Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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An Imitation of the same. To a Foe.
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
236
An Imitation of the same. To a Foe.
To those I hate I would decreeThe Whipping-Post, or Tyburn-Tree,
To Britain's Sons, who are her Foes,
The Hemp in British Fields that grows:
On one I would bestow, 'e're long,
A silken Halter, wide and strong,
Wove, to record the Villain's Shame,
With the sev'n Letters of his Name:
This, were the Laws within my Pow'r,
Should, Wretch, be thine before an Hour;
But such a Rope is wanted not,
A hempen one will be your Lot.
'Tis not in me to make you swing;
But you can read what now I sing.
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They suit not with your gloomy State;
Therefore the Muse, her Wrongs to right,
Shall paint a Monster black as Night.
Not Shepherd, who could shift the Scene,
From Jail to Jail, like Harlequin,
Nor Wild, great Man! who had his Day,
And keep'd the lesser Rogues in Pay,
Can live in Newgate's Rolls so long
As thou, thou greater Rogue, in Song.
Chartres perhaps would be forgot,
Had Pope not writ, or Arbuthnot.
The Muses, impious Man! behold
Thee fortify'd with Brass and Gold;
They've long the human Vermin spy'd
Which swarm about thy filthy Hyde;
They see the Dogs around thy Stall,
Licking the Crums which from thee fall;
And they to thee, and them, will give,
Thro Ages hence, to stink and live:
They long ago, as Fables tell,
Sent Tantalus to fast in Hell;
And lately they, in Phrase most civil,
Poor Johnny Comb sent to the Devil:
And they, however you despise
The Pow'r in Verse, like mine, that lys,
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Deliver down with endless Shame:
This Curse you to the Muses owe,
As Virtue's, as your Country's, Foe.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |