Poems on Several Occasions In Two Volumes. By Mr. Joseph Mitchell |
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To the Right Honourable John
Earl of
Stair,
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
To the Right Honourable John Earl of Stair,
BEFORE THE Election of Sixteen Peers for Scotland, Anno Dom. 1722.
The Bard, who boasts Devotion to your Name,
And sung the good Sir David's deathless Fame,
Presumes again to interrupt your Thoughts,
With humble Sense, and unharmonious Notes.
And sung the good Sir David's deathless Fame,
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With humble Sense, and unharmonious Notes.
Shou'd Stair, regardless of a wretched Muse,
His kind Protection to my Verse refuse,
What generous Peer, of Caledonian Blood,
Or will, or can do Mitchell's Genius Good?
Others may boast a showy Pow'r, and State—
But who, like Stair, at once is good and great?
Be This your Glory still—nor scorn his Lays,
Who scorns to prove a Prostitute, for Praise.
Tho' long I've wander'd fickle Fortune's Sport,
By Priests pursu'd, unheeded by the Court,
Souls, of your Stamp, can pity and protect,
And gather Fame from other Men's Neglect.
So Fools, sometimes, unpolish'd Gems despise,
Whose Value, known, distinguishes the wise.
His kind Protection to my Verse refuse,
What generous Peer, of Caledonian Blood,
Or will, or can do Mitchell's Genius Good?
Others may boast a showy Pow'r, and State—
But who, like Stair, at once is good and great?
Be This your Glory still—nor scorn his Lays,
Who scorns to prove a Prostitute, for Praise.
Tho' long I've wander'd fickle Fortune's Sport,
By Priests pursu'd, unheeded by the Court,
Souls, of your Stamp, can pity and protect,
And gather Fame from other Men's Neglect.
So Fools, sometimes, unpolish'd Gems despise,
Whose Value, known, distinguishes the wise.
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Permit, my Lord, a Poet to express
Some natural Pride, in midst of his Distress.
I own, no Face of Fortune can controul
The stated Virtue of my noble Soul.
I'd rather bear the Insults of the Base,
And still prefer Parnassus to a Place,
Than cringe and buckle to my Mind's Disgrace.
Yet I can stoop, where Honour gives me Leave,
And thank the Hand, that brings me wish'd Reprieve:
Nor wou'd I, if I cou'd do better, sit
At Home, a lazy Liver on my Wit.
But till, ah fruitless Hope! some friendly Pow'r,
For future Life, lays my Foundation sure,
In Spite of me, this damn'd, poetic, Itch
Will marr my lucky Fortune to be rich!
Some natural Pride, in midst of his Distress.
I own, no Face of Fortune can controul
The stated Virtue of my noble Soul.
I'd rather bear the Insults of the Base,
And still prefer Parnassus to a Place,
Than cringe and buckle to my Mind's Disgrace.
Yet I can stoop, where Honour gives me Leave,
And thank the Hand, that brings me wish'd Reprieve:
Nor wou'd I, if I cou'd do better, sit
At Home, a lazy Liver on my Wit.
But till, ah fruitless Hope! some friendly Pow'r,
For future Life, lays my Foundation sure,
In Spite of me, this damn'd, poetic, Itch
Will marr my lucky Fortune to be rich!
Now, to Edina ev'ry Clan repairs,
To chuse Directors of our Scots' Affairs.
My Hearr attends 'em—but the wanted Pelf
Arrests my Muse, a poor, abandon'd Elf!
Here I must sigh each Summer Night away,
And hide from hunting Catchpoles all the Day.
To chuse Directors of our Scots' Affairs.
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Arrests my Muse, a poor, abandon'd Elf!
Here I must sigh each Summer Night away,
And hide from hunting Catchpoles all the Day.
O tell it not in Gath, that sixteen Peers
Had but one Bard, and left him all in Tears.
The Philistines will triumph at the News,
And mock, at once, the Patrons, and the Muse.
'Twere nobler far, before th' Elections come,
To frank your honest Poet Mitchell Home.
Had but one Bard, and left him all in Tears.
The Philistines will triumph at the News,
And mock, at once, the Patrons, and the Muse.
'Twere nobler far, before th' Elections come,
To frank your honest Poet Mitchell Home.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |