Classic Poem

I WROTE in Elegiac verse,
And grac'd with Melodies the hearse;
Confiding still in Friendship's ear
The pearl of each Castalian tear.
She her eloge on me conferr'd,
Above competitors preferr'd;
Melpomene at last grew vain,
And made a laurel of the pain;
She thought of her distress the hint,
Would interest the world in print;
Quoth Friendship , " You are still my care:
Of that capricious Judge beware!
These lovely weepers altogether
Will be too glum for this bright weather,
Besides, 'tis fit that you should know it,
You 're nothing but a Comic Poet.
But I 've a thought, and for the work —
A little slice of comic jerk
Will make the Readers take delight
In a melange of black and white;
When tir'd of crying at one half,
The other would ensure a laugh;
Without a remedy like this,
Your aim at feeling hearts you'll miss.
The Dirge and Jig, if interchang'd,
Are never shifted or derang'd.
An eloquent, but arch Divine,
Could laughter thus with tears combine;
St. Paul in front , he made the sheep
In Sorrow's pious current weep.
Behind — expos'd — the sitting feature
Grac'd with a laugh the Comic Teacher;
Alas! I fear, that Green , and Court ,
Which of thy Charges made their sport;
" These Elegies (I hear them say)
Are worth a tear at least per day;
But, when the heart is to despair,
I wish the pocket he could spare."
Ned Hamilton , acute, but cruel,
Ask'd " if George Hardinge was my jewel;"
Ask'd " if his Charges were sublime,
And if I put them into rhyme."
Said I, " Whatever you can say
Of my Apollo's Prose or Lay,
You 'd be enchanted with his Letters ;
They to no flattery are debtors:
Your Walpole is to him a fool,
And Stanhope's grace a dancing school;
His French can emulate Voltaire ,
His Pulpit is a match for Blair .
" His Epitaphs , I own, are dull;
More weed than flower his Muses cull;
But then for a convivial pet,
What think you of the Baronet?
That Hero of the Dinner-bell ,
No honours ever done so well:
I'm told he 's pleasant as the other,
And very like his Eldest Brother. "