Weak you will find it in one only part,
Now pierc’d by Love’s immedicable dart.
Fragments and Posthumously Published Verses
CONTENTS
ON LOYALTY
LETTER IN VERSE
IN A LETTER TO C. P. ESQ. ILL WITH THE RHEUMATISM
IN A LETTER TO THE SAME IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPEARE
A THUNDER STORM
RIDDLE
TOM RABAN
METHINKS I SEE THEE DECENTLY ARRAY’D
IMPROMPTU ON READING THE CHAPTER ON POLYGAMY, IN MR. MADAN’S THELYPHTHORA
ON MADAN’S ANSWER TO NEWTON’S COMMENTS ON THELYPHTHORA
ON A REVIEW CONDEMNING THELYPHTHORA
ON THE HIGH PRICE OF FISH
TO MRS. NEWTON.
LET BANISTER NOW LEND HIS AID
AGAINST INTERESTED LOVE
FRAGMENT: HE CAME TO HIM IN THE EXTASY OF PRAY’R
ONE PARSON, ONE POET, ONE BELMAN, ONE CRIER
LINES WRITTEN ON A PAGE OF THE MONTHLY REVIEW, WHICH HAD SPOKEN OF MR. NEWTON’S OPINIONS AS CANT
IMPROMPTU ON WRITING A LETTER WITHOUT HAVING ANYTHING TO SAY
LINES AFTER THE MANNER OF HOMER, DESCRIPTIVE OF THE OPENING OF A HAMPER
IT IS A MAXIM OF MUCH WEIGHT
LINES WRITTEN FOR INSERTION IN A COLLECTION OF HANDWRITINGS
TO A YOUNG LADY WHO STOLE A PEN FROM THE PRINCE OF WALES’S STANDISH
ON A MISTAKE IN HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMER
AWAY GOES SUSSEX WILLIAM WITH HIS PACK
TO SIR JOHN FENN
ON THURLOW
ON HIS PORTRAIT
ON HIS APPROACHING VISIT TO HAYLEY
ON HAYLEY’S PORTRAIT
ON RECEIVING HAYLEY’S PICTURE
THANKS FOR A GIFT OF PHEASANTS
MY PENS ARE ALL SPLIT, AND MY INK-GLASS IS DRY
AN EPIGRAM IS BUT A FEEBLE THING
AH BROTHER POET! SEND ME OF YOUR SHADE
EPIGRAMS ON HIS GARDEN SHED
ON A LETTER OF MISS FANSHAWE
TO GRAVINA, ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR’S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSE
ON FLAXMAN’S PENELOPE
ON RECEIVING HEYNE’S VIRGIL FROM HAYLEY
EXPOSTULATION
BENEFACTIONS
THE POEM TO LADY HESKETH
ON A LITIGIOUS DEBTOR
ON A NEW-CREATED NOBLE
VERSE AND PROSE
COMFORT FOR WALKERS
TO ERASMUS
ON HIS CANDID & UNCANDID READERS
ON THE PRODIGAL AND THE COVETOUS
CHEAP AND DEAR
ON THE SALT SEA
THE EVILS OF BAD EXAMPLE
PHILAUTOS
TO LADY M. N. HIS PATRONESS
THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE KING
ON THE ENGRAVER OF HIS POURTRAIT
IN VAIN TO LIVE FROM AGE TO AGE I
IN VAIN TO LIVE FROM AGE TO AGE II
A SONNET: PHILLIPS! THE SUFF’RER LESS BY LAW THAN POW’R
THE GRIEF OF AN HEIR
ON THE JOY UNIVERSALLY EXPRESS’D ON THE KING’S HAPPY ESCAPE FROM ASSASSINATION
CUM RATIONE INSANIRE
A GOOD SONG
TRANSLATION
THE SCHOLAR AT HIS WITS’ END
PSALM 114th
A HYMN FOR A CHILD THAT HAS UNGODLY PARENTS
ON LOYALTY
[Written 1754. Published by T. Wright in Unpublished Poems of Cowper, 1900; the letters and words enclosed within brackets are missing in the MS., and were supplied by Mr. Wright.]
Cum tot sustineant reges et tanta, neque ulla
Parte voluptati deliciisque vacent:
Cum varios capiti affigat diadema dolores,
Bellorumque premant sollicitentque minae:
Cur queritur populus? cur caeco murmure mussat?
Inque suum insane vim meditatur herum,
Qui vigil excubias agit usque et (sustinet) usque
Imperii, populus ne qua laboret, onus?
Hoc Satanæ scelus est nec Dæmone dignius ul(lum),
Nam primumin Satanæ pectore crime (n erat). 10
Præmia quin date digna viro verusque sequatur
Collata in gentem commoda gentis amor.
Ilium jure colant populi, tueantur amante(s );
Ille colit populos, ille tuetur, amat.
Tu vero si talis erit) quicunque verendum
Execrare caput Principis, Eia! tace;
Nec quia rara fides régi fert præmia, demens
Immeritum regem quem venerere pûtes;
Ipse tibi plaudas, quae laus est optima: laudem
Extemam ingenuis est meruisse satis. 20
LETTER IN VERSE
IF I write not to you
As I gladly would do
To a Man of your Mettle & Sense,
’Tis a Fault I must own
For which I’ll attone
When I take my Departure from hence. 6
To tell you ye Truth,
I’m a queer kind of Youth
And I care not if all ye world knows it;
Whether Sloven, or Beau,
In Square, Alley, or Row,
At Whitehall, in ye court, or ye closet. 12
Having written thus much
In honest high Dutch,
I must now take a nobler still up:
Give my Fancy, a prick,
My Invention, a flick,
And my Genius a pretty smart Fillip. 18
For the Bus’ness in hand
You are to understand,
Is indeed neither trifling nor small:
But wch you may transact
If your scull is not crackt
As well as ye best of them all. 24
And so may your Dear Wife
Be ye joy of your Life,
And of all our brave troops ye Commandress,
As you shall convey
What herein I say
To ye very fair Lady, my Laundress. 30
That to Town I shall trot
(No! Lie, I shall not,
For to Town I shall jog in ye stage)
On October ye Twentieth,
For my Father consenteth
To make me ye Flower of ye Age. 36
So bid her prepare
Every Table & Chair,
And warm well my Bed by ye Fire,
And if this be not done
I shall break her Back bone
As sure as I ever come nigh her. 42
I am Jovial & Merry,
Have writ till I’m weary,
Am become, with a great deal of Talking, hoarse:
So farewell — sweet Lad!
Is all I shall add,
Except —
yrs obedly stalking Horse.
W. Cowper.
G. Berk:
Octbr 10th 1755.
IN A LETTER TO C. P. ESQ. ILL WITH THE RHEUMATISM
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
Grant me the muse, ye Gods! whose humble flight
Seeks not the mountain-top’s pernicious height;
Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake,
To visit oft the still Lethean lake;
Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore,
Now gently skim the un wrinkled waters o’er;
There dips her downy plumes, there upward flies,
And sheds soft slumbers in her votary’s eyes. 8
IN A LETTER TO THE SAME IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPEARE
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
Trust me, the meed of praise, dealt thriftily
From the nice scale of judgment, honours more
Than does the lavish and o’erbearing tide
Of profuse courtesy: not all the gems
Of India’s richest soil at random spread
O’er the gay vesture of some glittering dame
Give such alluring vantage to the person,
As the scant lustre of a few, with choice
And comely guise of orn
ament disposed. 9
A THUNDER STORM
[Written 1708 (?). Published in T. Wright’s Life of Cowper, 1892.]
The Sky begins to lower and thick’ning Clouds
Portend a speedy storm, the Vocal tribes
No longer Sonnets sing; all, all are mute;
The Beasts forbear to graze and seek the shade:
Yon herd of Swine — see, see how fast they run;
’Tis said they see the Wind —
A solemn and awful silence now prevails,
Save when the breeze the Thunder’s harbinger
Just rustles through the Grove: on ev’ry brow
A dark despondence reigns, and hark! it comes;
I heard the sudden roar, — my Soul, be calm, 11
Look up and view its progress, be serene,
Calm and collected, as becomes a Man.
Again it roars — and now the Lightning flies;
Not faster flies the timid Hare from Hounds;
Nor from the victor flies the vanquish’d Foe,
Than Trav’llers seek for Shelter; e’en my Dog
Cow’rs at my feet and looks up for protection.
And now ’tis dreadful truly — Heav’n and Earth,
How hard it rains! the Atmosphere’s on fire! 20
Chaos presides! Confusion quite surrounds me!
Yet, yet again the broad expanded glare
Of vivid Lightning flashes o’er the Plain
Leaving a sulph’rous stench; Heav’ns what a Peal!
Still; still it roars incessant! What to this
The din of armies on the hostile Plain?
An Atom to a Mountain. —
See the sky opens — shuts — and forky fires
Dart oblique to the Earth; and o’er my Head
Tempest rides forward on the Whirlwind’s wing:
Still the Almighty flashes for his Spear; 31
His Chariot wheels most awfully resound:
Well! be it so, my Soul: consoling thought!
He is thy maker and, I trust, thy friend;
Then wherefore tremble, wherefore shudder thus?
No, I will cease to fear, tho’ even now
The Ear of Nature feels so strong a Shock
As scarce before it felt: yet as a Man,
A Christian Man, I shudder now no more.
When God in Thunder spoke from Sinai’s mount,
Israel approach’d with Awe; if Moses then 41
Could mediate for the People, and avert
The great Jehovah’s anger, sure his Son,
The fam’d Immanuel, the Prince of Peace,
Can ransom from his wrath and reconcile.
But oh! my Soul how poor a Portrait this!
How weak the Colours and how faint th’ Idea,
Of what one day thou must be a Spectator!
Oh! bright and blessed morning to the Just!
Oh! Day of doom, of infinite distress, 50
To those who unprepar’d Messiah meet;
When thron’d in Clouds, surrounded by the Host
Of Heav’n, worshipping, the Judge descends:
Consummate Triumph. Hark! the Trumpet sounds,
The Breath of Michael blows th’ Amazing blast;
The Dead arise, the Living all are Chang’d,
And Adam’s family appear before Him.
Amid that throng, in that Assembly vast,
Must thou, my soul, appear and there receive
A Plaudit glorious or Silence sad: 60
Sink deep in Thought, Oh, deeper, deeper still:
May it ne’er be forgotten, on my Couch
Be it my dreaming subject; when awake,
Oh! be it still remember’d: for its worth
What tongue can speak, or any language tell?
Then from this hour deep on my heart engraved
Be all my duty needful; Ha! that blaze,
That Shock tremendous that appals me thus
Says I am not prepar’d — but I submit;
No more will I rebel against thy sway 70
Nor dispute thy dominion, Gracious God!
My sins shall suffer, and by Grace divine
I will forsake them all and trust alone
For true felicity, for pleasure high,
To Thee: who only can true pleasure give.
The Storm abates — less too the Thunder roars,
The Vault of Heav’n grows brighter, and the Sun
Strives to Emerge from yonder dusky Cloud;
More faint the flashes grow — and distant fly;
Nature resumes her charms, and from the Grove
Musick again is heard: the Warblers there 81
Attempt a feeble strain: The Dog Star now
Throws his warm beams around the weeping Scene;
Salubrious Zephyrs gently fan the Air:
Love, Life, and Joy return by due degrees
And Harmony once more revisits Earth.
RIDDLE
[Written July, 1780 (MS. in the British Museum). First six lines published by Hayley, 1803; afterwards in The Gentleman’s Magazine, Dee. 1808.]
I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told.
I am lawful, unlawful — a duty, a fault,
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought.
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,
And yielded with pleasure — when taken by force.
Alike the delight of the poor and the rich,
Tho’ the vulgar is apt to present me his breech. 8
TOM RABAN
[Written in letter to Newton, Aug. 31, 1780. Published by Southey, 1836.]
THE curate and churchwarden,
And eke exciseman too,
Have treated poor Tom Raban
As if he was a Jew.
For they have sent him packing,
No more in church to work,
Whatever may be lacking;
As if he was a Turk. 8
Thus carry they the farce on,
Which is great cause of grief,
Until that Page the parson
Turn over a new leaf.
Thus sings the muse, and though her fav’rite cue
Is fiction, yet her song is sometimes true.
METHINKS I SEE THEE DECENTLY ARRAY’D
[Written 1781 (?). Published from the copy among the Ash MSS. in Unpublished Poems of Cowper, 1900.]
Methinks I see thee decently array’d
In long flowed nightgown of stuff-damask made;
Thy cassock underneath it closely braced
With surcingle about thy mod’rate waist;
Thy morning wig grown tawny to the view,
Though once a grizzle, and thy square-toed shoe.
The day was, when the sacerdotal race
Esteem’d their proper habit no disgrace,
Or rather when the garb their order wears
Was not disgrac’d as now, by being theirs. 10
I speak of prigs —
IMPROMPTU ON READING THE CHAPTER ON POLYGAMY, IN MR. MADAN’S THELYPHTHORA
[Written 1780. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine, Dec. 1780.]
IF John marries Mary, and Mary alone,
’Tis a very good match between Mary and John.
But if John weds a score, oh, what claws and what scratches!
It can’t be a match— ’tis a bundle of matches.
ON MADAN’S ANSWER TO NEWTON’S COMMENTS ON THELYPHTHORA
[Written May 13,1781. Published by Southey, 1836.]
M. quarrels with N., for M. wrote a book
And N. did not like it, which M. could not brook,
So he call’d him a bigot, a wrangler, a monk,
With as many hard names as would line a good trunk,
And set up his back, and claw’d like a cat,
But N. liked it never the better for that.
Now N. had a wife, and he wanted but one,
&nb
sp; Which stuck in M.’s stomach as cross as a bone.
It has always been reckon’d a just cause of strife
For a man to make free with another man’s wife;
But the strife is the strangest that ever was known,
If a man must be scolded for loving his own. 12
ON A REVIEW CONDEMNING THELYPHTHORA
[Written Oct. (?), 1780. Published by Southey, 1836.]
I have read the Review; it is learned and wise,
Clear, candid, and witty — Thelyphthora dies.
ON THE HIGH PRICE OF FISH
[Written to Mrs. Newton, Aug., 1781. Published by Johnson, 1824.]
COCOA-NUT naught,
Fish too dear,
None must be bought
For us that are here;
No lobster on earth,
That ever I saw,
To me would be worth
Sixpence a claw. 8
So, dear Madam, wait
Till fish can be got
At a reas’nable rate,
Whether lobster or not;
Till the French and the
Dutch
Have quitted the seas,
And then send as much
And as oft as you please. 16
TO MRS. NEWTON.
[Written Sept. 16, 1781. Published by Johnson, 1824.]
A noble theme demands a noble verse,
In such I thank you for your fine oysters.
The barrel was magnificently large,
But being sent to Olney at free charge,
Was not inserted in the driver’s list,
And therefore overlook’d, forgot, or miss’d;
For when the messenger whom we dispatch’d
Enquir’d for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch’d;
Denying that his waggon or his wain
Did any such commodity contain. 10
In consequence of which, your welcome boon
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon;
In consequence of which some chanced to die,
And some, though very sweet, were very dry.
Now Madam says, (and what she says must still
Deserve attention, say she what she will,)
That what we call the Diligence, be-case
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