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There's little talking, and no wit;
It is no time to joke.
One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,
Yet, not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.
The punch goes round, and they are dull
And lumpish still as ever;
Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.
At length the busy time begins :
Come, neighbours, we must wag—'
The money chinks, down drop their chins,
Each lugging out his bag.
One talks of mildew and of frost,
And one of storms of hail,
And one of pigs that he has lost
By maggots at the tail.
Quoth one, 'A rarer man than you .
In pulpit none shall hear :
But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You sell it plaguy dear.'
Oh, why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine !
A kick that scarce would move a horse
May kill a sound divine.
Then let the boobies stay at home;
"Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay.
ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN,
Author of "The BOTANIC Garden.”
TWO Poets,* (poets, by report,
Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court !
Conspire to honour thee.
They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of their own.
We, therefore, pleas'd, extol thy song,
Though various yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong,
And learn'd as it is sweet.
* Alluding to the Poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied this.
No envy mingles with our praise,
Though, could our hearts repine At any poet's happier lays,
They would they must at thine !
But we, in mutual bondage knit
Of friendship’s closest tie, . Can gaze on even Darwin's wit
With an unjaundic'd eye ;
And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be,
· And howsoever known,
Who would not twine a wreath for Theè,
Unworthy of his own.
THE Birds put off their ev'ry hue
To dress a room for Montague.
The Peacock sends his heav'nly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes ;
The Pheasant, plumes which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan, his snow.
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine or vivid flame,
Where rises, and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing show'r
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow'r
Shall drench again or discompose,
But screen'd from ev'ry storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montague.
To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove
Imagination scatt’ring round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires to sacred Truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sun-beams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that to which he keeps confin'd
The various treasures of his mind
All these to Montague's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.
She thus maintains divided sway
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe,
And she the works of Phæbus aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.
On his emphatical and interesting delivery of the Defence of
WARREN HASTINGS, Esq. in the House of Lords.
COWPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard,
Legend prolix delivers in the ears
Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward.