An Apology For My Son To His Master, For Not Bringing An Exercise On The Coronation Day.
Why are we Scholars plagu'd to write,
On Days devoted to Delight?
In Honour of the King, I'd play
Upon his Coronation Day:
But as for Loyalty in Rhyme,
Defer that to another Time.
Now to excuse this to my Master--
(This Want of Rhyme's a sad Disaster)
Sir, we confess you take great Pains,
And break your own, to mend our Brains.
You strive to make us learn'd, and wise;
But to what End? -- We shall not rise:
In vain should at Preferment aim,
Whilst Strangers make their happier Claim.
Why should we labour to excel,
Doom'd in Obscurity to dwell?
Then, since our Welfare gives you Pain,
(And yet your Toil may prove in vain)
I wish, for your, and for our Ease,
That all were Coronation Days.
Mary Barber's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (An Apology For My Son To His Master, For Not Bringing An Exercise On The Coronation Day. by Mary Barber )
- Sons And Daughters, Edward Kofi Louis
- An Army Of Occupation, Tony Adah
- Mr. Bonga and Mr. Donga, Aftab Alam
- Under The Muse Of The Truth, Edward Kofi Louis
- Fair And Square!, Edward Kofi Louis
- I Do Not Have Any Word, Neela Nath
- The Puzzle, Ravikumar C.P.
- 'O' Cloud of My Skies, Aftab Alam
- My Words And Her Words, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Ode To B.J Azang, Tony Adah