The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
 | II. |
|
| a. |
| b. |
AFTER HEARING RURAL RYHMES OF W.H. PRAISD BY A LADY |
| a. |
| b. |
| a. |
| b. |
| a. |
| b. |
| a. |
| b. |
 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
AFTER HEARING RURAL RYHMES OF W.H. PRAISD BY A LADY
Aye lowland bard & canst thou whistle
Wi nought to charm but rush & thistle
Effex it nicks me to the grissle
To read thy strains
While here in dumps I drone & drizzle
Mong woods & plains
Wi nought to charm but rush & thistle
Effex it nicks me to the grissle
To read thy strains
While here in dumps I drone & drizzle
Mong woods & plains
& feth Im tempted once again
To trespass upon parnuss plain
In critics pinfold to be taen
& tongue bangd sore
Tho scores o oaths Ive swore in vain
To write no more
To trespass upon parnuss plain
In critics pinfold to be taen
& tongue bangd sore
Tho scores o oaths Ive swore in vain
To write no more
324
My hobbling muse too maks excuse
Bout ink drying up for want of use
& mice wi paper playing the deuce
& tho alls just
Her reasonings hant a bit of use
For write I must
Bout ink drying up for want of use
& mice wi paper playing the deuce
& tho alls just
Her reasonings hant a bit of use
For write I must
I gen embarkd on fames wide ocean
In spite ots rocks & surgey motion
Wi every hope & every notion
Strong as they were
The lord knows how may fall my potion
Twixt hope & fear
In spite ots rocks & surgey motion
Wi every hope & every notion
Strong as they were
The lord knows how may fall my potion
Twixt hope & fear
Tho carless wether parnus lasses
Mount us on pegasus or asses
Or how the critics please to class us
Mongrel or bard
Theres many a one that far surpass us
Met like reward
Mount us on pegasus or asses
Or how the critics please to class us
Mongrel or bard
Theres many a one that far surpass us
Met like reward
But here I most forgot my sen
The cause that tickles me agen
A lady points my stunted pen
& shoud my cant
Meet praise like billys of the fen
Tis all I want
The cause that tickles me agen
A lady points my stunted pen
& shoud my cant
Meet praise like billys of the fen
Tis all I want
| The early poems of John Clare | |