A Metrical History of England Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin |
 | I. |
INTRODUCTION.
|
| 1. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
|
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| II. |
| 7. |
|
|
|
|
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
|
|
| 12. |
 | A Metrical History of England |  |
xiii
INTRODUCTION.
I
At humble distance from Apollo's shrine,A wandering minstrel seeks it in the dark,
And, all unworthy of the flame divine
That warms his betters, asks but for a spark:
Fain would he soar, as mounts the matin lark,
But for a Pegasus who ne'er, God wot,
Had wings to bear him up beyond the mark
Of sluggish walk, or jolting doggrel trot,
Yet drive this jade he must, tho', faith, he'd rather not.
II
Of Cam and Isis, (whose inspiring streamsBy L.L.D.; B.A.; A.M.; invoked,
xiv
They've sung, like Maro, or, like Flaccus, joked)
Ne'er may the sources be by blockheads choked,
Where wit, in classic wreaths, the Sisters twine;
Had but my cranium in such springs been soak'd,
Oh! Alma Mater! tho' no son of thine,
My worthy mother's son had better woo'd the Nine.
III
Yet deem not Cam, that ign'rance quite pervadesMy brain, tho' never in thy halls refined;
Nor Isis, think thine academic shades,
Tho' out of sight, were always out of mind;
Thoughts of ye both, to neither tho' consigned,
Wou'd put my infant bosom in a flutter;
For oft my taste was seriously inclined,
With how much goût I'm half ashamed to utter,
To Oxford sausage rich; and curious Cambridge butter.
IV
A sort of wish for these, may yet remain.(There's no accounting for the tastes of men),
Else had I spared the luckless reader's pain
xv
Nor had I roused that lion in his den,
Yclep'd Reviewer; better had I halt;—
But Bard, and Critic, both eat now and then,
And if Bard's errors furnish Critic's food,
He'll feel, though not allow, they've done some good.
V
One glorious thought my meditation chears,A hope that gives some courage to the Muse,
A claim she dares to make, because she fears
No Critic living can the plea refuse;
Reader, you may reject it if you chuse,
But that you'll scarcely think of, when you're told,
In spite of all who pity and abuse,
'Tis Insignificance hath made her bold,
'Gainst Censure, hissing hot, or Commendation cold.
| A Metrical History of England | |