Reader, a vagrant Muse, mid' these bleak hills,
With dreams poetic, oft our Author fills;
Bids him again the advent'rous task engage,
To please, surprise, in this enlighten'd age:
Bold this, indeed! Methinks you soft exclaim;
Hush, friend! to please is still our Author's aim:
Weak is his lyre, yet tun'd in virtue's praise,
To goodness, not to wealth, he homage pays.
Th' exordium, egotistic, pray excuse,
He courts not flattery, but for candour sues;
Proud if thou smil'st on his unpolish'd line,
Rhyme is his hobby.--Reader, what is thine?

I benefit mankind, am useless found;
Now irritate, delight whole nations round;
Am seen mid' splendid domes, in lowliest cot;
Now thought worth thousands, now not worth a groat:
Now on the waters, now in air am seen;
Now many a fathom in the earth have been:
Great Newton I delighted, all allow,
He saw me for the benefit of you;
And Swift, eccentric genius, Erin's pride,
With him oft have I wander'd side by side.
My size oft varies, I'm both great and small;
Now seen by numbers, now not seen at all:
Now I occasion many a heart--felt joy;
Now hopes and pleasures quickly I destroy:
Whole provinces with me have nought to do:
The great man prizes me, the base one too.
I'm seen in dungeons, not in every jail;
My loss the world oft did, oft will bewail.
I'm brought after by ev'ry fav'ring breeze,
Yet Britain's sons can make me at their ease;
Her daughters, too, caress me, with a smile,
Long be they happy as they're void of guile!
For ne'er did Nature, since she tried her art,
Form beings more to captivate the heart;
And while mirth, goodness, claim his deep regard,
Still they'll enjoy the praises of our bard.
Near rivers now I'm seen, with anxious stare;
Go wander Eden's banks, you'll find me there.

Now Reader, some strange things I'll bring to view,
Dissect me carefully, you'll own 'tis true.
I'm dark, I'm pale, I'm feeble, and I'm strong;
I'm light, I'm heavy, short am I, and long;
For me you call, I'm with you day by day;
Aid young and old, wise, foolish, grave, and gay.
I'm fruit; I'm fish; I'm insect, bird, and beast;
Next I delight the glutton at a feast:
A poet, patriot, gen'ral, king I turn,
And now o'er me, in tears, the afflicted mourn.
You worship me, and now of me complain;
Then think of me, and ask what news from Spain.
Yon connoiseur now views me o'er and o'er,
Stares, rubs his eye--glass, squints at me once more:
Swears I'm invaluable: what does he mean?
I own I please the beggar and the queen.
Yon artless ploughman, whistling o'er the lea,
Hears me, delighted; Reader, I've pleas'd thee.
Now I'm a highwayman, great London's dread;
And now from me are thousands daily fed.
I'm on yon mountain, in that woody glen;
Mankind I daily serve; alas! what then,
They disregard me, use me night and day;
Praise, and abuse me; what's the reason, pray?
You see me, and you quick let fall a tear;
You hear from me, aye, daily through the year:
O'er me you laugh and joke, carouse and sing.
I'm beggar's bev'rage, and can please a king.
Now I'm the rustic's pride, the miser's dream;
Now I'm a river, many a poet's theme;
The drunkard's joy; the studious artist's toast;
The robber's dread; and many a farmer's boast.
Now children wear me; now by age I'm worn;
By me, with great delight, the Cockney's borne:
Yon gamester I enrich, and him undo;
Yon party I enliven, vex them too.
You see me in the ball--room, in the street
You hear me, and oft fly me when we meet.
I from the main save many a gallant tar;
I'm made for soldiers, us'd in peace and war:
I hide each beauteous object from your view,
You pray for me, and many I undo:
I give you plenty, and each hope destroy;
Know, friends, from me each blessing you enjoy:
I claim the pity of each passer by,
Call forth the manly tear, the heart--felt sigh.
Man's notice I have sought in every age,
The young, the old, the ideot, and the sage;
They gaze on me, each season, with delight,
I in a moment vanish from their sight.
Mark well you busy crew with ceaseless mirth,
For me, they mole--like daily toil in earth;
A thousand various forms I quick assume,
And now your garrets, painted halls illume.
I, tyrant like, cause streams of blood to flow;
I'm used by beauty, yet am beauty's foe:
For various purposes am still employ'd,
Have states delighted, and have men destroy'd.
By me aloft, methinks I see you borne;
Sad change, alas! I make you each one's scorn:
I turn you frightful in your country's eyes,
But ne'er destroy your hope beyond the skies.
By me all ages, nations have been charm'd,
And anger of his rage is quick disarm'd;
Th' untutor'd Indian, nature's simplest child,
My pow'r confesses oft, in raptures wild.
I'm now an herb, still grateful to your nose;
A reptile, and in man disgust oft cause;
I'm provinces; I'm rivers; many a town;
And now on me with horror you look down.
Now I'm an article of useful food;
Now do, what ev'ry mortal should do, good;
Snatch pale--fac'd suff'rers from the yawning grave:
Much evil, too, for millions I enslave.
I'm like a sland'rous vixen, o'er her tea,
She deals out scandal, gazing oft on me;
I'm next a card, she's eager to behold;
Now I adorn her head, or young, or old.
The British tar sees me with greedy joy:
Mankind I now defend, mankind destroy.
I'm parent own'd of universal good,
Form'd by th' all--wise Creator, ere the flood;
My influence is own'd in every clime,
And must continue till the end of time.
Observe yon motley groupe of young and old,
Toys, health, wealth, freedom, bartering for gold;
Our nation's glory, and her foul disgrace,
Where men like brutes are purchas'd, I'm that place.
You work, exquisite from the artist's hand,
That Genius o'er the midnight taper plann'd,
Where beauty, grace, taste, science are combin'd,
I'll quick destroy, nor leave a wreck behind.--
In fam'd St. Stephens, alias Wrangler's Hall,
Where men for office and for freedom bawl,
Where patriotic weathercocks hold forth,
And unfledg'd statesmen scowl on modest worth;
There oft I'm seen with traitors, cheek by jole;
And ev'n in council, great men I controul.
Behold you wretched hovel on the moor,
You'll see me, if you enter but the door;
Look in the palace, and you'll find me there;
I'm in the play--house, market, crowd, and fair.
I'm with the Regent oft, am oft his pride,
Woe to all those who would his steps misguide!
Thro' him, may suff'ring mortals hope for peace;
Thro' him, may all religious discord cease!
I'm black, I'm white, I long, I short am found;
Soaring in air; now groveling on the ground:
I'm silent, noisy, eloquent, and dumb,
Of size gigantic, and but like Tom Thumb:
Now many a fathom deep, in ocean lie;
Now out of sight, above the clouds I fly.--
Yon toil--worn exile, prey to want and grief,
To whom Hope soothing gives a faint relief,
Views me; and Fancy paints in colours true,
Scenes youth pourtray'd, when sorrows were but few:
Loves, friendships cherish'd, tear his tortur'd breast;
He weeps, and looks to Heav'n alone for rest.--
Observe yon sinner, on the bed of death;
Mark the deep groan, the short--drawn closing breath;
Hope tells another hour may ease his pain,
But ne'er let Hope deceive the giddy brain:
Him, how I torture! Conscience acts her part,
Soon life's red current ceases round his heart.
Next, view the man of worth, at life's sad close,
The look serene the Christian's hope he shews;
Him I afflict in vain. He patient bears
Aches, sickness, poverty; nor e'er despairs:
Firm, convinc'd life's race is nearly run,
He gratefully exclaims, God's will be done!
The Ruler of the Winds, thus, if he please,
A healing gives to sorrow or disease.

Full three hours' study hath this trifte cost;
Now patient Reader, should thy time seem lost,
Henceforth my Muse will other themes pursue--
Enigmatists, I bid you all adieu.