 | The Last Poems of Philip Freneau |  |
112
To a New-England Poet
Though skilled in latin and in greek,
And earning fifty cents a week,
Such knowledge, and the income, too,
Should teach you better what to do:
The meanest drudges, kept in pay,
Can pocket fifty cents a day.
And earning fifty cents a week,
Such knowledge, and the income, too,
Should teach you better what to do:
The meanest drudges, kept in pay,
Can pocket fifty cents a day.
Why stay in such a tasteless land,
Where ALL must on a level stand,
(Excepting people, at their ease,
Who choose the level where they please:)
See Irving gone to Britain's court
To people of another sort,
He will return, with wealth and fame,
While Yankees hardly know your name.
Where ALL must on a level stand,
(Excepting people, at their ease,
Who choose the level where they please:)
See Irving gone to Britain's court
To people of another sort,
He will return, with wealth and fame,
While Yankees hardly know your name.
Lo! he has kissed a Monarch's—hand!
Before a PRINCE I see him stand,
And with the glittering nobles mix,
Forgetting times of seventy-six,
While you with terror meet the frown
Of Bank Directors of the town,
The home-made nobles of our times,
Who hate the bard, and spurn his rhymes.
Before a PRINCE I see him stand,
And with the glittering nobles mix,
Forgetting times of seventy-six,
While you with terror meet the frown
Of Bank Directors of the town,
The home-made nobles of our times,
Who hate the bard, and spurn his rhymes.
Why pause?—like Irving, haste away,
To England your addresses pay;
And England will reward you well,
When you some pompous story tell
Of British feats, and British arms,
The maids of honor, and their charms.
To England your addresses pay;
And England will reward you well,
When you some pompous story tell
Of British feats, and British arms,
The maids of honor, and their charms.
Dear Bard, I pray you, take the hint,
In England what you write and print,
Republished here in shop, or stall,
Will perfectly enchant us all:
It will assume a different face,
And post your name at every place,
From splendid domes of first degree
Where ladies meet, to sip their tea;
From marble halls, where lawyers plead,
Or Congress-men talk loud, indeed,
To huts, where evening clubs appear,
And 'squires resort—to guzzle Beer.
In England what you write and print,
113
Will perfectly enchant us all:
It will assume a different face,
And post your name at every place,
From splendid domes of first degree
Where ladies meet, to sip their tea;
From marble halls, where lawyers plead,
Or Congress-men talk loud, indeed,
To huts, where evening clubs appear,
And 'squires resort—to guzzle Beer.
| The Last Poems of Philip Freneau | |