When I heard you were landed, I flew to the Nine, <br />Intreating their Aid to invite you to dine. <br />They told me, I came on that Errand too late; <br />For you were engag'd by the Rich, and the Great. <br />Already! said I; they were speedy indeed: <br />However I'll try, and I hope to succeed. <br />Those Creatures of Power, who your Levee attend, <br />If your Father were out, their Conge's would end: <br />Tho' your personal Merit is great, 'tis allow'd; <br />'Tis the Son of the Statesman, that weighs with the Croud. <br />I expect not a Place, nor hope for a Pension, <br />The Love of the Muse is my only Pretension. <br />I hate to abuse--and I never can flatter: <br />I write for no Party, nor either bespatter. <br /> <br />From the Lands of Parnassus the Rents are ill--paid, <br />And England has cruelly cramp'd us in Trade: <br />So look not for China, or Service of Plate, <br />Or ought that is costly, to tempt you to eat. <br />Yet a Way to engage you I think I have hit on: <br />I mean, to remember our Friends in Great--Britain. <br />Two Bottles of Wine, and two Dishes I'll give: <br />Then fly from the Crouds that oppress you--and live. <br /> <br />The first Glass shall welcome you, Sir, to our Coast; <br />And dear Lady Conway shall be my next Toast. <br />With Mirth, and good Humour, I'll make up the Treat; <br />I know you're too wise, to love dining in State.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-invitation-to-edward-walpole-esq/
