A Will

I, P—S C—S, of judgment round, In soul, in limb and wind, now sound; I, since my head is full of wit, And must be emptied, or must split, In name of President APOLLO, And other gentlefolks, that follow; Such as URANIA and CLIO, To whom my fame poetic I owe; With the whole drove of rhyming sisters, For whom my heart with rapture blisters; Who swim in HELICON, uncertain Whether a petticoat or shirt on, From vulgar ken their charms to cover, From every eye but muses' lover; In name of every ugly GOD, Whose beauty scarce outshines a toad; In name of PROSERPINE and PLUTO, Who board in hell's sublimest grotto; In name of CERBERUS and FURIES, Those damned Aristocrats and Tories; In presence of two witnesses, Who are as homely as you please, Who are, in truth I'd not belie 'em, Ten times as ugly, faith, as I am; But being, as most people tell us, A pair of jolly, clever fellows, And classmates likewise, at this time, They shan't be honored in my rhyme. I, I say I, now make this will; Let those, whom I assign, fulfil, I give, grant, render and convey, My goods and chattels thus away. That honor of a College life, That celebrated UGLY KNIFE, Which predecessor SAWNEY orders, Descending to time's utmost borders, To noblest bard, of homeliest phiz, To have and hold and use, as his; I now present C—S P—Y S—R, To keep with his poetic lumber, To scrape his quill, and make a split, To point his pen for sharpening wit; And order that he ne'er abuse Said ugly knife, in dirtier use. And let said CHARLES, that best of writers, In prose fatiric, skill'd to bite us, And equally in verse delight us, Take special care to keep it clean From unpoetic hands—I ween.

And when those walls, the muses' seat, Said S—R is obliged to quit, Let some one of APOLLO's firing, To such heroic joys aspiring, Who long has borne a poet's name, With said knife cut his way to fame,

I GIVE to those, that fish for parts, Long sleepless nights and aching hearts, A little soul, a fawning spirit, With half a grain of plodding merit. Which is, as heaven I hope will say, Giving what's not my own away.

THOSE ovenbaked, or goose egg folded, Who, tho so often I have told it, With all my documents to show it, Will scarce believe that I'm a poet, I give of criticism the lens, With half an ounce of common sense,

And 'twould a breach be of humanity, Not to bequeath D—N my vanity; For 'tis a rule direct from Heaven, To him that hath shall more be given.

Item. TOM. M—N, COLLEGE LION, Who'd ne'er spare cash enough to buy one. That BOANERGES of a pun, A man of science and of fun, That quite uncommon witty elf,

Who darts his bolts and shoots himself, Who oft hath bled beneath my jokes, I give my old Tobacco Box.

MY Centinels for some years past, So neatly bound with thread and paste, Exposing Jacobinic tricks, I give my chum for politics.

MY neckcloth, dirty, old, yet strong, That round my neck has lasted long, I give BIG BOY, for deed of pith, Namely, to hang himself therewith.

To those, who've parts at exhibition, Obtain'd by long, unwearied fishing, I say, to such unlucky wretches, I give, for ware, a brace of breeches; Then used; as they're but little tore, I hope they'll show their tails no more.

AND e'er it quite has gone to rot, I B—give my blue grey goat, With all it's rags, and dirt and tallow, Because he's such a dirty fellow.

Now for my books; first Bunyan's Pilgrim, (As he with thankful pleasure will grin) Tho dogleaved, torn, in bad type set 'tis, 'Twill do quite well for classmate B— And thus, with complaisance to treat her, 'Twill answer for another Detur.

To him that occupies my study, I give for use of making toddy, A bottle full of whitefaced STINGO, Another, handy, called a mingo.

MY wit, as I've enough to spare, And many much in want there are, I ne'er intend to keep at home, But give to those that handiest come, Having due caution, where and when, Never to spatter gentlemen, The world's loud call I can't refuse The fine productions of my muse; If impudence to fame shall waft her, I'll give the public all, hereafter.

My lovesongs, sorrowful complaining, (The recollection puts me pain in,) The last, sad groans of deep despair, That once could all my entrails tear; My farewell sermons to the ladies; My satire on a woman's head dress; My Epigrams so full of glee, Pointed as Epigrams should be; My Sonnets soft, and sweet as lasses; My GEOGRAPHY of MOUNT PARNASSUS; With all the bards that round it gather, And variations of the weather; Containing more true humorous satire, Than's oft the lot of human nature; ("O dear, what can the matter be," I've given away my Vanity; The vessel can't so much contain, It runs o'er and comes back again.) My blank verse, poems so majestic, My rhymes heroic, tales agrestic: The whole, I say I'll overhaul 'em, Collect and publish in a volume.

MY heart, which thousand ladies crave, That I intend my wife shall have.

I'D give my foibles to the wind, And leave my vices all behind; But much I fear they'll to me stick, Where'er I go thro thin and thick. On WISDOM's horse, oh, might I ride, Whose steps let PRUDENCE' bridle guide. Thy loudest voice, O' REASON, lend, And thou PHILOSOPHY, befriend. May candor all my actions guide, And o'er my every tho't preside, And in thy ear, O' FORTUNE, one word, Let thy swelled canvass bear me onward, Thy favors let me ever see, And I'll be much obliged to thee. And come with blooming visage meek, Come HEALTH, and ever flush my cheek! O bid me in the morning rise, When tinges Sol the eastern skies; At breakfast, suppertime or dinner, Let me against thee be no sinner,

AND when the glass of life is run, And I behold my setting sun, May conscience sound be my protection, And no ungrateful recollection, No gnawing cares nor troubling woes Disturb the quiet of life's close, And when Death's gentle feet shall come, To bear me to my endless home, Oh! may my soul, for Heaven will save it, Safely return to God who gave it.