 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
1
Lapsus Calami.
I played with pen and ink at times,
Until upon my table grew
A little heap of random rhymes:
I got them printed, bound in blue,
And sold for more than they` were worth,
To cause a moment's harmless mirth.
Until upon my table grew
A little heap of random rhymes:
I got them printed, bound in blue,
And sold for more than they` were worth,
To cause a moment's harmless mirth.
My little book achieved success,
And wandered up and down the land;
A thousand copies more or less
Were sold and paid for; that was grand;
And I was honestly surprised
To be so kindly criticised.
And wandered up and down the land;
A thousand copies more or less
Were sold and paid for; that was grand;
And I was honestly surprised
To be so kindly criticised.
And when the little book was sold,
I threw away the half of it;
And to the remnant of the old
I tacked some new attempts at wit;
To which I added here and there
Some work prepared with greater care;
I threw away the half of it;
And to the remnant of the old
I tacked some new attempts at wit;
To which I added here and there
Some work prepared with greater care;
2
Some work in which I tried to shew
That clowns can reason, jesters feel;
Nor need a scribbler lack the glow
Of passion, or the fire of zeal
Because his verse is fairly neat,
And tries, at least, to be complete.
That clowns can reason, jesters feel;
Nor need a scribbler lack the glow
Of passion, or the fire of zeal
Because his verse is fairly neat,
And tries, at least, to be complete.
And having managed to acquire
A public (as a fool I speak),
I thought to aim a little higher,
A more substantial prize to seek;
And now I mean to write a book
Where men for fewer jests must look.
A public (as a fool I speak),
I thought to aim a little higher,
A more substantial prize to seek;
And now I mean to write a book
Where men for fewer jests must look.
Kind readers who have borne with me
When I confessed my school-boy rhymes,
And bought what purported to be
A jest-book, turning grave at times,
I scarcely dare to hope that still
You'll read me: but perhaps you will.
When I confessed my school-boy rhymes,
And bought what purported to be
A jest-book, turning grave at times,
I scarcely dare to hope that still
You'll read me: but perhaps you will.
And if you should insert me—Yes,
You know the rest? upon the list
Of lyric bards—I ask no less—
My head, if not precisely kissed
By stars, will wear at least a crown
Preferred to that which decks the clown.
You know the rest? upon the list
Of lyric bards—I ask no less—
My head, if not precisely kissed
By stars, will wear at least a crown
Preferred to that which decks the clown.
| Quo Musa Tendis? | |