Classic Poem

TO CHARLES STANHOPE

Apollo , from the southern sky,
O'er London lately glanc'd his eye:
Just such a glance our courtiers throw
At suitors whom they shun to know:
Or have you mark'd the' averted mien,
The chest erect, the freezing look,
Of Bumbo when a bard is seen
Charg'd with his Dedication-book?
But gods are never in the wrong:
What then displeas'd the powr of Song?
The case was this: Where noble arts
Once flourish'd, as our fathers tell us,
He now can find, for men of parts,
None but rich blockheads and mere fellows,
Since drums, and dice, and dissipation,
Have chas'd all taste from all the nation:
For is there now one table spread
Where Sense and Science may be fed?
Where, with a smile on every face,
Invited Merit takes his place?
These thoughts put Phaebus in the spleen,
(For gods, like men, can feel chagrm)
And left him on the point to shroud
His head in one eternal cloud;
When, lo! his all-discerning eye
Chanc'd one remaining friend to spy,
Just crept abroad, as is his way,
To bask him in the noon-tide ray.
This Phaebus noting, call'd aloud
To every interposing cloud,
And bade their gather'd mists ascend,
That he might warm his good old friend;
Then, as his chariot roll'd along,
Tun'd to his lyre this grateful song:
With talents, such as God has given
To common mortals, six in seven,
Who yet have titles, ribbons, pay,
And govern whom they should obey:
With no more frailties than are found
In-thousand others, count them round;
With much good will, instead of parts,
Express'd for artists and for arts;
Who smiles if you have smartly spoke,
Or nods applause to his own joke;
This bearded child, this gray-hair'd boy,
Still plays with life as with a toy;
Still keeps amusement full in view:
Wise? Now and then — but oft'ner new;
His coach, this hour, at Watson's door,
The next in waiting on a whore.
" Whene'er the welcome tidings ran
Of monster strange, or stranger man,
A Selkirk from his desert isle,
Or alligator from the Nile,
He saw the monster in its shrine,
And had the man next day to dine:
Or was it an Hermaphrodite?
You found him in a two-fold hurry,
Neglecting for this he-she sight
The single charms of Fanny Murray.
Gathering from suburb and from city
Who were, who would be, wise or witty;
The full-wigg'd sons of pills and potions,
The bags of maggot and new notions;
The sage, of microscopic eye,
Who reads him lectures on a fly;
Grave antiquaries with their flams,
And poets squirting epigrams,
With some few lords — of those that think,
And dip, at times, their pen in ink;
Nay, ladies too, of diverse fame,
Who are and are not of the game:
For he has look'd the world around,
And pleasure in each quarter found:
Now young, now old, now grave, now gay,
He sinks from life by soft decay,
And sees at hand, without affright,
The inevitable hour of night.'
But here some pillar of the state,
Whose life is one long dull debate;
Some pedant of the sable gown,
Who spares no failings but his own,
Set up at once their deep-mouth'd hollow:
Is this a subject for Apollo?
What! can the god of Wit and Verse
Such trifles in our ears rehearse?
" Know, Puppies! this man's easy life,
Serene from cares, unvex'd with strife,
Was oft employ'd in doing good,
A science you ne'er understood;
And charity, ye sons of Pride!
A multitude of faults will hide.
I at his board more sense have found
Than at a hundred dinners round:
Taste, learning, mirth, my western eye
Could often there collected spy;
And I have gone well-pleas'd to bed,
Revolving what was sung or said.
" And he, who entertain'd them all
With much good liquor strong and small,
With food in plenty, and a welcome,
Which would become my Lord of Melcombe.
Whose soups and sauces duly season'd,
Whose wit well-tim'd, and sense well reason'd,
Give Burgundy a brighter stain.
And add new flavour to Champaign —
Shall this man to the grave descend
Unown'd, unhonour'd, as my friend?
No; by my deity I swear,
Nor shall the vow be lost in air:
While you, and millions such as you,
Are sunk for ever from my view,
And lost in kindred darkness lie,
This good old man shall never die:
No matter where I place his name,
His love of learning shall be fame.