And yet, perhaps, some venturous spark One line, good Sir, to name the day, And your petitioner will pray, &c. TO THE REVEREND CHRISTOPHER PITT, ON HIS HAVING A FIT OF THE GOUT. FROM HIS BROTHER. AMONG the well-bred natives of our isle, "I kiss your hand, Sir," is the modish style; In humbler manner, as my fate is low, I beg to kiss your venerable toe, Not Old Infallibility's can have Profounder reverence from its meanest slave. What dignity attends the solemn Gout! What conscious greatness if the heart be stout! Methinks I see you o'er the house preside, In painful majesty and decent pride, With leg tost high, on stately sofa sit, More like a sultan than a modern wit; Quick at your call the trembling slaves appear, Advance with caution, and retire with fear; Ev'n Peggy trembles, though (or authors fail) At times the anti-salic laws prevail. Now, Lord have mercy on poor Dick! say I, "Where's the lac'd shoe-who laid the flannel by?" Within, 'tis hurry, the house seems possest; Without, the horses wonder at their rest. What terrible dismay, what scenes of care! Why is the sooty Mintrem's hopeful heir Before the morning-dawn compell'd to rise, And give attendance with his half-shut eyes? What makes that girl with hideous visage stare? What fiends prevent Ead's journey to the fair? Why all this noise, this bustle and this rout? "Oh, nothing—but poor master has the gout." Meantime, superior to the pains below, Can nothing your aspiring thoughts restrain? ΤΟ JOHN HAWKESWORTH, L. L. D. BY FRANCIS FAWKES, M. A. IF you, dear Sir, will deign to pass a day In the fair vale of Orpington and Cray, And live for once as humble vicars do, On Thursday I'll expect you here by two. Expect no niceties with me to pick, But Bansted mutton, and a barn-door chick. My friends with generous liquors I regale, Good port, old hock, or, if they like it, ale ; But if of richer wine you choose a quart, Why bring, and drink it here—with all my heart. Plain is my furniture, as is my treat, For 'tis my best ambition, to be neat. Leave then all sordid views, and hopes of gain, Put the last polish to th' historic page, By your sweet converse chear'd the live-long day Why should kind Providence abundance give, Faint hope grows brilliant o'er the sparkling bowl: Wine drives all cares and anguish from the heart, While you steal secret through the garden gate. |