To Captain G———, on Being Asked Why I Was Not to Be of the Party with Him and His Brother K-nm-re at Syme's
Dost ask, dear Captain, why from Syme
I have no invitation,
When well he knows he has with him
My first friends in the nation?
Is it because I love to toast,
And round the bottle hurl?
No! there conjecture wild is lost,
For Syme by God's no churl!—
Is 't lest with bawdy jests I bore,
As oft the matter of fact is?
No! Syme the theory can't abhor—
Who loves so well the practice.—
Is it a fear I should avow
Some heresy seditious?
No! Syme (but this is entre nous)
Is quite an old Tiresias.—
In vain Conjecture thus would flit
Thro' mental clime and season:
In short, dear Captain, Syme 's a Wit—
Who asks of Wits a reason?—
Yet must I still the sôrt deplore
That to my griefs adds one more,
In balking me the social hour
With you and noble Kenmure.—
I have no invitation,
When well he knows he has with him
My first friends in the nation?
Is it because I love to toast,
And round the bottle hurl?
No! there conjecture wild is lost,
For Syme by God's no churl!—
Is 't lest with bawdy jests I bore,
As oft the matter of fact is?
No! Syme the theory can't abhor—
Who loves so well the practice.—
Is it a fear I should avow
Some heresy seditious?
No! Syme (but this is entre nous)
Is quite an old Tiresias.—
In vain Conjecture thus would flit
Thro' mental clime and season:
In short, dear Captain, Syme 's a Wit—
Who asks of Wits a reason?—
Yet must I still the sôrt deplore
That to my griefs adds one more,
In balking me the social hour
With you and noble Kenmure.—
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