 | Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac |  |
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SIBI ET AMICO.
I. With ‘Ann Morgan's Love.’
I give you, friend, this litel tome,
Because I'm quite persuaded
That it will be the strangest pome
Through which you ever waded:
Because I'm quite persuaded
That it will be the strangest pome
Through which you ever waded:
And oh, how different from yours!
Your maids are always charming;
But my maid, e'en in tenderest hours,
Is really quite alarming;
Your maids are always charming;
But my maid, e'en in tenderest hours,
Is really quite alarming;
‘Sie ist so garstig, ist so roth!’
Well—that's exaggeration,
In her who said it; just a note
Of self-depreciation;
Well—that's exaggeration,
In her who said it; just a note
Of self-depreciation;
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So say the painters and their set,
And so, no doubt, the critics,
When once they've got fair Margaret
Beneath their analytics:
And so, no doubt, the critics,
When once they've got fair Margaret
Beneath their analytics:
But, for my maid, the words are true,
And she would ne'er deny it:
She is both roth and garstig too,
And gets her living by it.
And she would ne'er deny it:
She is both roth and garstig too,
And gets her living by it.
Then, her appalling dialect!
Her rude and homely phrases!
She no more challenges respect
Than buttercups and daisies,
Her rude and homely phrases!
She no more challenges respect
Than buttercups and daisies,
And other common things of earth,
On which we gaily trample
With not a wish to know their worth
Or follow their example.
On which we gaily trample
With not a wish to know their worth
Or follow their example.
Yes—but her love is all her own;
'Twas pure, and it succeeded:
She knew what Margaret should have known,
And did not do as she did.
'Twas pure, and it succeeded:
She knew what Margaret should have known,
And did not do as she did.
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That's why Ann Morgan interests me;
For, in my poor opinion,
Robust unselfish purity
Is worth a world's dominion:
For, in my poor opinion,
Robust unselfish purity
Is worth a world's dominion:
That's why I venture to rehearse
Her tale, and what it's grown to,
In such uncouth outlandish verse
As you would never own to.
Her tale, and what it's grown to,
In such uncouth outlandish verse
As you would never own to.
92
II.
Creator of La Belle Marquise—
Historian of the wits and beaux
Whose life, full fed with lordly ease,
Has still that cachet of repose—
Historian of the wits and beaux
Whose life, full fed with lordly ease,
Has still that cachet of repose—
How can you like these maids of mine?
Rough-handed women of the farm,
In whom one scarcely sees a sign
Of grace, of elegance, of charm!
Rough-handed women of the farm,
In whom one scarcely sees a sign
Of grace, of elegance, of charm!
Yet, Nature made them what they are:
The fresh untutor'd human heart
Has leave from her, to be at war
With all such niceties of art
The fresh untutor'd human heart
Has leave from her, to be at war
With all such niceties of art
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As cannot make a woman pure:
Yea, each rude wench who scrubs and swills
Amidst her drudgery obscure
Is Nature's servant, if she wills,
Yea, each rude wench who scrubs and swills
Amidst her drudgery obscure
Is Nature's servant, if she wills,
And nobler than the trivial crowd
Who scorn her work and her. But you,
Though long since to the Graces vow'd,
Can feel, O friend, that this is true.
Who scorn her work and her. But you,
Though long since to the Graces vow'd,
Can feel, O friend, that this is true.
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III. A reply.
Indeed? All this is very fine!
And memory still rehearses
The tones you gave to every line
Of these ingenious verses:
And memory still rehearses
The tones you gave to every line
Of these ingenious verses:
But I too am a dab at rhyme;
And I intend to spite you
By asking why the Georgian time
And all its wigs, delight you?
And I intend to spite you
By asking why the Georgian time
And all its wigs, delight you?
You are not coarse, like Dr Swift,
Nor risky, like poor Fielding;
Your Loves have always a clean shift,
And are not over-yielding;
Nor risky, like poor Fielding;
Your Loves have always a clean shift,
And are not over-yielding;
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You don't use vinegar, like Pope,
Nor squirts, like Lady Mary;
Your books, wherever they may ope,
Are wholesome as a dairy—
Nor squirts, like Lady Mary;
Your books, wherever they may ope,
Are wholesome as a dairy—
A dairy? 'Tis the very thing!
If Mr Walpole pleases,
We'll all stand round you in a ring
Pretending to make cheeses—
If Mr Walpole pleases,
We'll all stand round you in a ring
Pretending to make cheeses—
We'll mince our chickens at Vauxhall,
As swains and shepherd-maidens,
And hear the foreign singers squall
Some pretty thing of Haydn's—
As swains and shepherd-maidens,
And hear the foreign singers squall
Some pretty thing of Haydn's—
Ah yes, you cunning rogue, A. D.!
That's why you feed our fancies
With many a courtly coterie,
Lord Fannys and Miss Nancys!
That's why you feed our fancies
With many a courtly coterie,
Lord Fannys and Miss Nancys!
That's why, from Steele and good Queen Anne
To Crisp and little Burney,
You lead us on, you artful man,
A too seductive journey!
To Crisp and little Burney,
You lead us on, you artful man,
A too seductive journey!
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You want to make us all forget
The sterner days around us;
The problems, dark and darker yet,
That threaten to confound us:
The sterner days around us;
The problems, dark and darker yet,
That threaten to confound us:
You would revive the frolic mood,
The song, the jest, the laughter,
Of those who lived before the Flood,
For us, who live long after!
The song, the jest, the laughter,
Of those who lived before the Flood,
For us, who live long after!
Alas! such pleasant task is vain:
For all our simulation
We move along a different plane,
And have a new vocation.
For all our simulation
We move along a different plane,
And have a new vocation.
You too, who make believe to be
A Dresden china poet,
You are much more than that, A. D.,
And here's your work, to show it.
A Dresden china poet,
You are much more than that, A. D.,
And here's your work, to show it.
| Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac | |