Epigram On Hearing A Clergyman Preach A Dull Sermon In A Loud, Shrill Voice

Still, still his bell-like voice rings through my head;     Yet not one bright thought cheers my mental view;     O! would that I were deaf, asleep, or dead!     Ye marble statues! how I envy you!          *        *        *        *        *     To hear him preach the Methodistic creed,     What eager crowds to Ranter's chapel speed!     His eloquence the harden'd sinner frightens;     Like heaven itself says Fame, he thunders, lightens.     I go to hear him; Fame has made a blunder;     I see no lightning, though I hear the thunder.     For flowery sermons Doctor Drudge         Of preachers at the top is;     If from their influence we may judge,         His flowers are only poppies.          *        *        *        *        *     Sir! you're both fool and knave! to Frank, Blunt cries     I know I am, Sir, Frank to Blunt replies:     Now, in self-knowledge if all knowledge lies,     A fool, like Frank, must be extremely wise!          *        *        *        *        *     Vice is a mouse-trap, pleasure is the bait,     Like mice, enticing mortals to their fate;     And of this truth experience leaves no doubt;     'Tis far more easy to get in than out.     Old maids their spleen on marriage vent;         The reason would you know?     'Tis not, that others are made wives,         But that they can't be so.          *        *        *        *        *     How grave he looks! how mighty wise!     He seems Minerva's sacred bird:     He speaks! our ears refute our eyes     The cackling of a goose is heard.          *        *        *        *        *     How came that Jew, deform'd and old,     To wed the youthful, fair Coquette?     Ben had a purse well-stored with gold!     He caught her in't; 'twas Hymen's net!     Flirtilla's teeth, well-form'd and white,     Were Hymen's pincers, and could bite!     When the Royal Exchange to the flames fell a prey,     All the Monarchs and Queens from their niches were thrown;     Lackaday! on the pavement in fragments they lay,     Every one except Charley the Second alone.     Strange event! O my Muse! to blind mortals below     Clear this mystery which none but immortals can know.     "Cytherea and Momus pray'd Vulcan to spare     The blithe, amorous King: Vulcan granted their prayer."