You know it well--and by this garden wall
P'rhaps Mons and Namur[7] at this instant fall.
What shouldst thou think if haply some should say
This noted chronicler's employ'd to-day
In writing something new--and thus his time
Devotes to thee--to paint his thoughts in rhyme?
My master, thou wouldst say, can ably teach,
And often tells me more than parsons preach;
But still, methinks, if he was forc'd to toil
Like me each day--to cultivate the soil,
To prune the trees, to keep the fences round;
Reduce the rising to the level ground,
Draw water from the fountains near at hand
To cheer and fertilize the thirsty land,
He would not trade in trifles such as these,
And drive the peaceful linnets from the trees.
Now, Anthony, I plainly see that you
Suppose yourself the busiest of the two;
But ah, methinks you'd tell a diff'rent tale
If two whole days beyond the garden pale
You were to leave the mattock and the spade
And all at once take up the poet's trade:
To give a manuscript a fairer face,
And all the beauty of poetic grace;
Or give the most offensive flower that blows
Carnation's sweets, and colours of the rose;
And change the homely language of the clown
To suit the courtly readers of the town--
Just such a work, in fact, I mean to say,
As well might please the critics of the day!
Soon from this work returning tir'd and lean,
More tann'd than though you'd twenty summers seen,
The wonted gard'ning tools again you'd take
Your long-accustom'd shovel and your rake;
And then exclaiming, you would surely say,
'Twere better far to labour many a day
Than e'er attempt to take such useless flights,
And vainly strive to gain poetic heights,
Impossible to reach--I might as soon
Ascend at once and land upon the moon!
Come, Anthony, attend: let me explain
(Although an idler) weariness and pain.
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