The Poems of John Byrom :: :: University of Virginia Library

Urban, or Sylvan, or whatever Name
Delight thee most, thou foremost in the Fame
Of Magazining Chiefs, whose rival Page
With monthly Medley courts the curious Age,—
Hear a poor Passive Participle's Case,
And, if thou can'st, restore me to my Place!

II

Till just of late, good English has thought fit
To call me written, or to call me writ.
But what is writ or written, by the vote
Of Writers now, hereafter must be wrote;
And what is spoken, too, hereafter spoke;
And Measures, never to be broken, broke.

III

I never could be driven; but, in spite
Of Grammar, they have drove me from my Right.

225

None could have risen to become my Foes;
But what a World of Enemies have rose!
Who have not gone, but they have went about;
And, torn as I have been, have tore me out.

IV

Passive I am, and would be; and implore
That such Abuse may be henceforth forbore,—
If not forborne; for, by all Spelling-book,
If not mistaken, they are all mistook;
And, in plain English, it had been as well
If what has fall'n upon me, had not fell.

V

Since this Attack upon me has began,
Who knows what Lengths in Language may be ran?
For, if it once be grew into a Law,
You'll see such Work as never has been saw;
Part of our Speech, and Sense, perhaps, beside,
Shakes when I'm shook, and dies when I am died.

VI

Then, let the Præter and Imperfect Tense
Of my own words to me remit the Sense;

226

Or, since we two are oft enough agreed,
Let all the learnèd take some better heed,
And leave the vulgar to confound the due
Of Præter. tense, and Participle, too!