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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539334" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To a Friend</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have you ne'er seen, my gentle Squire!<br>The humours of your kitchen fire?<br>Says Ned to Sal, 'I lead a spade;<br>Why don't ye play?-the girl's afraid-<br>Play something-anything-but play-<br>'Tis but to pass the time away-<br>Phoo-how she stands-biting her nails-<br>As though she play'd for half her vails-<br>Sorting her cards, haggling, and picking-<br>We play for nothing, do us, chicken?<br>That card will do-'blood never doubt it,<br>It's not worth while to think about it.'<br>Sal thought, and thought, and miss'd her aim,<br>And Ned ne'er studying won the game.<br>Methinks, old friend! 'tis wondrous true<br>That verse is but a game at loo:<br>While many a bard, that shows so clearly<br>He writes for his amusement merely,<br>Is known to study, fret, and toil,<br>And play for nothing all the while,<br>Or praise at most; for wreaths of yore<br>Ne'er signified a farthing more!<br>Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,<br>He sees your flying pen obtain it.<br>Through fragrant scenes the trifler roves,<br>And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves:<br>Where with strange heats his bosom glows,<br>And mystic flames the god bestows.<br>You now none other flames require<br>Than a good blazing parlour fire;<br>Write verses-to defy the scorners<br>In -houses and chimney-corners.<br>Sal found her deep-laid schemes were vain-<br>The cards were cut-come, deal again-<br>No good comes on it when one lingers-<br>I'll play the cards come next my fingers-<br>Fortune could never let Ned loo her,<br>When she had left it wholly to her.<br>Well, now who wins?-why, still the same-<br>For Sal has lost another game.<br>I've done (she mutter'd); I was saying,<br>It did not argufy my playing.<br>Some folks will win, they cannot choose;<br>But think or not think-some must lose.<br>I may have won a game or so-<br>But then it was an age ago-<br>It ne'er will be my lot again-<br>I won it of a baby then-<br>Give me an ace of trumps, and see!<br>Our Ned will beat me with a three!<br>'Tis all by luck that things are carried-<br>He'll suffer for it, when he's married.'<br>Thus Sal, with tears in either eye,<br>While victor Ned sate tittering by.<br>Thus I, long envying your success,<br>And bent to write and study less,<br>Sate down, and scribbled in a trice,<br>Just what you see-and you despise.<br>You, who can frame a tuneful song,<br>And hum it as you ride along,<br>And, trotting on the king's highway,<br>Snatch from the hedge a sprig of bay,<br>Accept this verse, howe'er it flows,<br>From one that is your friend in prose.<br>What is this wreath, so green, so fair,<br>Which many wish, and few must wear;<br>Which some men's indolence can gain,<br>And some men's vigils ne'er obtain?<br>For what must Sal or poet sue,<br>Ere they engage with Ned or you?<br>For luck in verse, for luck at loo?<br>Ah, no! 'tis genius gives you fame,<br>And Ned, through skill, secures the game.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</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=539334" data-title="To a Friend de William Shenstone" data-description="Have you ne'er seen, my gentle Squire!
The humours of your kitchen fire?
Says Ned to Sal, 'I lead a spade;
Why don't ye play?-the girl's afraid-
Play something-anything-but play-
'Tis but to pass the time away-
Phoo-how she stands-biting her nails..."></div>
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