The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Arithmetic!—wags will say, upon this spot!
Cyphering at Merchant-Taylors'!—Yes—why not?
Numbers to verse it's pleasing powers prolong:
Why should not verse to numbers give a song?

Our pounds, our shillings, and our pence, indeed,
But little skill in computation need:—
Yet while so kind an audience we can boast,
At least we reckon not—without our host.

Arithmetic's scope is universal—true!
Yet local, temporary, personal too:
In proof whereof, for want of better chear,
A few short specimens now crave your ear.

232

First for locality—'tis sure, tho' strange,
Arithmetic changes, even as places change.

Dangling at levees in the great-man's train,
You bow, retire; return, and bow again:
Tho' balk'd, still hope; tho' hoping, still confess
Days of suspence, are ages of distress.
State you th' account of pains so idly lost,
Scarce any recompence could quit the cost:—
But let my lord himself compute his debt,
'Tis just the very Nothing—which you get.

The gull at Arthur's, to make ruin brief,
Bets on a card—and bets against a thief:
Bets; loses; pays; goes back from whence he came,
And bilks, or bullies off, a tradesman's claim:
Deems thousands bagatelles, where gamblers meet,
And pence important, where himself can cheat.

Two opposite sides the Senate-House compose;
And each it's own distinct arithmetic shows:

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One numbers faults; the other merits quotes;
Those count mismanagements; and these count votes;
Those twenty grievances in one deplore;
And these to make us richer, tax us more.

As different place, so different time displays
Arithmetic's energy in different ways.

Before you sue, your lawyer states a sum;
Verdict, replevy, trover, all to come:
But after issue join'd, you find his skill
Had cast up nothing right—except his bill.

Sylvia in youth's high bloom, and health's high glow,
Thought every minute ten; time crept so slow:
In age, quite retrograde her reckonings run;
Five winters since, her fiftieth year begun;
Five winters hence, she'll set down fifty-one.

Favours, when Curio wants an helping hand,
Mark'd in his estimate for nothing stand:

234

One rule, proportion's golden rule we call;
Curio, it seems, has two such rules—that's all.
Should Curio thrive, and you hereafter sue,
He'll rate all double—when he favours you.

Arithmetic's modes thus follow place and time:
I'll prove 'em personal too—and end my rhyme.

Numbering her griefs, see where poor Claudia lies!
O! vast amount of woe—her Jackoo dies!
Youth, beauty, wealth, in vain your gifts ye shed!
Are they a balance for a monkey dead?—
Pain, want, despair, ye claim not pity's shrug!
Can they feel sorrow, who have lost no pug?

On ruin's brink, grave Publius cries, we stand;
Follies and vices soon must sink the land:
Then spreads a black account before our view,
Of things too flagrant,—and perhaps too true:
Yet Publius never, to avert the shock,
Deducts one vice or folly, from the stock.

235

But why to satire thus devote our lays?
Personal Arithmetic can sanction praise.
There are, who all it's generous compass know;
And use it's largest scale—when they bestow:
Who add new bounties, to indulge new zeal;—
With pride we tell it; for with joy we feel;
Conscious the public voice will join the strain,
While Seats like these, and Men like you, remain.