Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Man who's so amazing wise,
A little Trifling to despise,
Tho' for a Solomon he pass,
Is Trifle-better than an Ass,
That on dry prickly thistles mumbles,
And cheerless ever, brays and grumbles:
Without it, Life were a poor feast,
Where Man would sit a humdrum guest;
But Trifling, sportive, full of glee,
With Health to bear her company,
Enters;—at once dispels our gloom,
And kicks Spleen headlong from the room.

Trifling to Wisdom's near ally'd,
Altho' by Pedants 'tis deny'd;
And in Truth's maxims 'tis a rule,
The graver still the greater Fool:
Like Master Stephen , Sons of Folly
Are vastly giv'n to Melancholy.
And wise Men oft thro' Trifling's road,
Arrive at Wisdom's snug abode:
Aided by that, they Truths discern,
And Mankind's inmost Passions learn.

The greatest Men, relax'd and gay,
With Folly's bells can, laughing, play.

Cromwell, altho' he was no Fool,
Wou'd often romp like Boy at school;
And Prussia's King sometimes descends,
And blind-man-buffs it 'mong his Friends:
On Gravity when Monarchs trample,
Courtiers will follow their example;
No longer then their thoughts they stifle;
Men's souls are honest when they trifle,
Hypocrisy aside is thrown,
And for a time Truth fills the throne.

Scipio the wise, in days of yore,
Oft trifled on Cumea's shore;
With Lelius laugh'd, indulg'd his freaks,
And play'd (boy-like) at ducks and drakes:—
Great Julius Cæsar, as we read,
Was a true Buck of the first head;
And Bucks, I'm sure, must be allow'd
To van it in the Trifling Crowd.

Ev'n Solomon, the man most wise
That ever breath'd beneath the skies,
Had long thro' Pleasure's magic rov'd,
And all the joys of Trifling prov'd:—
When he had got his quantum suff,
Or rather more than was enough,
He wisely said—“That Life, alas!
“Was Vanitatum vanitas:”
But when he conquer'd mawky Spleen,
He wisely trifled on again;

And in old age, as records show,
He kept a large Seraglio;
And all the pleasures he found there
Were Trifling, we may safely swear.

May I aver, without offence,
Trifling's a thing of consequence?

Poets and grave Logicians own,
That all the world to Trifling's prone;
We see what crowds dispute and jar
On Politics, on Peace and War;
Or give a positive decision
On Patagonians, or Religion;
On Inward Grace, or Cock-lane Ghost,
On Nabobs, or some fav'rite Toast;
On Op'ras, or on Matter's Essence,
On Farces, or the Soul's Quintessence;
On Chatham, Bute, or Patriot Wilkes,
On Cookery—or Price of Silks;
On Faith, that anchor of salvation,
Or such-like Trifling disputation;
What are they all but Trifling Jokes?
(At least made so by Trifling Folks)—
And yet those Trifles give enjoyment,
By finding Trifling minds employment.

Your Graduates of Gresham College,
Maugre their gravity and knowledge,
Have lately to the world approv'd
How very much they Trifling lov'd;

For Trifles they can scold and prate,
And fight like Wives at Billinsgate:
Such Trifling we'd excuse—but when
They raise the death-denouncing Pen,
Pluck'd from the boding Raven's wing,
It then becomes a serious thing;
“In pops grim Death, th' arresting Serjeant,
“With—Sir, your most obedient Servant.”

Ev'n at St. Stephen's, some Folk say
That Trifling bears a mighty sway;
And yet I doubt the truth,—for who
A Trifling member ever knew?

Love, by experience, we find
Chief source of pleasure to mankind;
And Lovers' actions always prove,
Trifling's the very Soul of Love.

Women are call'd, in ridicule,
The Trifling Sex by ev'ry Fool:
But Fools destroy their Spleen's intent,
By paying them a compliment:
What gains our wonder and our praise?
Their thousand pretty Trifling ways:
By Trifling only they maintain
Their empire and despotic reign:
And Female Wit, which so surprizes,
From Trifling evermore arises.

But of all Triflers under Heaven,
Rhymesters are most to Trifling given;

They spin in Trifles their poor Brains,
And get but Trifles for their pains;
And what particularly shews 'em
Coxcombs, to every soul that knows them,
Is,—That they boast, with fronts of brass,
Favours from Misses of Parnass.
When ev'ry living mortal knows,
Each Muse is still an unpluck'd rose.

Rhymesters, howe'er, may boast their Use;—
The Trifling Nothings they produce,
Serve Triflers, on a rainy day,
To while an idle hour away.

The Gossip Press, for our repose,
With Trifles daily overflows;
And, Gossip-like, it still supplies,
For ev'ry Truth a thousand Lyes.

These few, in short, may serve as samples,
Among ten thousand like examples,
That Trifling is a real ingredient,
And to our happiness expedient.

But after all, good Sir, I deem
We should not use it in extreme:
'Tis but a seas'ning at the best,
And gives to life a pleasing zest;
But salt by mouthfuls taken, sure
No man of taste can well endure.

Thinking and Trifling help each other,
As friend helps friend, or brother brother:—

Ev'n as the human body tires,
And Sleep's recruiting balm requires,
Trifling the same effect produces,
And fits the soul for noblest uses:
In this the truest wisdom lies,
“Still to be Merry and be Wise.”

Excuse, my Patron and my Friend,
Those Trifling Cramboes which I send;
You're tir'd of Trifling by this Time,
And so I'll end my Trifling Rhyme.

With love to friends, I'm your most Fervent,
Obedient, Trifling, Humble Servant.

May 6—the day extremely fine;
Seventeen hundred sixty-nine.

A Character in Every Man in his Humour.