Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

As dry, and destitute of thought,
One evening in Olympian garret,
My head devoid of brain, my belly void of claret,
I sat my nails in frenzy biting,
And with most odd emotions sought,
The favourable jerk for writing.

Sudden my pen, like any thistle,
Began to caper, shake and bristle,
And in a shower of ink so muddy,
Thus broke upon my study:—

“Rash wight! who, better taught than fed,
With purse much emptier than head,
Art doom'd on earth, unlucky sinner!
To scrawl and flatter for a dinner;
Black was the hour, at Fate's command,
When first I flourish'd in thy hand,
When first my spotless plumes I gave,
To daub some good-for-nothing knave;
When first I left the rib of goose,
To deck the ink-stand of a Muse.

“Ah! better with attorney's clerk,
To trace huge folios in the dark;
Or, vile, poetic alligator!
T'ave pleas'd some German commentator,
Whose Pindus lies before the kitchen,
Bacon, and grease, and genius rich in;
Whose works as luscious as his cheese,
Could give the sleepless eye-lid ease;
Than with thee tag rude rhimes together,
Bending my supple snout like leather,
From morn till night—at last my stump
Is fairly nibbled to the rump;
I therefore thinking yours a hard case,
Inform you that within my carcase,

Performing penances, doth lye,
The evil sprite of poverty.”

I started, and to end my tale,
Present this same curs'd pen for sale,
And without higgling much, or arguing,
Any poor actor, author, curate,
Or beau, whom footmen shut the door at,
Shall have it, at this moment, a fair bargain.