 | Miscellaneous poems |  |
78
A Merry Fellow, and a Sad Poet.
By the Same.
Tom
, and his Muse, on ev'ry Theme
Of Rhime and Reason gull us;
Each of an opposite Extreme,
He full of Fire, she clogg'd with Phlegm,
They both conspire to lull us.
Of Rhime and Reason gull us;
Each of an opposite Extreme,
He full of Fire, she clogg'd with Phlegm,
They both conspire to lull us.
Swift rolls his Tongue its straggling Course,
His Pegasus is jaded;
Yet he, too fond of his own Curse,
Takes Muse for better or for worse,
Altho' her Charms be faded,
His Pegasus is jaded;
Yet he, too fond of his own Curse,
79
Altho' her Charms be faded,
So have I seen fast bound to clog,
To which his ill Stars joyn'd him,
A pert Baboon contented jog,
Play with his Chain, and hug the Log,
He could not leave behind him.
To which his ill Stars joyn'd him,
A pert Baboon contented jog,
Play with his Chain, and hug the Log,
He could not leave behind him.
| Miscellaneous poems | |