The Poetical Works of Robert Lloyd ... To Which is Prefixed an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By W. Kenrick ... In Two Volumes |
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 | II. |
A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO J.B. ESQ. |
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Lloyd |  |
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A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO J.B. ESQ.
Shall i, from worldly friends estrang'd,
Embitter much, but nothing chang'd
In that Affection firm and true,
Which Gratitude excites to You;
Shall I indulge the Muse, or stifle
This meditation of a trifle?
Embitter much, but nothing chang'd
In that Affection firm and true,
Which Gratitude excites to You;
Shall I indulge the Muse, or stifle
This meditation of a trifle?
But you, perhaps, will kindly take
The trifle for the Giver's sake,
Who only pays his grateful Mite,
The just acknowledgment of Right,
As to the Landlord duly sent
A pepper-corn shall pass for rent.
The trifle for the Giver's sake,
Who only pays his grateful Mite,
The just acknowledgment of Right,
As to the Landlord duly sent
A pepper-corn shall pass for rent.
Yet Trifles often shew the Man,
More than his settled Life and Plan:
These are the starts of inclination;
Those the mere gloss of Education,
Which has a wond'rous knack at turning
A Blockhead to a man of Learning;
And, by the help of form and place,
The child of Sin to babe of Grace.
Not that it alters Nature quite,
And sets perverted Reason right,
But, like Hypocrisy, conceals
The very passions which she feels;
And claps a Vizor on the face,
To hide us from the World's disgrace,
Which, as the first Appearance strikes,
Approves of all things, or dislikes.
Like the fond fool with eager glee,
Who sold his all, and put to sea,
Lur'd by the calm which seemed to sleep
On the smooth surface of the Deep;
Nor dreamt its waves could proudly rise,
And toss up mountains at the skies.
More than his settled Life and Plan:
These are the starts of inclination;
Those the mere gloss of Education,
Which has a wond'rous knack at turning
A Blockhead to a man of Learning;
And, by the help of form and place,
The child of Sin to babe of Grace.
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And sets perverted Reason right,
But, like Hypocrisy, conceals
The very passions which she feels;
And claps a Vizor on the face,
To hide us from the World's disgrace,
Which, as the first Appearance strikes,
Approves of all things, or dislikes.
Like the fond fool with eager glee,
Who sold his all, and put to sea,
Lur'd by the calm which seemed to sleep
On the smooth surface of the Deep;
Nor dreamt its waves could proudly rise,
And toss up mountains at the skies.
Appearance is the only thing,
A King's a Wretch, a Wretch a King.
Undress them both—You King, suppose
For once you wear the beggar's cloaths;
Cloaths that will take in every air;
—Bless me! they sit you to a hair.
Now you, Sir Vagrant, quickly don
The robes his Majesty had on.
And now, O World, so wond'rous wise,
Who see with such discerning eyes,
Put observation to the Stretch,
Come—which is King, and which is Wretch?
A King's a Wretch, a Wretch a King.
Undress them both—You King, suppose
For once you wear the beggar's cloaths;
Cloaths that will take in every air;
—Bless me! they sit you to a hair.
Now you, Sir Vagrant, quickly don
The robes his Majesty had on.
And now, O World, so wond'rous wise,
Who see with such discerning eyes,
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Come—which is King, and which is Wretch?
To cheat this World, the hardest task
Is to be constant to our Mask.
Externals make direct impressions
And masks are worn by all Professions.
Is to be constant to our Mask.
Externals make direct impressions
And masks are worn by all Professions.
What need to dwell on topics stale?
Of Parsons drunk with wine or ale?
Of Lawyers, who with face of brass,
For learned Rhetoricians pass?
Of Scientific Doctors big,
Hid in the pent-house of their wig?
Whose conversation hardly goes
Beyond half words, and hums! and Oh's!
Of Scholars, of superior taste,
Who cork it up for fear of waste,
Nor bring one bottle from their shelves,
But keep it always for themselves?
Of Parsons drunk with wine or ale?
Of Lawyers, who with face of brass,
For learned Rhetoricians pass?
Of Scientific Doctors big,
Hid in the pent-house of their wig?
Whose conversation hardly goes
Beyond half words, and hums! and Oh's!
Of Scholars, of superior taste,
Who cork it up for fear of waste,
Nor bring one bottle from their shelves,
But keep it always for themselves?
Wretches like these, my Soul disdains,
And doubts their hearts as well as brains.
Suppose a Neighbour should desire
To light a candle at your fire,
Would it deprive your flame of Light,
Because another profits by't?
And doubts their hearts as well as brains.
Suppose a Neighbour should desire
To light a candle at your fire,
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Because another profits by't?
But Youth must often pay its court,
To these great Scholars, by report,
Who live on hoarded reputation,
Which dares no risque of Conversation,
And boast within a store of Knowledge,
Sufficient, bless us! for a College,
But take a prudent care, no doubt,
That not a grain shall straggle out;
And are of Wit too nice and fine,
To throw their Pearl and gold to Swine;
And therefore, to prevent deceit,
Think every Man a Hog they meet.
To these great Scholars, by report,
Who live on hoarded reputation,
Which dares no risque of Conversation,
And boast within a store of Knowledge,
Sufficient, bless us! for a College,
But take a prudent care, no doubt,
That not a grain shall straggle out;
And are of Wit too nice and fine,
To throw their Pearl and gold to Swine;
And therefore, to prevent deceit,
Think every Man a Hog they meet.
These may perhaps as Scholars shine,
Who hang themselves out for a Sign.
What signifies a Lion's skin,
If it conceals an Ass within?
If thou'rt a Lion, prithee roar:
If Ass—bray once, and stalk no more.
In Words as well as Looks be wise,
Silence is Folly in Disguise;
With so much wisdom bottled up,
Uncork, and give your friends a sup.
Who hang themselves out for a Sign.
What signifies a Lion's skin,
If it conceals an Ass within?
If thou'rt a Lion, prithee roar:
If Ass—bray once, and stalk no more.
In Words as well as Looks be wise,
Silence is Folly in Disguise;
With so much wisdom bottled up,
Uncork, and give your friends a sup.
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What need your nothings thus to save?
Why place the Dial in the Grave?
A fig for Wit and Reputation,
Which sneaks from all Communication.
So in a post-bag, cheek by jole,
Letters will go from pole to pole,
Which may contain a wond'rous deal;
But then they travel under seal,
And though they bear your Wit about,
Yet who shall ever find it out,
Till trusty Wax forgoes its use,
And sets imprison'd meaning loose?
Why place the Dial in the Grave?
A fig for Wit and Reputation,
Which sneaks from all Communication.
So in a post-bag, cheek by jole,
Letters will go from pole to pole,
Which may contain a wond'rous deal;
But then they travel under seal,
And though they bear your Wit about,
Yet who shall ever find it out,
Till trusty Wax forgoes its use,
And sets imprison'd meaning loose?
Yet idle Folly often deems
What Man must be from what He seems;
As if, to look a dwelling o'er,
You'd go no farther than the Door.
What Man must be from what He seems;
As if, to look a dwelling o'er,
You'd go no farther than the Door.
Mark yon round Parson, fat and sleek,
Who preaches only once a Week,
Whom Claret, Sloth, and Ven'son join
To make an orthodox Divine;
Whose Holiness receives its beauty
From Income large, and little Duty;
Who loves the Pipe, the Glass, the Smock,
And keeps—a Curate for his Flock.
The world, obsequious to his nod,
Shall hail this oily man of God,
While the poor priest, with half a score
Of prattling infants at his Door,
Whose sober Wishes ne'er regale
Beyond the homely jug of Ale,
Is hardly deem'd companion fit
For Man of Wealth, or Man of Wit,
Though learn'd perhaps and wise as He
Who signs with staring S. T. P.
And full of sacerdotal Pride,
Lays God and Duty both aside.
Who preaches only once a Week,
Whom Claret, Sloth, and Ven'son join
To make an orthodox Divine;
Whose Holiness receives its beauty
From Income large, and little Duty;
Who loves the Pipe, the Glass, the Smock,
And keeps—a Curate for his Flock.
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Shall hail this oily man of God,
While the poor priest, with half a score
Of prattling infants at his Door,
Whose sober Wishes ne'er regale
Beyond the homely jug of Ale,
Is hardly deem'd companion fit
For Man of Wealth, or Man of Wit,
Though learn'd perhaps and wise as He
Who signs with staring S. T. P.
And full of sacerdotal Pride,
Lays God and Duty both aside.
“This Curate, say you, learn'd and wise!
“Why does not then this Curate rise?
“Why does not then this Curate rise?
This Curate then, at forty-three,
(Years which become a Curacy)
At no great mart of Letters bred,
Had strange odd notions in his head,
That Parts, and Books, and Application,
Furnish'd all means of Education;
And that a pulpiteer should know
More than his gaping flock below;
That Learning was not got with pain,
To be forgotten all again;
That Latin words, and rumbling Greek,
However charming sounds to speak,
Apt or unapt in each Quotation,
Were insults on a Congregation,
Who could not understand one word
Of all the learned stuff they heard;
That something more than preaching fine,
Should go to make a sound divine;
That Church and Pray'r, and holy Sunday,
Were no excuse for sinful Monday;
That pious doctrine, pious Life,
Should both make one, as Man and Wife.
(Years which become a Curacy)
At no great mart of Letters bred,
Had strange odd notions in his head,
That Parts, and Books, and Application,
Furnish'd all means of Education;
And that a pulpiteer should know
More than his gaping flock below;
That Learning was not got with pain,
To be forgotten all again;
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However charming sounds to speak,
Apt or unapt in each Quotation,
Were insults on a Congregation,
Who could not understand one word
Of all the learned stuff they heard;
That something more than preaching fine,
Should go to make a sound divine;
That Church and Pray'r, and holy Sunday,
Were no excuse for sinful Monday;
That pious doctrine, pious Life,
Should both make one, as Man and Wife.
Thinking in this uncommon Mode,
So out of all the priestly road,
What Man alive can e'er suppose,
Who marks the way Preferment goes,
That she should ever find her way
To this poor Curate's house of clay?
So out of all the priestly road,
What Man alive can e'er suppose,
Who marks the way Preferment goes,
That she should ever find her way
To this poor Curate's house of clay?
Such was the Priest, so strangely wise!
He could not bow—How should He rise?
Learned He was, and deeply read;
—But what of that?—not duly bred.
For he had suck'd no grammar rules
From Royal founts, or Public schools,
Nor gain'd a single Corn of Knowledge
From that vast Granary—a College.
A Granary, which food supplies
To vermin of uncommon Size.
He could not bow—How should He rise?
Learned He was, and deeply read;
—But what of that?—not duly bred.
For he had suck'd no grammar rules
From Royal founts, or Public schools,
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From that vast Granary—a College.
A Granary, which food supplies
To vermin of uncommon Size.
Aye, now indeed the Matter's clear,
There is a mighty error here.
A public school's the place alone,
Where Talents may be duly known.
It has, no doubt, its imperfections,
But then, such Friendships! such connections!
The Parent, who has form'd his Plan,
And in his Child consider'd Man,
What is his grand and golden Rule,
“Make your connections, Child, at School.
“Mix with your Equals, fly inferiors,
“But follow closely your Superiors,
“On Them your ev'ry Hope depends,
“Be prudent, Tom, get useful Friends;
“And therefore like a spider wait,
“And spin your Web about the great.
“If my Lord's Genius wants supplies,
“Why—You must make his Exercise.
“Let the young Marquis take your Place,
“And bear a whipping sor his Grace.
“Suppose (such Things may happen once)
“The Nobles Wits, and You the Dunce,
“Improve the means of Education,
“And learn commodious Adulation.
“Your Master scarcely holds it sin,
“He chucks his Lordship on the Chin,
“And would not for the World rebuke,
“Beyond a pat, the school-boy Dake.
“The Pastor there, of—what's the Place?
“With smiles eternal in his Face,
“With dimpling cheek, and snowy hand,
“That shames the whiteness of his band;
“Whose mincing Dialect abounds
“In Hums and Hahs, and half-form'd sounds;
“Whose Elocution, fine and chaste,
“Lays his commainds with Judgment vaist;
“And lest the Company should hear,
“Whispers his Nothings in your Ear,
“Think you 'twas Zeal, or Virtue's Care
“That placed the smirking Doctor there.
“No—'twas Connections form'd at School
“With some rich Wit, or noble Fool,
“Obsequious Flattery, and Attendance,
“A wilful, useful, base dependance;
“A supple bowing of the Knees
“To any human God you please.
“(For true good-breeding's so polite,
“'Twould call the very Devil white)
“'Twas watching others shifting Will,
“And veering to and fro with Skill:
“These were the means that made him rise,
“Mind your connections, and be wise.”
There is a mighty error here.
A public school's the place alone,
Where Talents may be duly known.
It has, no doubt, its imperfections,
But then, such Friendships! such connections!
The Parent, who has form'd his Plan,
And in his Child consider'd Man,
What is his grand and golden Rule,
“Make your connections, Child, at School.
“Mix with your Equals, fly inferiors,
“But follow closely your Superiors,
“On Them your ev'ry Hope depends,
“Be prudent, Tom, get useful Friends;
“And therefore like a spider wait,
“And spin your Web about the great.
“If my Lord's Genius wants supplies,
“Why—You must make his Exercise.
“Let the young Marquis take your Place,
“And bear a whipping sor his Grace.
“Suppose (such Things may happen once)
“The Nobles Wits, and You the Dunce,
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“And learn commodious Adulation.
“Your Master scarcely holds it sin,
“He chucks his Lordship on the Chin,
“And would not for the World rebuke,
“Beyond a pat, the school-boy Dake.
“The Pastor there, of—what's the Place?
“With smiles eternal in his Face,
“With dimpling cheek, and snowy hand,
“That shames the whiteness of his band;
“Whose mincing Dialect abounds
“In Hums and Hahs, and half-form'd sounds;
“Whose Elocution, fine and chaste,
“Lays his commainds with Judgment vaist;
“And lest the Company should hear,
“Whispers his Nothings in your Ear,
“Think you 'twas Zeal, or Virtue's Care
“That placed the smirking Doctor there.
“No—'twas Connections form'd at School
“With some rich Wit, or noble Fool,
“Obsequious Flattery, and Attendance,
“A wilful, useful, base dependance;
“A supple bowing of the Knees
“To any human God you please.
“(For true good-breeding's so polite,
“'Twould call the very Devil white)
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“And veering to and fro with Skill:
“These were the means that made him rise,
“Mind your connections, and be wise.”
Methinks I hear son Tom reply,
I'll be a Bishop by and by.
I'll be a Bishop by and by.
Connections at a public School
Will often serve a wealthy Fool,
By lending him a letter'd Knave
To bring him Credit, or to save;
And Knavery gets a profit real,
By giving parts and worth ideal.
The child that marks this slavish Plan,
Will make his Fortune when a Man.
While honest Wit's ingenuous Merit
Enjoys his pittance, and his Spirit.
Will often serve a wealthy Fool,
By lending him a letter'd Knave
To bring him Credit, or to save;
And Knavery gets a profit real,
By giving parts and worth ideal.
The child that marks this slavish Plan,
Will make his Fortune when a Man.
While honest Wit's ingenuous Merit
Enjoys his pittance, and his Spirit.
The Strength of public Education
Is quick'ning Parts by Emulation;
And Emulation will create
In narrow minds a jealous state,
Which stifled for a course of Years,
From want of Skill or mutual Eears,
Breaks out in manhood with a zeal,
Which none but rival Wits can feel.
For when good people Wits commence,
They lose all other kind of sense;
(The maxim makes you smile, I see,
Retort it when you please on me)
One writer always hates another,
As Emperors would kill a brother,
Or Empress Queen to rule alone,
Pluck down a Husband from the throne.
Is quick'ning Parts by Emulation;
And Emulation will create
In narrow minds a jealous state,
Which stifled for a course of Years,
From want of Skill or mutual Eears,
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Which none but rival Wits can feel.
For when good people Wits commence,
They lose all other kind of sense;
(The maxim makes you smile, I see,
Retort it when you please on me)
One writer always hates another,
As Emperors would kill a brother,
Or Empress Queen to rule alone,
Pluck down a Husband from the throne.
When tir'd of Friendship and alliance,
Each side springs forward to defiance,
Inveterate Hate and Resolution,
Faggot and Fire and Persecution,
Is all their aim, and all their Cry,
Though neither side can tell you why.
To it they run like valiant Men,
And flash about them with their Pen.
Each side springs forward to defiance,
Inveterate Hate and Resolution,
Faggot and Fire and Persecution,
Is all their aim, and all their Cry,
Though neither side can tell you why.
To it they run like valiant Men,
And flash about them with their Pen.
What Inkshed springs from Altercation!
What loppings off of Reputation!
You might as soon hush stormy Weather,
And bring the North and South together,
As reconcile your letter'd foes,
Who come to all things but dry blows.
What loppings off of Reputation!
You might as soon hush stormy Weather,
And bring the North and South together,
As reconcile your letter'd foes,
Who come to all things but dry blows.
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Your desperate lovers wan and pale,
As needy culprits in a jail,
Who muse and doat, and pine, and die,
Scorch'd by the light'ning of an eye,
(For ladies' eyes, with fatal stroke,
Will blast the veriest heart of oak)
Will wrangle, bicker, and complain,
Merely to make it up again.
Though swain look glum, and miss look fiery,
'Tis nothing but amantium iræ,
And all the progress purely this—
A frown, a pout, a tear, a kiss.
Thus love and quarrels (April weather)
Like vinegar and oil together,
Join in an easy mingled strife,
To make the sallad up of life.
Love settles best from altercation,
As liquors after fermentation.
As needy culprits in a jail,
Who muse and doat, and pine, and die,
Scorch'd by the light'ning of an eye,
(For ladies' eyes, with fatal stroke,
Will blast the veriest heart of oak)
Will wrangle, bicker, and complain,
Merely to make it up again.
Though swain look glum, and miss look fiery,
'Tis nothing but amantium iræ,
And all the progress purely this—
A frown, a pout, a tear, a kiss.
Thus love and quarrels (April weather)
Like vinegar and oil together,
Join in an easy mingled strife,
To make the sallad up of life.
Love settles best from altercation,
As liquors after fermentation.
In a stage-coach, with lumber cramm'd,
Between two bulky bodies jamm'd,
Did you ne'er writhe yourself about,
To find the seat and cushion out?
How disagreeably you sit,
With b—m awry, and place unsit,
Till some kind jolt o'er ill-pav'd town,
Shall wedge you close, and nail you down,
So fares it with your fondling dolts,
And all love's quarrels are but jolts.
Between two bulky bodies jamm'd,
Did you ne'er writhe yourself about,
To find the seat and cushion out?
How disagreeably you sit,
With b—m awry, and place unsit,
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Shall wedge you close, and nail you down,
So fares it with your fondling dolts,
And all love's quarrels are but jolts.
When tiffs arise, and words of strife
Turn one to two in man and wife,
(For that's a matrimonial course
Which yoke-mates must go through perforce,
And ev'ry married man is certain
T'attend the lecture call'd the curtain)
Tho' not another word is said,
When once the couple are in bed:
There things their proper channel keep,
(They make it up, and go to sleep)
These fallings in and fallings out,
Sometimes with cause, but most without,
Are but the common modes of strife,
Which oil the springs of married life,
Where sameness would create the spleen,
For ever stupidly serene.
Turn one to two in man and wife,
(For that's a matrimonial course
Which yoke-mates must go through perforce,
And ev'ry married man is certain
T'attend the lecture call'd the curtain)
Tho' not another word is said,
When once the couple are in bed:
There things their proper channel keep,
(They make it up, and go to sleep)
These fallings in and fallings out,
Sometimes with cause, but most without,
Are but the common modes of strife,
Which oil the springs of married life,
Where sameness would create the spleen,
For ever stupidly serene.
Observe yon downy bed—to make it,
You toss the feathers up, and shake it.
So fondness springs from words and scusfling,
As beds lie smoothest after shuffling.
You toss the feathers up, and shake it.
So fondness springs from words and scusfling,
As beds lie smoothest after shuffling.
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But authors wranglings will create
The very quintessence of hate;
Peace is a fruitless vain endeavour,
Sworn foes for once, they're foes for ever.
The very quintessence of hate;
Peace is a fruitless vain endeavour,
Sworn foes for once, they're foes for ever.
—Oh! had it pleas'd my wiser betters
That I had never tasted letters,
Then no Parnassian maggots bred,
Like fancies in a madman's head,
No graspings at an idle name,
No childish hope of future fame,
No impotence of wit had ta'en
Possession of my muse-struck brain.
That I had never tasted letters,
Then no Parnassian maggots bred,
Like fancies in a madman's head,
No graspings at an idle name,
No childish hope of future fame,
No impotence of wit had ta'en
Possession of my muse-struck brain.
Or had my birth, with fortune fit,
Varnish'd the dunce, or made the wit;
I had not held a shameful place,
Nor letters paid me with disgrace.
Varnish'd the dunce, or made the wit;
I had not held a shameful place,
Nor letters paid me with disgrace.
—O! for a pittance of my own,
That I might live unsought, unknown!
Retir'd from all this pedant strife,
Far from the cares of bust'ling life;
Far from the wits, the fools, the great,
And all the little world I hate.
That I might live unsought, unknown!
Retir'd from all this pedant strife,
Far from the cares of bust'ling life;
Far from the wits, the fools, the great,
And all the little world I hate.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Lloyd | |