The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
45
TO THE SAME,
ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY. WITH AN IVORY TOOTH-PICK CASE, OF FRENCH MANUFACTORY.
A Toy from France craves leave to pay,
With me, it's homage to the Day:—
A Toy indeed!—from France indeed!—
—That's all it pleads—or has to plead.
With me, it's homage to the Day:—
A Toy indeed!—from France indeed!—
—That's all it pleads—or has to plead.
My little tokens, oft, of yore,
Your emblematic semblance bore:
But this, the portrait I propose,
By not resembling, will disclose.
Your emblematic semblance bore:
But this, the portrait I propose,
By not resembling, will disclose.
46
Mark, to what polish Art has wrought
Materials never worth a groat!—
How different that from Nature's care,
Which form'd You good, as well as fair?
Produc'd a brilliant work 'tis true;
But from itself, it's lustre drew.
Materials never worth a groat!—
How different that from Nature's care,
Which form'd You good, as well as fair?
Produc'd a brilliant work 'tis true;
But from itself, it's lustre drew.
The Trifle, à-la-mode de France,
Shews all it's splendor at a glance:
But you in meek concealment shroud
Enough to make a thousand proud;
Outshine the vainest of the vain;
Yet bide more excellence, than they feign!
Shews all it's splendor at a glance:
But you in meek concealment shroud
Enough to make a thousand proud;
Outshine the vainest of the vain;
Yet bide more excellence, than they feign!
See where a wire-drawn circlet trim
Of cobweb gold, surrounds each rim;
Pure gold perhaps, and just so far
'Tis sterling, as your Virtues are;
But when for substance we enquire,
No contrast could be carried higher.
Of cobweb gold, surrounds each rim;
Pure gold perhaps, and just so far
'Tis sterling, as your Virtues are;
But when for substance we enquire,
No contrast could be carried higher.
47
If any price the Bawble bear,
'Tis fashion's tax on foreign ware;
Fashion, that when your sense submits
To popular folly's prankful fits,
Improvement from your Manner makes,
And gives not half th' eclat it takes.
'Tis fashion's tax on foreign ware;
Fashion, that when your sense submits
To popular folly's prankful fits,
Improvement from your Manner makes,
And gives not half th' eclat it takes.
Observe the taudry Trinket shine
At once as useless, as 'tis fine:
But You, when most you please us, boast
Both will and power to serve us most;
And prove superior judgment's light,
As beneficial, as 'tis bright.
At once as useless, as 'tis fine:
But You, when most you please us, boast
Both will and power to serve us most;
And prove superior judgment's light,
As beneficial, as 'tis bright.
So short my Present's merits fall!
—And how precarious after all!
How slight a touch, how brief a space,
It's glossy beauties may deface!
While you to years, and years to you,
Devolve new grace, and influence new.
—And how precarious after all!
How slight a touch, how brief a space,
It's glossy beauties may deface!
While you to years, and years to you,
Devolve new grace, and influence new.
48
But wherefore, ('twill, of course, be said,)
Is such a worthless offering made?
—Plain truth forbids me to disclaim
A very, very, selfish aim;—
'Twas that, the Gift might soon be spurn'd;
And all your thanks, if thanks were earn'd,
And every kiss of thanks you'd spare,
Be, whole and sole, the Giver's share.
Is such a worthless offering made?
—Plain truth forbids me to disclaim
A very, very, selfish aim;—
'Twas that, the Gift might soon be spurn'd;
And all your thanks, if thanks were earn'd,
And every kiss of thanks you'd spare,
Be, whole and sole, the Giver's share.
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |