Economy, a Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets, Part the Third

Yet once again, and to thy doubtful fate The trembling Muse consigns thee. Ere Contempt, Or Want's empoison'd arrow, ridicule, Transfix thy weak unguarded breast, behold! The poet's roofs, the careless poet's, his Who scorns advice, shall close my serious lay.

When Gulliver, now great, now little deem'd, The plaything of Comparison, arriv'd Where learned bosoms their aërial schemes Projected, studious of the public weal, 'Mid these one subtler artist he descry'd, Who cherish'd in his dusty tenement The spider's web, injurious, to supplant Fair Albion's fleeces! Never, never may Our monarch on such fatal purpose smile, And irritate Minerva's beggar'd sons, The Melksham weavers! Here in ev'ry nook Their wests they spun, here revell'd uncontroll'd, And, like the flags from Westminster's high roof Dependent, here their flutt'ring textures wav'd. Such, so adorn'd, the cell I mean to sing! Cell ever squalid! where the sneerful maid Will not fatigue her hand, broom never comes, That comes to all, o'er whose quiescent walls Arachne's unmolested care has drawn Curtains subfulk, and save th' expense of art.

Survey those walls, in fady texture clad, Where wand'ring snails in many a slimy path, Free, unrestrain'd, their various journies crawl; Peregrinations strange, and labyrinths Confus'd, inextricable! such the clue Of Cretan Ariadne ne'er explain'd! Hooks! angles! crooks! and involutions wild! Mean-time, thus silver'd with meanders gay, In mimic pride the snail-wrought tissue shines, Perchance of tabby, or of harrateen, Not ill expressive; such the pow'r of snails!

Behold his chair, whose fractur'd seat infirm An aged cushion hides! replete with dust The foliag'd velvet, pleasing to the eye Of great Eliza's reign, but now the snare Of weary guest that on the specious bed Sits down confiding. Ah! disastrous wight! In evil hour and rashly dost thou trust The fraudful couch! for tho' in velvet cas'd, The fated thigh shall kiss the dusty floor. The trav'ller thus, that o'er Hibernian plains Hath shap'd his way, on beds profuse of flow'rs, Cowslip, or primrose, or the circ'lar eye Of daisy fair, decrees to bask supine. And see! delighted, down he drops, secure Of sweet refreshment, ease without annoy, Or luscious noon-day nap. Ah! much deceiv'd, Much suff'ring pilgrim! thou nor noon-day nap Nor sweet repose shalt find; the false morass In quiv'ring undulations yields beneath Thy burden, in the miry gulf enclos'd! And who would trust appearance? cast thine eye Where 'mid machines of het'rogeneous form His coat depends; alas! his only coat, Eldest of things! and napless, as an heath Of small extent by fleecy myriads graz'd. Not diff'rent have I seen in dreary vault Display'd a coffin; on each sable side The texture unmolested seems entire; Fraudful, when touch'd it glides to dust away, And leaves the wond'ring swain to gape, to stare, And with expressive shrug and piteous sigh Declare the fatal force of rolling years, Or dire extent of frail mortality. This aged vesture, scorn of gazing beaus And formal cits, (themselves too haply scorn'd) Both on its sleeve and on its skirt retains Full many a pin wide-sparkling: for it e'er Their well-known crest met his delighted eye, Tho' wrapt in thought, commercing with the sky, He, gently stooping, scorn'd not to upraise, And on each sleeve, as conscious of their use, Indenting fix them; nor, when arm'd with these, The cure of rents and separations dire, And chasms enormous, did he view dismay'd Hedge, bramble, thicket, bush, portending fate To breeches, coat, and hose! had any wight Of vulgar skill the tender texture own'd; But gave his mind to form a sonnet quaint Of Silvia's shoe-string, or of Chloe's fan, Or sweetly-fashion'd tip of Celia's ear. Alas! by frequent use decays the force Of mortal art! the refractory robe Eludes the tailor's art, eludes his own; How potent once, in union quaint conjoin'd!

See near his bed (his bed, too falsely call'd The Place of Rest, while it a bard sustains, Pale, meagre, muse-rid wight! who reads in vain Narcotic volumes o'er) his candlestick, Radiant machine! when from the plastic hand Of Mulciber, the may'r of Birmingham, The engine issu'd; now, alas! disguis'd By many an unctuous tide, that wand'ring down Its sides congeal; what he, perhaps, essays, With humour forc'd, and ill-dissembled smile, Idly to liken to the poplar's trunk When o'er its bark the lucid amber, wound In many a pleasing fold, incrusts the tree; Or suits him more the winter's candy'd thorn, When from each branch, anneal'd, the works of frost Pervasive, radiant icicles depend?

How shall I sing the various ill that waits The careful sonnetteer? or who can paint The shifts enormous that in vain he forms To patch his paneless window; to cement His batter'd tea-pot, ill-retentive vase! To war with ruin? anxious to conceal Want's fell appearance, of the real ill Nor foe nor fearful. Ruin unforeseen Invades his chattels; Ruin will invade, Will claim his whole invention to repair, Nor of the gift, for tuneful ends design'd, Allow one part to decorate his song; While Ridicule, with ever-pointing hand, Conscious of ev'ry shift, of ev'ry shift Indicative, his in most plot betrays, Points to the nook, which he his Study calls, Pompous and vain! for thus he might esteem His chest a wardrobe, purse a treasury; And shews, to crown her full display, himself; One whom the pow'rs above, in place of health And wonted vigour, of paternal cot Or little farm; of bag, or scrip, or staff, Cup, dish, spoon, plate, or worldly utensil, A poet fram'd; yet fram'd not to repine, And wish the cobbler's loftiest site his own; Nor, partial as they seem, upbraid the Fates, Who to the humbler mechanism join'd Goods so superior, such exalted bliss!

See with what seeming ease, what labour'd peace, He, hapless hypocrite! refines his nail, His chief amusement! then how feign'd, how forc'd, That care-defying sonnet which implies His debts discharg'd, and he of half a crown In full possession, uncontested right And property! Yet, ah! whoe'er this wight Admiring view, if such there be, distrust The vain pretence; the smiles that harbour grief, As lurks the serpent deep in flow'rs enwreath'd. Forewarn'd, be frugal, or with prudent rage Thy pen demolish; chuse the trustier flail, And bless those labours which the choice inspir'd. But if thou view'st a vulgar mind, a wight Of common sense, who seeks no brighter name, Him envy, him admire, him, from thy breast, Prescient of future dignities, salute Sheriff, or may'r, in comfortable furs Enwrapt, secure: nor yet the laureat's crown In thought exclude him! he perchance shall rise To nobler heights than foresight can decree.

When fir'd with wrath for his intrigues display'd In many an idle song, Saturnian Jove Vow'd sure destruction to the tuneful race, Appeas'd by suppliant Phoebus; "Bards," he said, " Henceforth of plenty, wealth, and pomp, debarr'd, " But fed by frugal cares, might wear the bay " Secure of thunder."—Low the Delian bow'd, Nor at th' invidious favour dar'd repine.