Though skilled in Latin and in Greek, <br />And earning fifty cents a week, <br />Such knowledge, and the income, too, <br />Should teach you better what to do: <br /> The meanest drudges, kept in pay, <br /> Can pocket fifty cents a day. <br /> <br />Why stay in such a tasteless land, <br />Where all must on a level stand, <br />(Excepting people, at their ease, <br />Who choose the level where they please:) <br /> See Irving gone to Britain's court <br /> To people of another sort, <br /> He will return, with wealth and fame, <br /> While Yankees hardly know your name. <br /> <br />Lo! he has kissed a Monarch's--hand! <br />Before a prince I see him stand, <br />And with the glittering nobles mix, <br />Forgetting times of seventy-six, <br />While you with terror meet the frown <br />Of Bank Directors of the town, <br /> The home-made nobles of our times, <br /> Who hate the bard, and spurn his rhymes. <br /> <br />Why pause?--like Irving, haste away, <br />To England your addresses pay; <br />And England will reward you well, <br /> Of British feats, and British arms, <br /> The maids of honor, and their charms. <br /> <br />Dear bard, I pray you, take the hint, <br />In England what you write and print, <br />Republished here in shop, or stall, <br />Will perfectly enchant us all: <br /> It will assume a different face, <br /> And post your name at every place, <br /> From splendid domes of first degree <br /> Where ladies meet, to sip their tea; <br /> From marble halls, where lawyers plead, <br /> Or Congress-men talk loud, indeed, <br /> To huts, where evening clubs appear, <br /> And 'squires resort--to guzzle Beer.<br /><br />Philip Freneau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-new-england-poet/
