 | Poems on several occasions |  |
A LETTER TO A FRIEND
WHO CAME TO THANK ME FOR HIS HAVING GOT PREFERMENT.
Though better work I have to do
Than rhyming on your friends and you,
Dear Hab, for once I will employ
An hour at least to wish you joy;
Nor can I such a Heathen prove
As not to give you love for love.
I joy to see your growing store,
Because, imprimis, you are poor;
And, next, because it makes me sneer
To see what merit they prefer;
And, lastly, 'cause, without all doubt,
Your being in keeps some one out.
Than rhyming on your friends and you,
Dear Hab, for once I will employ
An hour at least to wish you joy;
Nor can I such a Heathen prove
As not to give you love for love.
I joy to see your growing store,
Because, imprimis, you are poor;
And, next, because it makes me sneer
To see what merit they prefer;
And, lastly, 'cause, without all doubt,
Your being in keeps some one out.
No help I to your rising lent
By precept or by precedent
To me you therefore nothing owe
For what you are or what you do.
'Twas want of friends and want of pence,
'Twas all-performing confidence,
Courage to press in every place,
A changing and unchanging face,
A ready tongue and supple knee:—
Thank these, instead of thanking me.
By precept or by precedent
466
For what you are or what you do.
'Twas want of friends and want of pence,
'Twas all-performing confidence,
Courage to press in every place,
A changing and unchanging face,
A ready tongue and supple knee:—
Thank these, instead of thanking me.
For me, I'd rather labour on,
Than turn to rise as you have done.
Who would not poor and friendless be,
And doom'd for life to A, B, C,
Rather than give the least consent
To standing arms and Parliament?
Than swear to plots that no man sees,
And bawl for “pains and penalties?”
Than Britain's liberty o'erthrow
And Magna Charta at a blow?
Than with soft smiles and favour view
All sorts of worship but the true?
Than cease these evils to gainsay,
And seem a rascal,—for a day?
Than worship Satan for his power,
And join with Simon,—for an hour?
When me you thus tranform'd shall see,
Then is your time for thanking me.
Than turn to rise as you have done.
Who would not poor and friendless be,
And doom'd for life to A, B, C,
Rather than give the least consent
To standing arms and Parliament?
Than swear to plots that no man sees,
And bawl for “pains and penalties?”
Than Britain's liberty o'erthrow
And Magna Charta at a blow?
Than with soft smiles and favour view
All sorts of worship but the true?
Than cease these evils to gainsay,
And seem a rascal,—for a day?
Than worship Satan for his power,
And join with Simon,—for an hour?
When me you thus tranform'd shall see,
Then is your time for thanking me.
Or if, by ills you have endured,
Your Mercury should e'er be cured;
If, saved from creditors and need,
Instead of writing, you should read,
And sense of ancient Fathers seek
In their own Latin or in Greek;
If e'er your changes you should mourn,
And from your turning should return;
If e'er severely you compare
The life you lead and gown you wear;
And then, as far as lies in you,
The past recall, and done undo;
If e'er you follow my advice,
And grow by true repentance wise:—
If e'er that happy day you see,
Then is your time for thanking me.
Your Mercury should e'er be cured;
If, saved from creditors and need,
Instead of writing, you should read,
467
In their own Latin or in Greek;
If e'er your changes you should mourn,
And from your turning should return;
If e'er severely you compare
The life you lead and gown you wear;
And then, as far as lies in you,
The past recall, and done undo;
If e'er you follow my advice,
And grow by true repentance wise:—
If e'er that happy day you see,
Then is your time for thanking me.
Note, this is not my spouse's wit:
She knows not of my writing it.
Nor care I who may read my verse,
Except they be decipherers.
For those, if hired for such a job,
Might swear that “Satan” is Sir Bob;
Since 'tis beyond disputing clear,
S is the letter next to R.
Conclusions follow as they please,
No matter for the premisses.
She knows not of my writing it.
Nor care I who may read my verse,
Except they be decipherers.
For those, if hired for such a job,
Might swear that “Satan” is Sir Bob;
Since 'tis beyond disputing clear,
S is the letter next to R.
Conclusions follow as they please,
No matter for the premisses.
| Poems on several occasions | |