at an excuse endeavour,
After—To-morrow, that comes never.