Till, having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He fees your flying pen obtain it.
Through fragrant fcenes the trifler roves,
And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves:
Where with strange heats his bosom glows,
And myftic flames the God beftows.
You now none other flame require,
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verfes-to defy the scorners,
In fhit-houses and chimney-corners.
Sal found her deep-laid schemes were vain-
The cards are cut-come deal again-
No good comes on it when one lingers-
I'll play the cards come next my fingers-
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.
Well, now who wins?-why, ftill the fame-
For Sal has loft another game.
"I've done; (fhe mutter'd) I was saying,
It did not argufy my playing.
Some folks will win, they cannot chufe,
But think or not think-fome muft lofe.
I may have won a game or fo-
But then it was an age ago-
It ne'er will be my lot again-
I won it of a baby then-
Give me an ace of trumps and fee,
Our Ned will beat me with a three.
'Tis all by luck that things are carry'dHe'll fuffer for it, when he 's marry'd.'
Thus Sal, with tears in either eye;
While victor Ned fat tittering by.
Thus I, long envying your fuccefs,
And bent to write and study lefs,
Sate down, and scribbled in a trice,
Just what
you fee-and you defpife.
You, who can frame a tuneful fong,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a fprig of bay;
Accept this verfe, howe'er it flows,
From one that is your friend in profe.
What is this wreath, fo green! so fair!
Which many wish, and few must wear?
Which fome men's indolence can gain,
And fome men's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what muft Sal or poet fue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verfe, for luck at loo?
Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fame,
And Ned, through skill, fecures the game.
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falehood's fpecious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chufe my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my fordid ore,
Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store ;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May figh to think he ftill has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.
A SIMILE.
WHAT village but has fometime seen
The clumfy fhape, the frightful mein,
Tremendous claws, and thagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclept a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you fee;
Whe, with her plastic tongue alone,
Produc'd a vifage-like her own-
And thus they hint, in myftic fashion,
The powerful force of education
Perhaps yon crowd of fwains is viewing
E'en now, the ftrange exploits of Bruin;
* Of a fond matron's education.
I read over with wonder the poem you fent me;
And I must speak your praises, no foul fhall prevent me.
The audience, believe me, cry'd out every line
Was ftrong, was affecting, was just, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight, and beauty,
And to hide fuch a genius was-far from your duty.
I foresee that the court will be hugely delighted:
Sir Richard, for much a lefs genius, was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare ye;
I could fay much more, but you're modeft, I sparẻ ye."
Quite fir'd with the flattery, I call for my paper,
And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper
I fcribble till morn, when, with wrath no fmall store,
Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.
"Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make fuch a pother,
Fate, fate has ordain'd us, to plague one another."
Written at an Inn at HENLEY.
O thee, fair freedom! I retire
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott, or humble inn.
'Tis here with boundless power I reign;
And every health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champaigne ; Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falehood's specious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chufe my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my fordid ore,
Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his ftages may have been,
May figh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.
W HAT village but has fometime seen
The clumfy fhape, the frightful mein,
Tremendous claws, and thagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclept a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you fee;
Whe, with her plastic tongue alone,
Produc'd a vifage-like her own---
And thus they hint, in myftic fashion,
The powerful force of education
Perhaps yon crowd of fwains is viewing
E'en now, the ftrange exploits of Bruin ;
* Of a fond matron's education.
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