TAKINGS.

CANTO V.

I.

To letters fortunately reconciled,

Tom driven by poverty's relentless storm, Some very melancholy hours beguiled,

Attempting combinations new to form, That might with future laurels grace his brow, And give a trifle for subsistence now.

II.

And there was something glisten'd to his eye,
Shining in all surpassing glory bright,

That to the ambient air gave every sigh,
Which struggled first from the deserted wight.
'Twas Hopea wanton gay fantastic throb,
That deigns by cheating, of despair to rob.

III.

Sweet Hope!-though oft absurdly vilified,

O condescend through life my veins to thrill!
Though far-remote, the joys with thee descried,
Still gaily dazzle and console me still :
And when one prospect fades that I pursued,
Suggest some other object to delude.

IV.

'Twas Hope suggested Takeall might succeed,

1

Like certain jinglers who were all the rage; Charm all who read, and make all hearers read, And shine the noblest poet of the age.

Pleased with the thought delectable as vain,

The gay enthusiast soon forgot his pain.

V.

This rapturous glow wherever he repair'd,

Was now the blithe companion of his heart; And warm'd by this, sometimes like one just scared, Or like a race-horse, he would sudden start. Running regardless who was in the street, Stared at by all he chanced to pass or meet.

VI.

One evening, after a convivial day,

A worthy Alderman and sage M. P. From tavern of Freemasons took his way,

Practising still his much beloved thrice three, This little variation only found,

His head and not his bumper glass ran round.

VII.

Still writhing on, with looks profoundly grave,
He sought the neighbourhood in which he dwelt,
But somehow lost his centre. Nought could save
The Earth's from being then severely felt;
So down he fell at risk of broken bones,
And measured all his length upon the stones.

VIII.

Just then, Tom ruminating on the Muses,
Came up the street at his most rapid pace,
Added a couple to the Toper's bruises

By kicks, and then went sprawling on his face.

A very wholesome lesson after all,

That those who go too fast are like to fall.

IX.

He call'd the watchman from the other side

To aid the toper, but night's guardian grim, Howe'er deplorable his case, replied

It matter'd nothing in the world to him. The prostrate man was ten yards off his beat, And so might sleep or perish in the street.

X.

Tom lost his patience and began to swear; 'Twas not a pious nor a prudent plan,

The watchman with indifference this could bear; But told the sufferer was a gentleman

Who might reward, his gentle heart relented;

To help the Alderman he then consented.

XI.

In taking Home our hero lent a hand,

And grateful for the active part he play'd,

The Citizen indulged in offers grand,

And of his pocket-book a present made. He raged when 'twas refused; so Tom gaveway, Fix'd to restore it on the following day.