Epistle To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintr(3/3)
limely flows,
yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.
mark, how their lofty independent spirit
soars on the spurning wing of injured merit!
seek not the proofs in private life to find
pity the best of words should be but wind!
so, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends,
but grovelling on the earth the carol ends.
in all the clam'rous cry of starving want,
they dun benevolence with shameless front;
oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays—
they persecute you all your future days!
ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain,
my horny fist assume the plough again,
the pie-bald jacket let me patch once more,
on eighteenpence a week i've liv'd before.
tho', thanks to heaven, i dare even that last shift,
i trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift:
that, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height,
where, man and nature fairer in her sight,
my muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight.
yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.
mark, how their lofty independent spirit
soars on the spurning wing of injured merit!
seek not the proofs in private life to find
pity the best of words should be but wind!
so, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends,
but grovelling on the earth the carol ends.
in all the clam'rous cry of starving want,
they dun benevolence with shameless front;
oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays—
they persecute you all your future days!
ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain,
my horny fist assume the plough again,
the pie-bald jacket let me patch once more,
on eighteenpence a week i've liv'd before.
tho', thanks to heaven, i dare even that last shift,
i trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift:
that, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height,
where, man and nature fairer in her sight,
my muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight.