Though money be a pretty handy tool; Of mammon, lo! I scorn to be the fool! If fortune calls she's welcome to my cot, Whether she leaves a guinea or a groat; Whether she brings me from the butcher's shop The whole sheep or a single chop. For lo! like Andrew Marvel I can dine, And deem a mutton bone extremely fine. Then, sir, how difficult the task you see, To bribe a moderate gentleman like me. I will not swear, point blank, I shall not alter— A saint (my namesake) e'en was known to falter.
And who is there that may not change his mind? Where can you folks of that description find Who will not sell their souls for cash? That most angelic, diabolic trash! E'en grave divines submit to glitt'ring gold! The best of consciences are bought and sold: Yet should I imitate the fickle wind, Or Mister Patriot Eden—change my mind; And for the bard your Majesty should send, And say, 'Well, well, well, well, my tuneful friend, I long, I long to give you something, Peter— You make fine verses—nothing can be sweeter— What will you have? what, what? speak out, speak out: Yes, yes, you something want, no doubt, no doubt.'
Then would the poet thankfully reply, With falt'ring voice, low bow, and marv'ling eye All meekness! such a simple, dove-like thing! 'Blest be the bard who verses can indite, To yield a second Solomon delight! Thrice blest, who findeth favour with the King!
'Since 'tis the royal will to give the bard In whom the King delighteth some reward, Some mark of royal bounty to requite him, O King! do anything but knight him.'
ODES FOR THE NEW YEAR.
Know, reader, that the laureate's post sublime Is destin'd to record, in handsome rhyme, The deeds of British monarchs twice a year: If great, how happy is the tuneful tongue! If pitiful, as Shakespeare says, the song Must 'suckle fools and chronicle small beer.'
But bards must take the up hill with the down; Kings cannot always oracles be hatching: Maggots are oft the tenants of a crown— Therefore, like those in cheese, not worth the catching.
O gentle reader! if, by God's good grace, Or (what's more sought) good interest at court, Thou get'st of lyric trumpeter the place, And hundreds are, like gudgeons, gaping for't; Hear! (at a palace if thou mean'st to thrive) And, of a steady coachman, learn to drive.
