Crushed by that just contempt his follies bring On his crazed head, the vermin fain would sting; But never satyr did so softly bite, Or Gentle George himself more gently write. Born to no other but thy own disgrace, Thou art a thing so wretched and so base Thou canst not ev'n offend, but with thy face; And dost at once a sad example prove Of harmless malice, and of hopeless love, All pride and ugliness! Oh, how we loathe A nauseous creature so composed of both! How oft have we thy capering person seen, With dismal look, and melancholy mien, The just reverse of Nokes, when he would be Some mighty hero, and makes love like thee. Thou art below being laughed at; out of spite, Men gaze upon thee as a hideous sight, And cry, "There goes the melancholy knight!" There are some modish fools we daily see, Modest and dull: why, they are wits to thee! For, of all folly, sure the very top Is a conceited ninny and a fop; With face of farce, joined to a head romancy, There's no such coxcomb as your fool of fancy. But 'tis too much on so despised a theme: No man would dabble in a dirty stream. The worst that I could write would be no more Than what thy very friends have said before. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB by THOMAS GRAY HIS SAVIOURS WORDS, GOING TO THE CROSSE by ROBERT HERRICK LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS by JAMES HOGG EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS THE HEAVENS ARE OUR RIDDLE by HERBERT BATES TO MADEMOISELLE by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |