To Sir William Draper, K.B. Poem by Christopher Anstey

Freely I'd give ye cups of gold,
Rich with the curious works of old;
With coins and medals I'd present ye,
And send ye rings and seals in plenty;
Reward ye like the valiant Greeks,
If I, like Deard, could make antiques.
But gifts like these, my generous Friend,
Nor you expect, nor I can send.
Something to eat, I'd have you know it,
Is no small present from a Poet;
And tho' I took some little pains
In weaving my Pindaric strains,
You're welcome, if my verse displeases,
To d--n my book, and eat my cheeses;
Still will I venture to acquaint ye,
Tho' I, like Gainsborough, cou'd paint ye;
Tho' I with Wilton's art, could give
The animated stone to live;
Yet not the picture, or the busto,
Are things that heroes ought to trust to.
Good generals and statesmen too,
From verse alone, must claim their due;
And oft the friendly Muse supplies
What an ungrateful world denies:
Not the swift flight of threat'ning Lally,
Not every bold successful sally,
Under your banners from Madras,
Tho' told on marble, or on brass:
Not India's distant spoils brought home,
To grace our Henry's lofty dome;
Without the Muses just regard,
Can give the Conqueror his reward.--
--Spite of the law's unjust delay,
Your guerdon still the Muse shall pa y
With faithful steps your fame attend,
And speed the wishes of your friend.