The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
607
SOME ACCOUNT OF MY KIN, MY TALLENTS & MYSELF
Ryhme is a gift as our folks here suppose
Nor wealth nor learning ever makes a poet
Tis natures blessing so the story goes
& my condition goes the way to show it
Tho up to Bible classes I was taught
My school account is hardly worth the telling
I staid no time to master as I ought
A hardish chapter in it without spelling
Nor wealth nor learning ever makes a poet
Tis natures blessing so the story goes
& my condition goes the way to show it
Tho up to Bible classes I was taught
My school account is hardly worth the telling
I staid no time to master as I ought
A hardish chapter in it without spelling
A timber merchant father was—that is
A maker & a seller out of matches
This honest truth somes very apt to quiz
That can do nothing but such meddling catches
These I woud ask is the prime strops of Packwood
A pin the worse cause he has humbler been
Then why—but hold—I quake at Mr B[lackwood]
Hell rap my knuckles in his magazine
A maker & a seller out of matches
This honest truth somes very apt to quiz
That can do nothing but such meddling catches
These I woud ask is the prime strops of Packwood
A pin the worse cause he has humbler been
Then why—but hold—I quake at Mr B[lackwood]
Hell rap my knuckles in his magazine
Things may (as gran observes of Turners Blacking)
Be very good & very worthy praise
But theres such puffing & such swindling quacking
That merits next to nothing now adays
Some praise themselves some by their friends are stuck
As highs our weathercock upon the steeple
While all beside are trampld in the muck
I humbly hop[e] youre no such kind of people
Be very good & very worthy praise
But theres such puffing & such swindling quacking
That merits next to nothing now adays
Some praise themselves some by their friends are stuck
As highs our weathercock upon the steeple
While all beside are trampld in the muck
I humbly hop[e] youre no such kind of people
608
Truth waits times touchstone as the just attacker
To burst the bubble & to put to rout
Each pompous sounding literary cracker—
Mine lives as long as many Ive no doubt
[I w]ill but print them as I hinted at
[De]ceit may be decieved its no great [m]atter
[Big a]s [a] frog I al[mos]t bu[rs]t with that
[Sh]e [puffs] me up [b]ut she is [a]p[t] to flatter
To burst the bubble & to put to rout
Each pompous sounding literary cracker—
Mine lives as long as many Ive no doubt
[I w]ill but print them as I hinted at
[De]ceit may be decieved its no great [m]atter
[Big a]s [a] frog I al[mos]t bu[rs]t with that
[Sh]e [puffs] me up [b]ut she is [a]p[t] to flatter
Still tho my genius cant be reckond rich
That its origional youll all agree
& tho my pen is often on the itch
Ive kept as yet from thieving pretty free
To tell the truth Ive hardly stole from any
Save some few things from worthey mother Bunch
A joke from Miller (praisd as mine by many)
For an old pedlar once who acted punch
That its origional youll all agree
& tho my pen is often on the itch
Ive kept as yet from thieving pretty free
To tell the truth Ive hardly stole from any
Save some few things from worthey mother Bunch
A joke from Miller (praisd as mine by many)
For an old pedlar once who acted punch
If you like this Ill tell you tales by dozens
Which youll find pretty or I miss my aim
To strengthen this I might bring in my cousins
Who swear Im hastning up the hill to fame
But of friends praise I cant say Im a lover
For they like all are very prone to puff
Oft magazines laud books upon the cover
That prove when read most disagreeable stuff
Which youll find pretty or I miss my aim
To strengthen this I might bring in my cousins
Who swear Im hastning up the hill to fame
But of friends praise I cant say Im a lover
For they like all are very prone to puff
Oft magazines laud books upon the cover
That prove when read most disagreeable stuff
So here Ill leave this sample to its fate
Send me the ‘London’ if you take the hint
Twill get you half a crown at any rate
For Ill give that to see my name in print
& be [a]s't will Ill wait & hope the better
Gran poor old creature will be all delight—
& as Aunt Prissey often ends a letter
When getting late—I wish you all good night
Send me the ‘London’ if you take the hint
Twill get you half a crown at any rate
For Ill give that to see my name in print
& be [a]s't will Ill wait & hope the better
Gran poor old creature will be all delight—
& as Aunt Prissey often ends a letter
When getting late—I wish you all good night
June 14, 1821 past 10 o'clock
| The early poems of John Clare | |