Classic Poem

Hard to exert the tuneful Voice,
When cramp'd and streighten'd in our Choice.
So small, diminutive a Theme,
Might Bard of Lilliput beseem;
Or pigmy Wit of Fairy Imp.
I sing, 'qaint Animal, the Shrimp .

Yet, Pegasus , O lend thy Wings,
Great Verse has rose from little Things:
Homer and Maro learn'd to rise,
By singing first of Froggs and Flies ;
Philips by one poor splendid Shilling
Got Fame, with more his Pockets filling.
The Mouse-Trap , so minutely writ on,
Gain'd Honour to the Cambro-Briton ;
And Pope immortal Wreaths shall wear,
By praising, Bell , thy Lock of Hair .
— O might I but, indulg'd, rehearse
My Lays in Namby-Pamby Verse;
Little Fancy, little Wit,
Best would little Measures fit;
Little Subject, little Art — —
O! the Numbers run so smart!
But Imitation I disclaim,
No, at Originals I'll aim;
My Ear my Grannum 's Proverb dins
Who nothing ventures, nothing wins.

A Shrimp! Black thing as Widow's Crape,
In its primaeval, vital Shape,
Red as a Soldier's Coat of Cloth,
When stew'd alive in native Broth,
Arm'd with such Tusks at Sides and Jole,
Wou'd choak a Dog to swallow whole;
Seeming (good Simile I hope)
Like Flea in cloyst'ring Microscope ,
With staring Eyes, and Whiskers long,
Now — — contradict me if I'm wrong.

A Shrimp! (Theme ample as I'd wish)
Affords the Angler Bait to fish;
And cook'd up by the Kitchen Lass,
Supplies us when they're dress'd with Sauce;
The Oyster , Juicey from the Shell,
Th' Anchovey mix'd, delight us well,
But this the Lymph with higher Goat
Both relishes and thickens too.

Lo! when in Summer, stiv'd to Death,
We roam th' inviting Fields for Breath,
By Sadler 's, Rows of Water Nymphs
To Trav'lers sell salacious Shrimps ;
The Fair receive 'em with Delight,
In Handkerchiefs all lilly white;
Cheap Purchase, and amuse the Way
With feeding on this luscious Prey;
While, dreary Sight! all scatter'd round,
In heaps their Skeletons are found.

So in Arachne 's Web we spy
Full many a fresh-embowell'd Fly;
Or in old Beds (coarse Trope I own)
View Buggs , all shrunk to Skin and Bone.

Some Taste, some Smell, you'll all agree
Must at one Time most pleasing be;
The Shrimp both Pleasures will dispense:
But if apart, each different Sense,
You in Perfection wou'd regale,
Then taste 'em fresh — — — and smell 'em stale.

Good Writers moral Ends propose,
Mark, Mothers! mine, with which I close:
Let not your Children , meddling Brats,
This Banquet taste — — nor fav'rite Cats ;
Lest, heedless of their Beards , adsdikkins!
You choak the pretty harmless Chickens.