IMITATED. DEAR Col'nel, Cobham's and your country's friend! You love a verse; take such as I can send. A Frenchman comes, presents you with his boy, Bows and begins-" This lad, Sir, is of Blois : "Observe his shape how clean! his locks how curl'd! "My only son, I'd have him see the world: 6 "His French is pure; his voice too-you shall hear. "Sir, he's your slave for twenty pound a year. “Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, "Your barber, cook, upholsterer; what you please : "A perfect genius at an op'ra song "To say too much might do my honour wrong. "Take him with all his virtues, on my word; "His whole ambition was to serve a lord. 11 "But, Sir, to you with what would I not part? 15 "Tho', faith, I fear't will break his mother's heart. "Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie, "And then, unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry: "The fault he has I fairly shall reveal, "(Could you o'erlook but that) it is to steal." 20 If, after this, you took the graceless lad, I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit, Consider then, and judge me in this light; 25 30 35 } In Anna's wars a soldier poor and old, Had dearly earn'd a little purse of gold: Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night He slept, [poor dog!] and lost it to a doit. This put the man in such a desp❜rate mind, Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd, Against the foe, himself, and all mankind, He leap'd the trenches, scal'd a castle-wall, Tore down a standard, took the fort and all. Prodigious well!" his great commander cry'd; Gave him much praise, and some reward beside. Next pleas'd his Excellence a town to batter; [Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter.] 45 40 "Go on, my friend," he cry'd, "see yonder walls! Bred up at home, full early I begun To hunt for truth in Maudlin's learn'd grove.] 50 55 And certain laws, by suff'rers thought unjust, 60 Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd, While mighty William's thund'ring arm prevail'd. For right hereditary tax'd and fin'd, He stuck to poverty with peace of mind; 65 And me the Muses help to undergo it, Convict a Papist he, and I a poet. But [thanks to Homer] since I live and thrive, Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes, 70 Years foll'wing years steal something ev'ry day, This subtle thief of life, this paltry time, What will it leave me if it snatch my rhyme? That turn'd ten thousand verses now stands still? But, after all, what would you have me do, When out of twenty I can please not two? When this Heroics only deigns to praise, Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays? One like the pheasant's wing, and one the leg; But grant I may relapse, for want of grace, 75 80 85 90 In crowds, and courts, law, bus'ness, feasts, and My counsel sends to execute a deed; A poet begs me I will hear him read. [friends? In palace-yard at nine you'll find me there- 95 There's a rehearsal, Sir, exact at one. "Oh! but a wit can study in the streets, "And raise his mind above the mob he meets," Not quite so well, however, as one ought; 100 A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought; God knows, may hurt the very ablest head. Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass, Two aldermen dispute it with an ass? 105 And peers give way, exalted as they are, Go, lofty poet! and in such a crowd Would drink and dose at Tooting or Earl's court. 110 114 How match the bards whom none e'er match'd before? 119 |