The Works of William Cowper / His life, letters, and poems, now first completed by the introduction of Cowper's private correspondence

by William Cowper

THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES, 1759.

Sauntering along the street one day,
On trifles musing by the way—
Up steps a free familiar wight,
(I scarcely knew the man by sight.)
"Carlos," he cried, "your hand, my dear;
Gad, I rejoice to meet you here!
Pray Heaven I see you well?" "So, so;
E'en well enough as times now go:
The same good wishes, sir, to you."
Finding he still pursued me close—
"Sir, you have business I suppose."
"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 darest 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?"
"O, '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 Deil 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."
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.
Despatch 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, and 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 summoned 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 awhile!"
"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 every where."
"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 thought of a reprieve,
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,
Do every thing 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.

TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM FROM HOMER.[922]

Pay me my price, potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked
With good success, yield them both fair renown
And profit, whether in the market sold
Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us.
But, oh ye potters! if with shameless front
Ye falsify your promise, then I leave
No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong.
Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come,
And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread,
Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house,
May neither house nor vestibule escape,
May ye lament to see confusion mar
And mingle the whole labour of your hands,
And may a sound fill all your oven, such
As of a horse grinding his provender,
While all your pots and flagons bounce within.
Come hither, also, daughter of the sun,
Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs
Poison themselves, and all that they have made!
Come, also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop
Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath
The club of Hercules, as who escaped,
And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes,
And howl to see the ruin of their art,
While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop
To peep into his furnace, may the fire
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith.

Oct. 1790.