Classic Poem

Address'd to Mr . G AINSBOROUGH , Painter, at Bath; in which the Author reminds him of his Promise made in last April, to present him with a whole length Picture .

Presuming upon Friendship shown,
In April last at Bath when down,
I should e'er now address'd a Letter,
(Perhaps like this for want of better)
And begg'd to be indulg'd the Reason,
You came not up in May's fair Season;
But ever since a fell Disease,
Foe to my Mind and Body's Ease,
Has prey'd upon my ev'ry Hour,
Palsy'd each Sense with banesul Pow'r;
Relax'd my Nerves in ev'ry Breath,
I suffer'd, and I wish'd for Death,
At length restor'd, in grateful Lay,
The Public Prints my Thanks convey.
'Tis now with social Pleasure fraught,
Your friendly Offer floats in Thought:
You promis'd, Sir, a Stripling Bard,
(Unworthy of so much Regard)
To honour with your skilful Art;
A Favour, which with grateful Heart,
Shall long remain in high Esteem,
An Artist Friend, my fav'rite Theme!
Th' Occasion of this frank Address,
Is briefly neither more nor less,
A Fortnight from this Date I mean
To quit this noisy, bustling Scene;
Least the State-boobies of the Times,
Should plunge me in a Sea of Rhimes,
Before my shatter'd Nerves recruit
Their Powers for a fresh Pursuit;
I mean to pass the Severn Tide ,
To visit Friend on t'other Side;
And if your leisure Time permit,
For Season scarce commences yet,
I should be proud of your Display,
For Bath of course is in my Way;
But if the Times are pressing still,
And Shoals demand your wond'rous Skill,
Contented 'till a future Day,
Your jingling Scribbler U. must stay.

Your Kindness will, I hope, excuse
This Freedom of a nerveless Muse;
I beg a Line — with much Regard,
Remain your most respectful Bard.