( 2 )
No place is sacred, not the Church is free,
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me.
Then from the Mint walks forth the Man of Ryme,
Happy! to catch me, just at Dinner-time.
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me.
Then from the Mint walks forth the Man of Ryme,
Happy! to catch me, just at Dinner-time.
Is there a Parson, much be-mus'd in Beer, 15
A maudlin Poetess, a ryming Peer,
A Clerk, foredoom'd his Father's soul to cross,
Who pens a Stanza when he should engross?
Is there, who lock'd from Ink and Paper, scrawls
With desp'rate Charcole round his darken'd walls? 20
All fly to Twitt'nam, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain,
[1]Arthur, whose giddy Son neglects the Laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause:
Poor [2]Cornus sees his frantic Wife elope, 25
And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.
A maudlin Poetess, a ryming Peer,
A Clerk, foredoom'd his Father's soul to cross,
Who pens a Stanza when he should engross?
Is there, who lock'd from Ink and Paper, scrawls
With desp'rate Charcole round his darken'd walls? 20
All fly to Twitt'nam, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain,
[1]Arthur, whose giddy Son neglects the Laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause:
Poor [2]Cornus sees his frantic Wife elope, 25
And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.
Friend to my Life, (which did not you prolong,
The World had wanted many an idle Song)
What Drop or Nostrum can this Plague remove?
Or which must end me, a Fool's Wrath or Love? 30
A dire Dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If Foes, they write, if Friends, they read me dead.
The World had wanted many an idle Song)
What Drop or Nostrum can this Plague remove?
Or which must end me, a Fool's Wrath or Love? 30
A dire Dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If Foes, they write, if Friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd
