SIR, or great grandsire, whose vast bulk may be A burying place for all your pedigree; Thou moving Coloss, for whose goodly face The Rhine can hardly make a looking-glass: What piles of victuals had thou need to chew, Ten woods or marrets' throats were not enough. Dwarf was he, whose wife's bracelet fit his thumb; It would not on thy little finger come: If Jove in getting Hercules spent three Nights, he might spend fifteen in getting thee: What name or title suits thy greatness, thou, @3Aldiboronifuscophonio@1? When giants warred with Jove, hadst thou been one, Where others oaks, thou would'st have mountains thrown; Wer'st thou but sick, what help could e'er be wrought, Unless physicians posted down thy throat; Were thou to die, and Xerxes living, he Would not pare Athos for to cover thee; Were thou t' embalm, the surgeons needs must scale Thy body, as when labourers dig a whale. Great Sir! a people kneaded up in one! We'll weigh thee by ship-burdens, not by th' stone. What tempests might'st thou raise, what whirlwinds when Thou breathes, thou great Leviathan of men! Bend but thine eye, a countryman would swear A regiment of Spaniards quartered there: Smooth but thy brow, they'll say there were a plain T' act York and Lancaster once o'er again! That pocket pistol of the queen's might be Thy pocket pistol, sans hyperbole; Abstain from garrisons, since thou may eat The Turk's or Mogul's titles at a bit: Plant some new land, which ne'er will empty be, If she enjoy her savages in thee: Get from amongst us, since we only can Appear like skulls march'd o'er by Tamberlane. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF A HEATHEN by RICHARD WATSON GILDER RESIGNATION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW COWLEY: THE GARDEN by ALEXANDER POPE THE NURSE'S STORY: THE HAND OF GLORY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |