The Poetical Works of Elijah Fenton/A Letter to the Knight of the Sable Shield
A LETTER
TO THE KNIGHT OF THE SABLE SHIELD.
———Habet Bibliopola Tryphon.MART. Lib. iv.
Sir Knight! who know with equal skill
To make a poem and a pill,
'Twas my misfortune t'other night
To be tormented with a spright.
On either side his head the hair 5
Seem'd bushing out, the top was bare;
His garb antique, but on his face
There reign'd a sweet majestic grace;
Of comely port, and in his hand
He decent wav'd a laurel wand: 10
On the left foot (by which I found
His name was on the stage renown'd)
A sock of curious shape he wore,
With myrtle foliage flourish'd o'er;
A purple buskin grac'd the right, 15
And strong he stepp'd, yet lovely light.
"Thy friendly care," he cry'd, "I crave
"To give me quiet in my grave;
"Tryphon constrains me from the dead,
"A wizard whom I hate and dread; 20
"By him to dangle on a post
"I'm conjur'd up"—"Alas! poor Ghost!"
"A pendulum I there am made,
"To move the leaden wheels of trade;
"And while each little author struts 25
"In calf's-skin gilt, adorn'd with cuts,
"I, vouching, pass 'em off as dear
"As any staple classic ware.
"Peers, parsons, cits, a motley tribe,
"Flock there to purchase and subscribe, 30
"While Tryphon, as the gudgeons bite,
"Chuckles to see them grow polite."
For ends thus infamously low,
It sure would seem as à propos
For Dennis at his door to stand, 35
With a good broomstick in his hand;⠀⠀
Then, should the chaps find ought amiss,
Or blame the price, the tragic Swiss
Might have his better parts employ'd
To criticize them back and side. 40
Or is there none of all his race
Whose features would a sign-board grace?
Oft' in the wizard's cell I 'ave seen
A sorrel man, of awkward mien,
Prying with busy leer about, 45
As if he were the devil's scout.
I ne'er was vers'd in modish vice,
But sure those whoreson gloating eyes
Have travell'd much on love-affairs,
Between the key-hole and the stairs. 50
O! cheat the gibbet of a sign,
And with his head commute for mine.
When first I heard his damn'd intent,
To Tryphon's bed by night I went,
Where he lay bless'd with dreams of gain, 55
Furs, scarlet, and a golden chain.
I rouz'd the wretch, and weeping said,
"O! take my wit, and spare my head,
“Urge not the wags to sneer and jape us,
"Just as of old they us'd Priapus." 60
But as a whelp starts up with fear
When a bee's humming at his ear,
With upper lip elate he grins,
Whilst round the little teazer spins,
But when aloof in air it soars, 65
He straight forgets th' alarm, and snores;
So did his fellow-creature slight
The fleeting vision of the night.
My pray'rs were lost, tho' while I stay'd
I smelt they strong impressions made. 70
There is a Knight who takes the field
With Saxon pen and Sable Shield,
Who, doubtless, can relieve my ghost,
And disenchant me from the post;
Then I could rest as still as those 75
Whom he has drudg'd to sure repose,
As if he traded in the whole,
And with the body kill'd the soul:
To him for aid with speed repair—
"But soft! I scent the morning air:" 80
Be mindful of my piteous plight,
And to my cause engage the Knight.
Now, gentle Sir! give ear to me,
For I prescribe without a fee:
From Curll's remove the seat of war, 85
Encamp on t' other side the Bar;
Level your eye at Tryphon's shop,
Another epic at him pop;
What tho' without report it move,
Like the sure darts of Death or Love, 90
I know your powder is so strong
No mortal sign can stand you long.
But if, by magic, this oppose
The volley of your verse and prose,
I'll be your 'squire and firm ally, 95
Write, crimp, and coax him up to buy;
Not all the necromancer's art
Will save it then, beshrew his heart!
What can support a shop or sign
When two such per'lous wits combine? 100
To make a poem and a pill,
'Twas my misfortune t'other night
To be tormented with a spright.
On either side his head the hair 5
Seem'd bushing out, the top was bare;
His garb antique, but on his face
There reign'd a sweet majestic grace;
Of comely port, and in his hand
He decent wav'd a laurel wand: 10
On the left foot (by which I found
His name was on the stage renown'd)
A sock of curious shape he wore,
With myrtle foliage flourish'd o'er;
A purple buskin grac'd the right, 15
And strong he stepp'd, yet lovely light.
"Thy friendly care," he cry'd, "I crave
"To give me quiet in my grave;
"Tryphon constrains me from the dead,
"A wizard whom I hate and dread; 20
"By him to dangle on a post
"I'm conjur'd up"—"Alas! poor Ghost!"
"A pendulum I there am made,
"To move the leaden wheels of trade;
"And while each little author struts 25
"In calf's-skin gilt, adorn'd with cuts,
"I, vouching, pass 'em off as dear
"As any staple classic ware.
"Peers, parsons, cits, a motley tribe,
"Flock there to purchase and subscribe, 30
"While Tryphon, as the gudgeons bite,
"Chuckles to see them grow polite."
For ends thus infamously low,
It sure would seem as à propos
For Dennis at his door to stand, 35
With a good broomstick in his hand;⠀⠀
Then, should the chaps find ought amiss,
Or blame the price, the tragic Swiss
Might have his better parts employ'd
To criticize them back and side. 40
Or is there none of all his race
Whose features would a sign-board grace?
Oft' in the wizard's cell I 'ave seen
A sorrel man, of awkward mien,
Prying with busy leer about, 45
As if he were the devil's scout.
I ne'er was vers'd in modish vice,
But sure those whoreson gloating eyes
Have travell'd much on love-affairs,
Between the key-hole and the stairs. 50
O! cheat the gibbet of a sign,
And with his head commute for mine.
When first I heard his damn'd intent,
To Tryphon's bed by night I went,
Where he lay bless'd with dreams of gain, 55
Furs, scarlet, and a golden chain.
I rouz'd the wretch, and weeping said,
"O! take my wit, and spare my head,
“Urge not the wags to sneer and jape us,
"Just as of old they us'd Priapus." 60
But as a whelp starts up with fear
When a bee's humming at his ear,
With upper lip elate he grins,
Whilst round the little teazer spins,
But when aloof in air it soars, 65
He straight forgets th' alarm, and snores;
So did his fellow-creature slight
The fleeting vision of the night.
My pray'rs were lost, tho' while I stay'd
I smelt they strong impressions made. 70
There is a Knight who takes the field
With Saxon pen and Sable Shield,
Who, doubtless, can relieve my ghost,
And disenchant me from the post;
Then I could rest as still as those 75
Whom he has drudg'd to sure repose,
As if he traded in the whole,
And with the body kill'd the soul:
To him for aid with speed repair—
"But soft! I scent the morning air:" 80
Be mindful of my piteous plight,
And to my cause engage the Knight.
Now, gentle Sir! give ear to me,
For I prescribe without a fee:
From Curll's remove the seat of war, 85
Encamp on t' other side the Bar;
Level your eye at Tryphon's shop,
Another epic at him pop;
What tho' without report it move,
Like the sure darts of Death or Love, 90
I know your powder is so strong
No mortal sign can stand you long.
But if, by magic, this oppose
The volley of your verse and prose,
I'll be your 'squire and firm ally, 95
Write, crimp, and coax him up to buy;
Not all the necromancer's art
Will save it then, beshrew his heart!
What can support a shop or sign
When two such per'lous wits combine? 100