Christopher Anstey Poems

CANTO I.

Hush'd be the envious tongues that dare
Bright --- to profane
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Had it pleas'd him, from whom all wisdom flows,
Him, who each good, each perfect gift bestows,
With knowledge to exalt my feeble mind,
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Dearly beloved Countrymen and Friends,
Accept the verse an half--starv'd Poet sends:
Who scant of paper in these needy times,
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Parent supreme! whose all discerning mind
Appoints the various portions of mankind,
On me, my country, and on all, bestow
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Oh! hideous fiend, of form uncouth,
With jaundic'd eye, and canker'd tooth,
Fell Envy, why dost thou profane
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There are who complain that my verse is severe,
And what is much worse--that my Book is too dear:
The Ladies protest that I keep no decorum
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Sweet Saint! on thee when pining sickness prey'd,
Thy beauty canker'd, and thy youth decay'd,
'Twas thine with patience meek, to Heav'n resign'd,
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Must I read it again, Sir?--So--here do I stand,
Like the priest that holds forth with a scull in his hand.
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As circling ivy works the tree's decay,
Time's cold embraces steal my strength away,
Till like an empty tomb, my aged frame
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You press me to drink your Champayn, and Tokay
By which you have poison'd four wives, as they say:
I ne'er can believe such a scandalous tale,
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