Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE HONORABLE MR. D.T., by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE HONORABLE MR. D.T., by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: What strange disorder often springs
Last Line: The cur flies off, and he rides on.
Subject(s): Tighe, Richard (1678-1736)


What strange disorder often springs
From very light and trivial things!
Which makes philosophers conjecture
They are from Providence a lecture,
To check our vanity and pride,
And many other faults beside.
This gave the first creation rise
Of maggots, insects, worms and flies,
Of bugs, wasps, midges, mice and rats,
And barking curs and spit-fire cats;
That strive to shun them where you will,
There's one or other at you still;
No man escapes insidious vermin,
From coat of frieze to royal ermine;
From the low joint-stool to the throne,
These plagues of Egypt favor none.

And now to paint the sev'ral ways
Such trifles have such power to tease.

The lurking maggot in your meat
Destroys your appetite to eat.

Proceed to bed, that place of rest,
Lay down your head and do your best;
One little, skipping, sorry flea
Can chase the God of Sleep away.

The bug, that spawn of rotten wood,
Not only sucks, but taints your blood;
At length you seize the worthless prize,
You squeeze, he bursts, and bursting dies;
But still a greater curse you find,
So strong a stink he leaves behind.

The crawling louse assails you next;
You grope, and grope, you fret, you're vexed.
This little speck of sweat and dirt,
Although it cannot greatly hurt,
Yet still it makes you scratch and shrug,
As much as the adherent bug.

If none of these, a rat or cat,
Or nibbling mouse or buzzing gnat
May come as you're supinely laid,
And break the peace which sleep has made;
So slight an accident destroys
The greatest of all human joys!

If to the fields you walk for air,
What num'rous squadrons meet you there.
Flies of all sorts and hues you see,
From every ditch and every tree;
Like dust in clouds or powd'ring hail,
Your face on all sides they assail;
Eyes, cheeks, brows, lips, and chin, and nose
Are all attacked by swarming foes;
You tap them with your hands in vain --
No sooner off, but on again.
Such are the plagues of human life,
Doomed ever thus to live in strife,
With things so much beneath our care,
To wage an everlasting war.

Canst thou, O Man, be vain and proud,
When this must be by all allowed?
One flea, one wasp, one fly, one drone,
The pow'rs of thinking can dethrone;
If perched upon your lip or brow,
Can banish what you thought just now,
Can break the lab'ring Fancy's chain,
And set your brains to work again.

What pain the riding trav'ler feels
When barking curs are at his heels!
He stops, he turns, he stands at bay,
And frights them for a while away;
But still they tease, and still pursue,
And keep the bounding steed in view,
Till one cur bites him to the bone,
And almost brings the rider down.

That case and his is just the same,
Who mounts upon the horse of Fame:
Some envious snarling curs pursue him,
With eager malice to undo him,
'Till one more fierce than all, through spite,
Comes up and gives his horse a bite;
The bouncing prancer kicks amain;
The rider holds a strait'ned rein,
Clings fast until the horse has done,
The cur flies off, and he rides on.





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