Classic Poem

BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE TEMPLE .

While cynic C HARLES still trimm'd the vane
'Twixt Querouaille and Castlemaine ,
In days that shocked J OHN E VELYN ,
My First Possessor fixed me in.
In days of Dutchmen and of frost,
The narrow sea with J AMES I cross'd,
Returning when once more began
The Age of Saturn and of A NNE .
I am a part of all the past;
I knew the G EORGES , first and last;
I have been oft where else was none
Save the great wig of A DDISON ;
And seen on shelves beneath me grope
The little eager form of Pope .
I lost the Third that owned me when
French N OAILLES fled at Dettingen;
The year J AMES W OLFE surpris'd Quebec,
The Fourth in hunting broke his neck;
The day that W ILLIAM H OGARTH dy'd,
The Fifth one found me in Cheapside.
This was a Scholar , one of those
Whose Greek is sounder than their hose;
He lov'd old Books and nappy ale,
So liv'd at Streatham, next to T HRALE .
'Twas there this stain of grease I boast
Was made by Dr. J OHNSON'S toast.
(He did it, as I think, for Spite;
My Master call'd him Jacobite! )
And now that I so long to-day
Have rested post discrimina ,
Safe in the brass-wir'd book-case where
I watch'd the Vicar's whit'ning hair,
Must I these travell'd bones inter
In some Collector's sepulchre!
Must I be torn herefrom and thrown
With frontispiece and colophon!
With vagrant E's , and I's , and O's ,
The spoil of plunder'd Folios!
With scraps and snippets that to M E
Are naught but kitchen company!
Nay, rather, F RIEND , this favour grant me:
Tear me at once; but don't transplant me .