O THOU yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men Cam Hobhouse! but by wags Byzantian Ben! Twin sacred titles, which combined appear To grace thy volume's front, and gild its rear, Since now thou put'st thyself and work to Sea And leav'st all Greece to Fletcher and to me, Oh, hear my single muse our sorrows tell, One song for self and Fletcher quite as well. First to the Castle of that man of woes Dispatch the letter which I must enclose, And when his lone Penelope shall say Why, where, and wherefore doth my William stay? Spare not to move her pity, or her pride -- By all that Hero suffered, or defied; The chicken's toughness, and the lack of ale, The stoney mountain and the miry vale, The Garlick steams, which half his meals enrich, The impending vermin, and the threaten'd Itch, That ever breaking Bed, beyond repair! The hat too old, the coat too cold to wear, The Hunger, which repulsed from Sally's door Pursues her grumbling half from shore to shore, Be these the themes to greet his faithful Rib, So may thy pen be smooth, thy tongue be glib! This duty done, let me in turn demand Some friendly office in my native land, Yet let me ponder well, before I ask, And set thee swearing at the tedious task. First the Miscellany! -- to Southwell town Per coach for Mrs. Pigot frank it down, So may'st thou prosper in the paths of Sale, And Longman smirk and critics cease to rail. All hail to Matthews! wash his reverend feet, And in my name the man of Method greet, -- Tell him, my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend, Who cannot love me, and who will not mend, Tell him, that not in vain I shall assay To tread and trace our 'old Horatian way,' And be (with prose supply my dearth of rhymes) What better men have been in better times. Here let me cease, for why should I prolong My notes, and vex a Singer with a Song? Oh thou with pen perpetual in thy fist! Dubb'd for thy sins a stark Miscellanist, So pleased the printer's orders to perform For Messrs. Longman, Hurst and Rees and Orme. Go -- Get thee hence to Paternoster Row, Thy patrons wave a duodecimo! (Best from for letters from a distant land, It fits the pocket, nor fatigues the hand.) Then go, once more the joyous work commence With stores of anecdote, and grains of sense. Oh may Mammas relent, and Sires forgive! And scribbling Songs grow dutiful and live! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NETHERLANDS by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE RAIN ON THE ROOF (1) by COATES KINNEY PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 2 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A HEART-HAUNTED HOME by JANE BARLOW DEATH'S DIGNITY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO AN ELDERLY AMORIST by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON GRACIE OG MACHREE by JOHN KEEGAN CASEY A RURAL RETREAT; ENTER OF SALISBURY WITH A BOX by GEORGE DARLEY |