Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ, by WILLIAM COWPER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Tis not that I design to rob Last Line: "tis ready polished from the mine." | ||||||||
'TIS not that I design to rob Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, For thou art born sole heir and single Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle; Nor that I mean, while thus I knit My threadbare sentiments together, To show my genius or my wit, When God and you know I have neither; Or such, as might be better shown By letting poetry alone. 'Tis not with either of these views That I presume to address the Muse: But to divert a fierce banditti (Sworn foes to every thing that's witty), That, with a black infernal train, Make cruel inroads in my brain, And daily threaten to drive thence My little garrison of sense: The fierce banditti which I mean, Are gloomy thoughts led on by Spleen. Then there's another reason yet, Which is, that I may fairly quit The debt which justly became due The moment when I heard from you: And you might grumble, crony mine, If paid in any other coin; Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows, (I would say twenty sheets of prose,) Can ne'er be deemed worth half so much As one of gold, and yours was such. Thus the preliminaries settled, I fairly find myself pitch-kettled; And cannot see, though few see better, How I shall hammer out a letter. First, for a thought--since all agree-- A thought--I have it--let me see-- 'Tis gone again--plague on't! I thought I had it--but I have it not. Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son, That useful thing, her needle, gone, Rake well the cinders, sweep the floor, And sift the dust behind the door; While eager Hodge beholds the prize In old grimalkin's glaring eyes; And Gammer finds it on her knees In every shining straw she sees. This simile were apt enough, But I've another, critic-proof. The virtuoso thus at noon, Broiling beneath a July sun, The gilded butterfly pursues O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews. And after many a vain essay To captivate the tempting prey, Gives him at length the lucky pat, And has him safe beneath his hat: Then lifts it gently from the ground; But ah! 'tis lost as soon as found; Culprit his liberty regains; Flits out of sight and mocks his pains. The sense was dark, 'twas therefore fit With simile to illustrate it; But as too much obscures the sight, As often as too little light, We have our similes cut short, For matters of more grave import. That Matthew's numbers run with ease Each man of common sense agrees; All men of common sense allow, That Robert's lines are easy too; Where then the preference shall we place, Or how do justice in this case? "Matthew," says Fame, "with endless pains Smoothed and refined the meanest strains, Nor suffered one ill-chosen rhyme To escape him at the idlest time; And thus o'er all a lustre cast, That while the language lives shall last." "An't please your ladyship," quoth I, (For 'tis my business to reply,) "Sure so much labour, so much toil, Bespeak at least a stubborn soil. Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed, Who both write well and write full speed; Who throw their Helicon about As freely as a conduit spout! Friend Robert, thus like chien scavant, Lets fall a poem en passant, Nor needs his genuine ore refine; 'Tis ready polished from the mine." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A COMPARISON [ADDRESSED] TO A YOUNG LADY by WILLIAM COWPER BOADICEA; AN ODE by WILLIAM COWPER EPITAPH ON A HARE by WILLIAM COWPER OLNEY HYMNS: 1. WALKING WITH GOD by WILLIAM COWPER OLNEY HYMNS: 18. LOVEST THOU ME? by WILLIAM COWPER OLNEY HYMNS: 35. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS by WILLIAM COWPER OLNEY HYMNS: 49. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING by WILLIAM COWPER OLNEY HYMNS: 9. THE CONTRITE HEART by WILLIAM COWPER ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE by WILLIAM COWPER ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE [OUT OF NORFOLK] by WILLIAM COWPER |
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