TAKING S.

CANTO VI.

TAKING S.

CANTO VI.

I.

TAKEALL in earnest laboured with his quill, A poem wrote, supplying then correction, Soon brought it to conclusion, but I will

Not say he ever brought it to perfection. Having thus far accomplished his great end, The next thing was to shew it to a friend.

II.

I could forgive the man whose wretched taste, To jingle for his own amusement chose, Suspecting who on rhyme his time would waste Must ever be ridiculous in prose.

But verses written or for sport or need, 'Tis very cruel to a friend to read.

III.

A wealthy gentleman, in rhyme a sinner,
Invites me frequently,-I guess because
He wants to read his poems after dinner;
And stare me in the face for my applause.

I listen not, but sit in careless mood,

And swallowing wine, at times cry, "Very good!"

IV.

But all practitioners in verse I know,

In this way often have their friends distressed; And if our hero wished his work to show,

Having this fault in common with the rest, Without much reprehension we may pass, The instinct recognised in all his class.

V.

His old acquaintance Flykite, by the ear

Tom caught, and looked for rapture and surprise;

But he remarked, "I would not be severe,

Yet cannot praise unless I tell you lies; Some lines are very well, but I must say, Your talent seems to lead another way."