The Poetical Entertainer Or, Tales, Satyrs, Dialogues, And Intrigues, &c. Serious and Comical. All digested into such Verse as most agreeable to the several Subjects. To be publish'd as often as occasion shall offer [by Edward Ward] |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
|
A necessary Caution to a worthless Prodigal,
who fancies himself Great without Authority,
Wise without Knowledge, and Rich without Money.
|
| V. |
 | The Poetical Entertainer |  |
A necessary Caution to a worthless Prodigal, who fancies himself Great without Authority, Wise without Knowledge, and Rich without Money.
Why, haughty Wretch! art thou so proud and vain,
To look awry on others with Disdain?
Why dost thou damn that Fellow for a Fool,
When thee thyself art so profoundly dull?
Why brand that blust'ring Bully with the Name
Of Coward, when thou know'st thou art the same?
What makes thee strut, command, and look so big,
Since thus adorn'd with new unpaid-for Wig?
And by some trusting cozen'd Taylor made,
According to the Mode, so spruce a Blade,
When all the Jauntee Outside which you boast,
Consists of borrow'd Plumes at others cost;
And thy unpolish'd Inside, at the best,
Furnish'd with nothing but a faithless Breast,
Where only filthy Lusts and Passions dwell,
Like Dirt and Cobwebs in a Hermet's Cell.
Porters, 'tis true, thy Quality mistake,
And, bowing, call thee Master, when they spake.
The Drawer Sirs thee up at e'ery Word,
And Tapster Tom pays Homage to thy Sword.
Maim'd begging Sailers, dogging at thy Heels,
Give thee the Style of Captain, in Moorefields,
And pray, perhaps, Your Honour, as you pass,
To bless them with your Charity in Brass.
These Flatterers, in Thought may make thee Great,
Because they're Strangers to thy vagrant State;
Prompt thee to vainly fancy that they see
Not half so much in others as in thee:
But he, alas, who knows thee, well observes
Thy Pride's too soaring for a Wretch that starves,
And sits amaz'd to hear so little Worth
Set others Failings with such envy forth.
As if bewilder'd with a vain Conceit
Of thy own Learning, Honesty, and Wit,
When none but thy mistaken self can find
One real Vertue seated in thy Mind,
Except the lewd Delights of Punk and Glass,
For wise Pursuits and great Atchievements pass;
And tricking Frauds impos'd upon a Friend,
Are Deeds that to Immortal Glory tend.
How therefore canst thou proudly Pish and Poh,
And snarl at what thy Betters say or do,
Rake into other's Dunghils that the Steem
Of thy own Filth, may less offensive seem,
Injure the Worthy, at their Merits snort,
And make their Vertues thy indecent sport?
To look awry on others with Disdain?
Why dost thou damn that Fellow for a Fool,
When thee thyself art so profoundly dull?
30
Of Coward, when thou know'st thou art the same?
What makes thee strut, command, and look so big,
Since thus adorn'd with new unpaid-for Wig?
And by some trusting cozen'd Taylor made,
According to the Mode, so spruce a Blade,
When all the Jauntee Outside which you boast,
Consists of borrow'd Plumes at others cost;
And thy unpolish'd Inside, at the best,
Furnish'd with nothing but a faithless Breast,
Where only filthy Lusts and Passions dwell,
Like Dirt and Cobwebs in a Hermet's Cell.
Porters, 'tis true, thy Quality mistake,
And, bowing, call thee Master, when they spake.
The Drawer Sirs thee up at e'ery Word,
And Tapster Tom pays Homage to thy Sword.
Maim'd begging Sailers, dogging at thy Heels,
Give thee the Style of Captain, in Moorefields,
And pray, perhaps, Your Honour, as you pass,
To bless them with your Charity in Brass.
31
Because they're Strangers to thy vagrant State;
Prompt thee to vainly fancy that they see
Not half so much in others as in thee:
But he, alas, who knows thee, well observes
Thy Pride's too soaring for a Wretch that starves,
And sits amaz'd to hear so little Worth
Set others Failings with such envy forth.
As if bewilder'd with a vain Conceit
Of thy own Learning, Honesty, and Wit,
When none but thy mistaken self can find
One real Vertue seated in thy Mind,
Except the lewd Delights of Punk and Glass,
For wise Pursuits and great Atchievements pass;
And tricking Frauds impos'd upon a Friend,
Are Deeds that to Immortal Glory tend.
How therefore canst thou proudly Pish and Poh,
And snarl at what thy Betters say or do,
Rake into other's Dunghils that the Steem
Of thy own Filth, may less offensive seem,
32
And make their Vertues thy indecent sport?
So mercenary Strumpets, void of Shame,
On the chast Damsel cast the odious Name
Of Private Whore, too cunning to be caught,
The silent Sow that drinks up all the Draught.
But prithee, Friend, if thou deserv'st that Stile,
On the chast Damsel cast the odious Name
Of Private Whore, too cunning to be caught,
The silent Sow that drinks up all the Draught.
E'er thou blam'st others, be thyself less Vile.
For he that spreads his Neighbour's Faults should be
From the same Errors and Aspersions free;
Else every Scandal that he throws, rebounds
Upon himself, and his own Conscience wounds,
And makes his Follies, who reflects the same
On others, terminate in twice the Shame
Of him who seeks to wrong his Neighbours Fame.
| The Poetical Entertainer | |