Verses I Poem by Samuel Bowden

In Praise of the Society of Card-Makers, Lately Establish'd at Frome, 1738.

Come, Muse, forsake the grove, and purling rill,
To sing the wonders of mechanic skill:
More useful themes demand thy future lays,
Pregnant with blessings, and a nation's praise.


Let antient legends, of romantic Greece,
Applaud the union of the golden fleece:
In later days, let popish records boast,
Great Godfry's band, and the Teutonic host.
More worthy leagues mechanic patriots frame,
For manual arts deserve a nobler name.


On that fam'd day, when cursed Jesuits vow'd
To blast the senate in a sulphurous cloud,
The members meet; a memorable band,
Tho' mean their rank, their toil supports the land:
Linkt in the chain of business, peace and love,
Such senates are the stay of that above.
No party feuds, no politician's prate,
Disturb the order of the little state:
No impious oaths, no vanity obscene,
Polute the synod, and the feast prophane:
But commerce, harmony, and publick good,
Ease for the sick, and for the hungry food;
Illustrious Motives! crown the great design,
Nor courts can frame a purpose more divine.


But now, the Muse, if Pallas deign her aid.
In a rough verse, shall paint a rougher trade:
She first the virgins taught to card and spin,
And bid the loom its wond'rous web begin:
Immortal Vida sung the Silk-worm's skill,
And Virgil's Numbers taught the swain to till.


Of Ash or Beechen wood, an oblong square,
Is the first basis of the future care:
The master next, with mathematic art,
In figur'd diagrams dissects each part;
Curious as those who destin'd victims slay,
What part to save, and what to cast away:
Or as fam'd Dido, who with leathern thong
Mark'd out the ground from whence great Carthage sprung.
By artists next the leaves are well refin'd,
Shav'd, moos'd, and suppl'd for the use design'd;
Then stretch'd on tents, of pain unconscious, feel
Two pungents darts of penetrating steel,
'Till in a thousand gaping wounds pritch'd thro';
Each orifice extends exactly true.
Now from its bonds th' imprison'd captive flies,
And stands the test of criticising eyes.
Review thus pass'd-each pore receives a tire
In shining weapons clad, of stapl'd wire.


So glittering cohorts, marshal'd in array,
In even files their shining arms display;
While polish'd blades thro' every vista glide,
And in a thousand ranks the leaf divide.


Hail Art divine! by thy laborious toil
We see the texture of the fleecy spoil.
From hence Britannia's artful sons procure
Wealth to the rich, and plenty to the poor.
'Tis thus her loaded fleet the sea commands,
And cloaths the savages in distant lands.
Commere and Liberty enrich our shore,
While slothful Spaniards pine amidst their store.