The Poetical Works of William Cowper

Finding he still pursued me close,
Sir, you have business, I suppose p"
"My business, sir, is quickly done,
"Tis but to make my merit known.
Sir, I have read 'O learned sir,
You and your learning I revere."
Then, sweating with anxiety,
And sadly longing to get free,
Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't,
Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short,
Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near,
And whisper'd nothing in his ear.
Teased with his loose unjointed chat,
"What street is this? What house is that ?"

O Harlow, how I envied thee

Thy unabash'd effrontery,

Who dar'st a foe with freedom blame,

And call a coxcomb by his name!
When I return'd him answer none,
Obligingly the fool ran on,

"I see you're dismally distress'd,
Would give the world to be released,
But, by your leave, sir, I shall still
Stick to your skirts, do what you will.

Pray which way does your journey tend ?"
"Oh 'tis a tedious way, my friend,

Across the Thames, the Lord knows where:

I would not trouble you so far."

"Well, I'm at leisure to attend you."

"Are you?" thought I, "the De'il befriend you !"
No ass with double panniers rack'd,
Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd,

E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull
As I, nor half so like a fool.

Sir, I know little of myself,"

Proceeds the pert conceited elf,

If Gray or Mason you will deem
Than me more worthy your esteem.
Poems I write by folios,

As fast as other men write prose.

Then I can sing so loud, so clear,

That Beard* cannot with me compare.

In dancing, too, I all surpass,

Not Cooke can move with such a grace."

*John Beard. He married a daughter of Rich, and succeeded him in the management of Covent Garden in 1761.

Here I made shift, with much ado,
To interpose a word or two.

"Have you no parents, sir, no friends,
Whose welfare on your own depends?"
Parents, relations, say you? No.
They're all disposed of long ago."

Happy to be no more perplex'd!
My fate too threatens, I go next.
Dispatch me, sir, 'tis now too late,
Alas! to struggle with my fate!
Well, I'm convinced my time is come.
When young, a gipsy told my doom;
The beldame shook her palsied head,
As she perused my palm, and said,
'Of poison, pestilence, or war,
Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh,
You have no reason to beware.
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate;
Chiefly, my son, beware of that;
Be sure, when you behold him, fly
Out of all earshot, or you die!'

To Rufus' Hall we now draw near Where he was summon'd to appear, Refute the charge the plaintiff brought, Or suffer judgment by default.

For Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait
One moment! I'll be with you straight."

Glad of a plausible pretence-
"Sir, I must beg you to dispense
With my attendance in the court.
My legs will surely suffer for't.”

Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop a while!" Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. Besides, I have no time to spare, I must be going, you know where." "Well, I protest, I'm doubtful now, Whether to leave my suit or you!" "Me, without scruple!" I reply,

"Me, by all means, sir!"-"No, not I.

Allons, Monsieur !" "Twere vain (you know) To strive with a victorious foe.

So I reluctantly obey,

And follow, where he leads the way.

"You and Newcastle are so close; Still hand and glove, sir, I suppose?" "Newcastle (let me tell

you, sir),

Has not his equal anywhere."

"Well. There indeed your fortune's made!

Faith, sir, you understand your trade.
Would you but give me your good word!
Just introduce me to my lord.

I should serve charmingly by way
Of second fiddle, as they say:

What think you, sir? 'twere a good jest.
'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest."
Sir, you mistake the matter far,

We have no second fiddles there.'
"Richer than I some folks may be:
More learned, but it hurts not me.
Friends though he has of different kind,
Each has his proper place assign'd."

Strange matters these alleged by you!" Strange they may be, but they are true." "Well, then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever, Now I long ten times more than ever To be advanced extremely near One of his shining character.

Have but the will-there wants no more,

"Tis plain enough you have the power.
His easy temper (that's the worst)
He knows, and is so shy at first.
But such a cavalier as you-

Lord, sir, you'll quickly bring him to!
Well; if I fail in my design,
Sir, it shall be no fault of mine.
If by the saucy servile tribe
Denied, what think you of a bribe ?
Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow,
But try my luck again to-morrow.
Never attempt to visit him

But at the most convenient time,
Attend him on each levee day,
And there my humble duty pay.
Labour, like this, our want supplies;
And they must stoop, who mean to rise.”
While thus he wittingly harangued,
For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'd,
Campley, a friend of mine, came by,
Who knew his humour more than I.
We stop, salute, and--" Why so fast,
Friend Carlos ? whither all this haste ?"
Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve,
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,
Do everything but speak plain out:
While he, sad dog, from the beginning.

Determined to mistake my meaning,
Instead of pitying my curse,

By jeering made it ten times worse.
Campley, what secret (pray!) was that
You wanted to communicate!"

"I recollect. But 'tis no matter.
Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter.
E'en let the secret rest. "Twill tell
Another time, sir, just as well.”
Was ever such a dismal day?
Unlucky cur, he steals away,
And leaves me, half bereft of life,
At mercy of the butcher's knife;
When sudden, shouting from afar,
See his antagonist appear!

The bailiff seized him quick as thought.
Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! are you caught?
Sir, you are witness to the arrest."

Ay, marry sir, I'll do my best.'

The mob huzzas. Away they trudge,
Culprit and all, before the judge.
Meanwhile, I, luckily enough,
(Thanks to Apollo), got clear off.

TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.

LIB. I. ODE IX.

Vides, ut altâ stet nive candidum

Soracte;

SEEST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow?
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,
The streams, congealed, forget to flow.
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;

Broach the best cask, and make old Winter smile
With seasonable mirth.

This be our part-let Heaven dispose the rest;
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep,
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.

E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's passed away,

We at least shall have to say,

We have lived another day;

Your auburn locks will soon be silvered o'er,

Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.

LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII.

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.

Boy, I hate their empty shows,
Persian garlands I detest,
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Lingering after all the rest.

Plainer myrtle pleases me,

Thus outstretched beneath my vine;
Myrtle more becoming thee,

Waiting with thy master's wine.

ANOTHER TRANSLATION OF THE SAME ODE.*

Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,
Where latest roses linger,

Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.

LIB. II. ODE XVI.

Otium Divos rogat in patenti.

EASE is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,
When neither moon nor stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.
For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs,
Delightful ease all pant to taste,

A blessing which no treasure buys.

* Dr. John Johnson remarks upon this second translation, “English Sapphics have been attempted, but with little success, because in our language we have no certain rules to determine the quantity. The following version was made merely in the way of experiment how far it might be possible to imitate a Latin Sapphic in English without any attention to that circumstance." Poems, 1815, vol. iii. 8vo, p. 127; 12mo, p. 91.

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