Classic Poem

These, my last lines, I write with bleeding heart,
For, oh! Liberia , and her silph , must part!
I must no more engross that envy'd care,
Which angels, now, in crowds, have beg'd to share.
Now, I no more must flutter, in your sight,
And, from your eye-beams, gild my wings, with light:
No more, in fields of air, when silphs rejoice,
Dance to the soft-tun'd musick of your voice!
Listen no more, while, in the Mall , you walk,
What the admiring crowds, that meet you, talk.
On your right shoulder's tip, no more, shall blaze,
Bright, with the flash of eyes, which, passing, gaze!
And, when, sometimes, you're sad, no more shall I
See myself weep, by peeping in your eye!
These comforts past, and mention'd, now, in vain,
Serve but to make remembrance ake, with pain!
Little, alas! I thought, when last I writ,
That I, so soon, my boasted charge must quit!
But our great king, whom all we silphs obey,
Wretch, that I am! commanded me away:
Far off, to eastern shores, I was to go;
Where the proud turk keeps love, and woman, low:
Where full twelve hundred rival beauties strive,
To keep one lover's lazy flame alive:
Where female charms are taught the humble skill,
To court the fancy, and not bow the will:
To this new post preferred, I was to fly;
And pass before the haughty sultan's eye;
There, in his glitt'ring palace, gay with state,
On his new fav'rite sultaness to wait:
But, ah, Liberia! by thy sweetness won,
Thy doating silph was doom'd to be undone;
These proffer'd honours had no charm for me;
I cou'd not taste a joy, remote from thee!
Thou art my pride , and, where thou art not seen,
Sorrow would catch me, tho' I serv'd a queen!
This, when I told our prince, he never weigh'd
My grief's just cause, but thought I disobey'd.
Swift, he o'ertook me, with an angry vow,
And chang'd me to the shape I come in, now.
Scarce had I time, to write my wretched fate,
And beg'd a friend to bring me to your gate;
Helpless, and dum, ah! whither should I go;
But to her breast, whose pitying soul I know?
She, who, to Puss and Mopsy , kind can be,
Will, sure! thought I, have some concern for me.
Weak, though I am, some gratitude is due:
I claim your care, for my past care of you.
Elsewhere, I will not my new wants supply,
And when you starve me, 'twill be time to die.
I may, hereafter, some small service do,
For yet my body's weak, and form but new.
If you shall please to help me, thro' my youth,
And, with milk-soften'd bisket, save my tooth;
Grateful, when I grow up, I'll keep yours strong,
And crack nuts, for you, all the glad day long;
If, kindly, you shall bless me, with your care,
And shield me, from the pinching wint'ry air;
Close, round your neck, like some warm tippet, roll'd,
In frosty nights, I'll guard you from the cold;
And while, in your soft hand, you let me play,
I'll growl the Captain's rivals all away.
Refuse not, then, tho' chang'd, to keep me, still,
And, oh! remember, Pug was Seraphil .