 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
177
ALEXANDER and COURTIER.
When
Philip's Son, with conq'ring sword,
Had taught mankind to hail him lord,
And Argumentum Baculinum
Prov'd, plain as pikestaff, Jus Divinum,
Each sycophant, to make his court,
Assum'd the monarch's martial port;
Meer Butterflies! who strove in vain
The Eagle's Soarings to attain:—
Among these flutt'ring things was known
A constant dangler near the throne,
Who not content the warlike gait
Of his high lord to imitate,
Caught, like a blockhead, at each shade
That in their monarch was pourtray'd:
At superficials coxcombs aim,
Or light or shade—to them the same.
Had taught mankind to hail him lord,
And Argumentum Baculinum
Prov'd, plain as pikestaff, Jus Divinum,
Each sycophant, to make his court,
Assum'd the monarch's martial port;
Meer Butterflies! who strove in vain
The Eagle's Soarings to attain:—
Among these flutt'ring things was known
A constant dangler near the throne,
Who not content the warlike gait
Of his high lord to imitate,
Caught, like a blockhead, at each shade
That in their monarch was pourtray'd:
At superficials coxcombs aim,
Or light or shade—to them the same.
Dame Fortune, in a frolic mood,
On Alexander had bestow'd
A neck ybent, which fairly sped
On shoulder left his royal head:—
Our cypher Lordlin whose weak mind
For noble deeds was ne'er design'd,
By way of flatt'ring compliment
His empty head on shoulder bent,
With curve far greater of the two;—
Thus wou'd-be mimics always do.
On Alexander had bestow'd
A neck ybent, which fairly sped
On shoulder left his royal head:—
Our cypher Lordlin whose weak mind
For noble deeds was ne'er design'd,
By way of flatt'ring compliment
His empty head on shoulder bent,
With curve far greater of the two;—
Thus wou'd-be mimics always do.
The watchful king with curious eye
Soon mark'd the servile butterfly,
And, smiling, thus the Fop addrest—
“In sooth, my Lord, I'm much distrest,
“To see that lovely form and mien
“Which erst might tempt bright Beauty's queen,
“By that wry Neck disgrac'd:—We'll prove
“Your Doctor, and the blot remove:
“On rugged forms like mine alone
“Such blemishes be ever shown;”—
So saying, to sinister side
A royal Cuff he straight apply'd,
Which like electric conjuration,
To the spectators admiration,
Laid poor Sir Fopling on the floor,
And work'd a speedy lasting cure:
Oh, sacred Touch! Oh Touch most civil!
To cure—hey presto—the King's Evil.
Soon mark'd the servile butterfly,
178
“In sooth, my Lord, I'm much distrest,
“To see that lovely form and mien
“Which erst might tempt bright Beauty's queen,
“By that wry Neck disgrac'd:—We'll prove
“Your Doctor, and the blot remove:
“On rugged forms like mine alone
“Such blemishes be ever shown;”—
So saying, to sinister side
A royal Cuff he straight apply'd,
Which like electric conjuration,
To the spectators admiration,
Laid poor Sir Fopling on the floor,
And work'd a speedy lasting cure:
Oh, sacred Touch! Oh Touch most civil!
To cure—hey presto—the King's Evil.
Wou'd you resemble those whom you admire,
Shun their Defects, and to their Worth aspire.
Shun their Defects, and to their Worth aspire.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |