Classic Poem

From too alert a disposition,
Genius was in a sad condition;
Thread-bare and tatter'd were his cloaths,
His shoes, alas! had lost their toes,
And every thing alike seem'd fit
To represent a needy wit.
Distresses now, of every kind,
Had harrass'd and fatigu'd his mind
In such a manner, that e'en health
Became as distant too as wealth;
Half-starv'd, and ill, he could not bear it,
But sought repose in lonely garret.
When folks are sick, 'tis nothing new,
To expect our friends, with how d'ye do?
Some come thro' pride and ostentation,
And some, for sake of mere vexation,
Shrug up their shoulders, cry, 'tis pity,
Think to insult is to be witty.

Poor Genius now lay very ill,
Without or doctor, nurse or pill;
When, lo! the door wide open flew,
A meagre form came full to view,
With silver beard and wrinkled face,
With solemn, yet with hasty pace;
And Genius knew by his complexion,
This was that sage yclep'd Reflection,
Struck with the sight, a thousand things,
(Since first he left his leading-strings)
Rush'd all at once upon his mind,
And drove all peace a mile behind.

The next, a lisping ambling dame
Came in, and Folly was her name,
And instantly she sought the bed,
Where Genius laid his aching head,
And whisper'd something in his ear,
Which serv'd but to augment his care;
Then, with a kiss, she sigh'd and cry'd,
You surely can't forget your bride?

Another now, with loud horse-grin,
Came without ceremony in.
Miss Fortune this — who thus began:
My charming youth! my dearest man!
Tho' Folly I must own your wife,
And has a legal right for life,
Yet surely Genius can't forget
How much he's in Miss Fortune's debt.
When every friend had left your side,
And even Folly, tho' your bride,
Yet I, you know was ever near,
To looth your woe, and banish care:
Then give me no unkind reply,
With you I've liv'd, with you I'll die.

Now mad, or worse than mad, he rav'd,
And every power divine he brav'd;
When lo! another meagre shade,
Like some poor antiquated maid,
Advanc'd — Behold me here,
A friend to all! then banish fear!
My name is Hope: have patience then,
And all will soon be right again!
Yet patience liv'd till Hope was fled,
And left poor Genius almost dead,
When Death, the only friend he had,
Thinking his case extremely bad,
Came on, and with a well aim'd dart,
Struck him at once quite thro' the heart.
Miss Fortune, Folly, left his side,
And Genius in a garret dy'd.