Classic and Contemporary Poetry
NEW YEAR'S GIFT FOR THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S, by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738) Poet's Biography First Line: How few can be of grandeur Last Line: His friends are more, his honors less. Subject(s): Holidays; New Year | ||||||||
How few can be of grandeur sure! The high may fall, the rich be poor. The only favorite at court Tomorrow may be Fortune's sport; For all her pleasure and her aim Is to destroy both pow'r and fame. Of this the Dean is an example; No instance is more plain and ample. The world did never yet produce For courts a man of greater use. Nor has the world supplied us yet With more vivacity and wit; Merry alternately and wise, To please the statesman and advise. Through all the last and glorious reign Was nothing done without the Dean, The courtier's prop, the nation's pride, But now, alas, he's thrown aside! He's quite forgot, and so's the queen, As if they both had never been. To see him now a mountaineer! Oh! What a mighty fall is here! From settling governments and thrones, To splitting rocks and piling stones. Instead of Bolingbroke and Anna, Shane Tunnelly and Bryan Granna; Oxford and Ormond he supplies In every Irish Teague he spies; So far forgetting his old station, He seems to like their conversation. Conforming to the tattered rabble, He learns their Irish tongue to gabble; And what our anger more provokes, He's pleased with their insipid jokes. Then turns and asks them who does lack a Good plug or pipeful of tobacco. All cry they want; to every man He gives, extravagant, a span. Thus are they grown more fond than ever, And he is highly in their favor. Bright Stella, Quilca's greatest pride, For them he scorns and lays aside; And Sheridan is left alone All day to gape and stretch and groan, While grumbling, poor, complaining Dingley Is left to care and trouble singly. All o'er the mountains spreads the rumor Both of his bounty and good humor, So that each shepherdess and swain Comes flocking here to see the Dean. All spread around the land; you'd swear That every day we kept a fair. My fields are brought to such a pass -- I have not left a blade of grass -- That all my wethers and my beeves Are slighted by the very thieves. At night, right loath to quit the park, His work just ended by the dark, With all his pioneers he comes To make more work for whisks and brooms. Then, seated in an elbow-chair, To take a nap he does prepare, While two fair damsels from the lawns Lull him asleep with soft cronawns. Thus are his days in delving spent, His nights in music and content. He seems to gain by his distress; His friends are more, his honors less. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S POEM by MARGARET AVISON A SPEED OF HISTORY by MARGARET AVISON NEW YEAR'S DAY by DAVID LEHMAN LINES FOR THE NEW YEAR by JULIE CARR I AM RUNNING INTO A NEW YEAR by LUCILLE CLIFTON FOR THE NEW YEAR (2) by ROBERT CREELEY A LETTER FROM DR. SHERIDAN TO DR. SWIFT by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738) A LETTER OF ADVICE TO RIGHT HON. JOHN EARL OF ORRERY by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738) A PROLOGUE TO A PLAY PERFORMED AT MR. SHERIDAN'S SCHOOL by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738) |
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