The Sister'S Expostulation On The Brother'S Learning Latin

Shut these odious books up, brother-- They have made you quite another Thing from what you us'd to be-- Once you lik'd to play with me-- Now you leave me all alone, And are so conceited grown With your Latin, you'll scarce look Upon any English book. We had us'd on winter eyes To con over Shakespeare's leaves, Or on Milton's harder sense Exercise our diligence-- And you would explain with ease The obscurer passages, Find me out the prettiest places The poetic turns, and graces, Which alas! now you are gone, I must puzzle out alone, And oft miss the meaning quite, Wanting you to set me right. All this comes since you've been under Your new master. I much wonder What great charm it is you see In those words, musa, musæ; Or in what they do excel Our word, song. It sounds as well To my fancy as the other. Now believe me, dearest brother, I would give my finest frock, And my cabinet, and stock Of new playthings, every toy, I would give them all with joy, Could I you returning see Back to English and to me.