Classic Poem

The critics, who have long thought fit
To rule o'er all the land of wit,
Declare, when to a friend you're writing,
All art is useless in inditing;
Familiarly the verse should flow,
Like conversation — so and so.
That friendship sets all forms apart,
And speaks immediate from the heart.

My Lords, the critics, here are right,
Their power I cannot, dare not flight;
Yet lowly to their worships bending,
(I hope in this I'm not offending)
'Twou'd well become those gentlemen,
To give a little specimen;
For vague and undertermin'd yet
Is all that they have said, or writ;
And most who've strove have fail'd to please,
In that same way — to write with ease.

" But stop, my friend, " I hear you say,
" What is all this to me, I pray?
To me, what are the critics laws,
Their nods, their winks, their hums and haws;
Their scraps from authors, Greek or Latin;
Or their dry jokes that come so pat in?
Pursue your tale, I wait the end. "
I will — — but pray have patience, friend.
Conceit, you know, still waits on youth;
I thought (you'll find I speak the truth)
Like Lloy'd, Prior, Moore, or Gay,
To write in the familiar way;
To lead the muse now here now there,
Correct the mind and please the ear;
And happy, make the keenest satire,
More pleasant than the best good nature,
But soon I found my pow'rs unfit,
Too weak, too impotent my wit:
Yet with my verse don't bear too hard on,
I own my fault, and beg your pardon:
So altering my poetic scheme
I now present you with a dream.
" A dream! — — the devil! — — well, adieu,
Queen Mab I find has been with you .
Such nonsense! I can never bear it!
Howe'er go on — for once, I'll hear it:
Yet if again you raise my ire,
I'll thrust your verses in the fire. "
Dear Sir, believe me, now indeed
I'll be explicit, and proceed.

What time the plodding sons of care,
Full gorg'd with liquor, home repair:
What time the bucks and bloods are gay,
And o'er the bowl drive care away:
In short, 'twas twelve — with solemn sound
The watchman, hoarse convey'd it round.
Then Morpheus, with his leaden rod,
First made me wink, then made me nod;
At length I bid adieu to care,
And snor'd away in elbow chair.
Now fancy took me by the hand
Thro' all the extent of fairy land,
Thickets, woods, groves and cooling bowers,
O'er lawns, enamell'd all with flowers;
Whose odour, and whose lovely hue,
Reviv'd the sense, and pleas'd the view.
At length a mansion firm and bright,
With high rais'd turrets, struck my sight;
With many a mead and many a lawn,
Where gambol'd many a kid and fawn;
Meand'ring rivers curl'd it round,
And verdure deck'd the smiling ground.

When thus my guide — — " That structure fair,
With all its worth, calls you its heir;
Ten thousand pounds it brings " per Ann .
And I your steward — happy man! "
Methought I now look'd wond'rous big,
Had got a full-trim'd suit and wig;
And strutted, tho' with modest joy,
Almost as much as Dal — — y .

This Fortune got, I cast about,
To think how I should lay it out:
Delia , sweet maid, came first to thought!
I'll treat her beauties as they ought:
This splendour sure her mind will fix;
I'll give her first a coach and fix:
For jointure, or for what she will,
I'll give her all Parnassus ' hill.
My father too shall leave off work,
And live as grand as any Turk ;
My brothers, sisters, friends shall share it;
And live on venison and claret,
And all the world around shall know it,
This I have got by turning poet:
Tho' I've been often blam'd as wrong,
For losing time — to write a song.

Just at this critical event,
With so much riches, so content,
My foot went bounce against the door,
And I wak'd sprawling on the floor:
My castle all, so grand and fair,
Evaporated into air;
And I, alas! tho' most unwilling,
Found in my pockets — not a shilling.