The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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AN EXPOSTULATORY ADDRESS TO THE RAGGED SPECTRE, POVERTY. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
76
AN EXPOSTULATORY ADDRESS TO THE RAGGED SPECTRE, POVERTY.
Haggard harlot! why thus dare
To wage with me eternal war?
Shall I bear it? no, thou strumpet!
Here I swear in voice like trumpet,
Soon's thou shows thy visage, elf,
Meet thy fate and blame thyself.
Did I e'er invite or wrong thee?
Did I vow e'er to belong t'thee?
Do I welcome? do I nurse thee?
No, thou ly'st—I hate, I curse thee;
Why then, black, presumpt'ous ghost,
Why thus stern invade my coast?
Some, thou throws but shadows o'er them,
Fly'st thyself, and all adore them.
Why thus partial? If the Muse
Deign at times to bliss my brows,
I lift the pen—prepare for study,
There thou stares, grim, ghastly, duddy;
Shakes thy rags, begins thy grieving,
Terrifies the Muse to heaven;
Then displays my pockets empty,
Belly worse, and all to tempt me.
Humour, rhyming, headlong scampers;
Rotten stockings, soleless trampers,
Nameless torments, crowds of evils
Grin around like real devils.
To wage with me eternal war?
Shall I bear it? no, thou strumpet!
Here I swear in voice like trumpet,
Soon's thou shows thy visage, elf,
Meet thy fate and blame thyself.
Did I e'er invite or wrong thee?
Did I vow e'er to belong t'thee?
Do I welcome? do I nurse thee?
No, thou ly'st—I hate, I curse thee;
Why then, black, presumpt'ous ghost,
Why thus stern invade my coast?
Some, thou throws but shadows o'er them,
Fly'st thyself, and all adore them.
Why thus partial? If the Muse
Deign at times to bliss my brows,
I lift the pen—prepare for study,
There thou stares, grim, ghastly, duddy;
Shakes thy rags, begins thy grieving,
Terrifies the Muse to heaven;
Then displays my pockets empty,
Belly worse, and all to tempt me.
Humour, rhyming, headlong scampers;
Rotten stockings, soleless trampers,
Nameless torments, crowds of evils
Grin around like real devils.
So disfigur'd with thy scoffing,
Need I wonder why so often
Friends go past, nae answer gi'e me,
Look their watch, and never see me.
Need I wonder why so often
Friends go past, nae answer gi'e me,
Look their watch, and never see me.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |