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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455466" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Letter For My Son To One Of His School--Fellows, Son To Henry Rose, Esq;</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear Rose, as I lately was writing some Verse,<br>Which I next Day intended in School to rehearse,<br>My Mother came in, and I thought she'd run wild:<br>``This Mr. Macmullen has ruin'd my Child:<br>``He uses me ill, and the World shall know it;<br>``I sent you to Latin, he makes you a Poet:<br>``A fine Way of training a Shop keeper's Son!<br>``'Twould better become him to teach you to dun:<br>``Let him teach both his Wit, and his Rhyming, to Rose;<br>``And give you some Lessons, to help to sell Cloaths:<br>``He'll have an Estate, and 'twill do very well,<br>``That he, like his Father, in Arts should excel;<br>``But for you, if your Father will take my Advice,<br>``He'll send you no more, till he lowers his Price:<br>``A Guinea a Quarter! 'tis monstrously dear!--<br>``You might learn to dance for four Guineas a Year:<br>``Then, Sir, 'tell your Master, That these are hard Times;<br>``And Paper's too dear to be wasted in Rhymes:<br>``I'll teach you a Way of employing it better;<br>``As, July the fifteenth, Lord Levington Debtor:<br>``You may rhyme till you're blind, what arises from thence?<br>``But Debtor and Creditor brings in the Pence:<br>``Those beggarly Muses but come for a Curse;<br>``But give me the Wit, that puts Gold in the Purse.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From what she then told me, I plainly discern,<br>What different Lessons we Scholars must learn.<br>You're happy, dear Rose; for, as far as I find,<br>You've nothing to do, but embellish your Mind.<br>What different Tasks are assign'd us by Fate!<br>'Tis yours to become, mine to get an Estate.<br>Then, Rose, mind your Learning, whatever you do;<br>For I have the easier Task of the two.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Barber">Mary Barber</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455466" data-title="A Letter For My Son To One Of His School--Fellows, Son To Henry Rose, Esq; de Mary Barber" data-description="Dear Rose, as I lately was writing some Verse,
Which I next Day intended in School to rehearse,
My Mother came in, and I thought she'd run wild:
``This Mr. Macmullen has ruin'd my Child:
``He uses me ill, and the World shall know it;
``I sent you ..."></div>
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