A Turkey carpet was his lawn,

Whereon* he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,

But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,

And every night at play.

I kept him for his numour's‡ sake,
For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now, beneath this § walnut shade,
He finds his long, last home,

And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

He,|| still more aged,¶ feels the shocks,

From which no care can save,

And partner once of Tiny's box,
Must soon partake his grave.

* MS. "On which."

MS. "Old service."

† MS. "Slumbering."

All the modern Eds. have "his." We give the reading

of the MS. and of Ed. 1800, vol. II., p. 357.

MS. "She."

TMS. "Ancient."

EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM.*

Hic etiam jacet,

Qui totum novennium vixit,
Puss.
Siste paulisper,
Qui præteriturus es,
Et tecum sic reputa-

Hunc neque canis venaticus,
Nec plumbum missile,
Nec laqueus,

Nec imbres nimii,
Confecêre:

Tamen mortuus est-
Et moriar ego.

Poems, Ed. 1800, vol. II., p. 358.

10

AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ.*

IS not that I design to rob

Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle;

Not that I mean, while thus I knit
My threadbare sentiments together,
To show my genius or my wit,

When God and you know I have neither;
Or such as might be better shown

5

By letting poetry alone.

10

"Tis not with either of these views

That I presume to address the Muse:
But to divert a fierce banditti,

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,

And daily threaten to drive thence

My little garrison of sense;

The fierce banditti which I mean

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by Spleen.
Then there's another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly quit
The debt, which justly became due
The moment when I heard from you:
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin;

VOL. II.

* Hayley, 1803, vol. 1. p. 15.
I

15

20

20

Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows,
(I would say twenty sheets of prose)
Can ne'er be deemed worth half so much
As one of gold, and yours was such.
Thus, the preliminaries settled,

I fairly find myself pitchkettled,"
And cannot see, though few see better,
How I shall hammer out a letter.

First, for a thought-since all agree-
A thought I have it-let me see-
'Tis gone again-plague on't! I thought
I had it but I have it not.

Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son,
That useful thing, her needle, gone,
Rake well the cinders, sweep the floor,
And sift the dust behind the door;
While eager Hodge beholds the prize
In old grimalkin's glaring eyes;
And gammer finds it on her knees
In every shining straw she sees.
This simile were apt enough;
But I have another, critic-proof!
The virtuoso thus, at noon,
Broiling beneath a July sun,
The gilded butterfly pursues,

O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews;
And, after many a vain essay,

To captivate the tempting prey,
Gives him at length the lucky pat,
And has him safe beneath his hat:

* Pitchkettled, a favourite phrase at the time when this Epistle was written, expressive of being puzzled, or what in the Spectator's time would have been called bamboozled.

Then lifts it gently from the ground;

But ah! 'tis lost as soon as found;
Culprit his liberty regains,

Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains.
The sense was dark; 'twas therefore fit
With simile to illustrate it;

But as too much obscures the sight,
As often as too little light,

We have our similes cut short,
For matters of more grave import.

That Matthew's numbers run with ease,
Each man of common sense agrees;

All men of common sense allow
That Robert's lines are easy too:

Where then the preference shall we place,
Or how do justice in this case?

66

Matthew," says Fame," with endless pains

"Smoothed and refined the meanest strains; “Nor suffered one ill-chosen rhyme

75

"To escape him at the idlest time;

"And thus o'er all a lustre cast,

"That, while the language lives, shall last.”

"An't please your ladyship," quoth I,

(For 'tis my business to reply)

Bespeak at least a stubborn soil:

"Sure so much labour, so much toil,

66

“Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed,

“Who both write well, and write full speed!

"Who throw their Helicon about

"As freely as a conduit spout!

"Friend Robert, thus like chien savant,

"Lets fall a poem en passant,

"Nor needs his genuine ore refine!

""Tis ready polished from the mine."

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85

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