University of Virginia Library

How wretched of that quill the Fate,
Which falling from its high Estate,
Of picking Teeth of Noblemen,
Becomes a hungry Poet's Pen!
From Feast to Fast abruptly sent,
Parnassus' Calendar's all Lent!
How diff'rent now its Fare! how hard
To leave a Lord, and serve a Bard!
Instead of Custards, Jellies, Curds,
An olio of fantastic Words,
A Feast with nothing to be eat,
But a confection'd Alphabet,
Where Consonants with Vowels close,
A vocal Pudding to compose,
The Raisins these, the Suet those.
And where with Liquids Mutes combine,
To cook a Dinner for the Nine,
Farewell, ye Dainties rich and rare!
Farewell the high Apician Fare!
Farewell Ragouts and Fricasee!
The Calapash and Calapee!
Farewell ye Palate-pleasing Cates!
Ye Conserves! Sweetmeats! Pines and Dates!
The Fruit preserv'd! the candy'd Spice!
And sugar'd Cream congeal'd to Ice!
Farewell, all Delicacies high,
Which either India can supply!
And ev'ry well-concocted Mess,
The Art of Cookery can dress,
Farewell!—that Quill shall feast no more
Its dainty Occupation's o'er—
For luscious Fruits, and sav'ry Herbs,
Its Dinner now is Nouns and Verbs;
And Words for Things—aye, there's the Rub—
A Simile for Syllibub.
For Vermicelli-Soup, a Sink
Of Gall and Coppras-Broth call'd Ink;
For Macaroni, Turtle, Ham,
The Nothing of an Epigram;
For Ven'son, Pudding, Tart and Pye,
Th'insipid Pap of Elegy.
For Viands dress'd in daintiest Mode,
An empty Sonnet, or an Ode;
Instead of Trifle sweet when real,
Insipid Trifles all ideal.
For May'ral Feasts it now must cater,
A Libel, Pasquinade, or Satire,
And dress'd upon Prosodia's Thumb,
Tropes, Figures, Allegories come—
The choicest Bit to Table brought,
Is now and then a Merry-Thought.
To render its Condition worse,
It feels all Tantalus's Curse;
It writes of Jove's ambrosial Feasts,
His Nectar draws, but never tastes;
The Luxury of Gods describes,
Yet Draughts of Ink alone imbibes.
And while it paints Olympian Treats,
Of the Camelion's Dish it eats;
For Poems are (as all can tell)
Ideas scollop'd in their Shell;—
Mere airy Nothing void of Taste,
Thoughts form the Pye, and Words the Paste.
Hence ev'ry Bard, who raptur'd sings,
And descants on the Muses' springs,
Or Phœbus' sacred Hill—wou'd quit,
These spacious Manors of his Wit,
And give up one or all of these—
Parnassus for a Piece of Cheese—
Wou'd freely Helicon resign,
To get a single Glass of Wine.
And Aganippe too shou'd pack,
To purchase him a Cup of Sack!
Castalia too, thy chrystal Well,
He'd for a Pot of Porter sell!—
—But stop, Digression! hie thee back!
Muse, seek thy long forsaken Track;
And let the Shopman now resume
The Story of this Proteus Plume.
“—M*s*n the Toothpick to a Pen
“Converting, sent it now and then,
“On Dedication's Velvet Feet,
“His own Mæcenas Lord to greet.
“Nor vain the Greetings—now he feels
“Preferment spanieling his Heels;
“And thrives so well (what Luck some Men!)
“He needs a Toothpick more than Pen—
“And now, an easy Fortune made,
“Has laid aside the Scribbling Trade.
“His Pen to me devolv'd—for I
“The cast-off Pens of Authors buy.
Sick of the Shopman's Tale, by chance
The Muse had thrown a Side-long Glance,
Upon a Form of Dædal Mould,
Which glitter'd in a Frame of Gold;
By Freedom's ensigns round her Throne,
The Fair was for Britannia known;
Her right Hand held a Pen to view,
With Plumage of Ethereal Blue—
She fain wou'd buy it, but was told—
“That sacred Pen must not be sold;
“'Tis the PALLADIUM of this Isle—
“And carries Magic in its Style,
“Of pow'r to check each Wrong that springs
“From K---, or Favourites of Kings.
“With this at Freedom's early Dawn,
“Was our fam'd Magna Charta drawn;
“With this, to curb Tyrannic Rage,
“Our Sidney wrote his Patriot Page;
“With this, to keep his Country free,
“WILKES fights the Cause of Liberty.
A Sigh that would not be suppress'd,
Heav'd softly in the Muse's breast
At Wilkes's Name!—in plaintive Tone
She wish'd his Sufferings were her own!
Felt Freedom's Ardour fire her Blood,
And panted for the publick Good!
In secret wish'd it were her Lot,
To crush the arbitrary Scot;
To drive the Thane, and all his Breed,
To starve on t'other Side the Tweed;
To shake to dust his Lairdly Chain,
And cherish Liberty again!
—Reflections came—these Longings fled—
And Gratitude came in their Stead;
The Patriot Curse gave Place to Pray'r,
And Thanks succeeded to Despair;
Thanks to that Pow'r, whose gracious Will
Appointed Good to combat Ill!
What tho' among his fairest Works,
The Seed of Dissolution lurks,
Yet he has with a Parent's Care,
Provided Antisepics rare;
And thrown in Balsams mild and bland,
To glove Decay's corrosive Hand.
To pois'nous Phangs and arrowy Stings,
Soft sheathing Antidotes he brings!
When first the brood of Vipers sprung,
And Venom ting'd the Aspic Tongue,
The fatal Consequence to foil,
He gave a Medicinal Oil.
When Poison taints the gen'ral Weal,
He lends an Antidote to heal.
Thus when, the Nation to chastise,
His Justice bade Sejanus rise,
With Rods of Iron to enslave,
His Mercy sent a Wilkes to save!—
—Give then, fair Liberty! thy Son
The Freedom he for others won!