Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/402

360 Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade!

Swains! quit the plough, resign the useless spade!

Lo! and, nay, a greater far,

was born beneath an adverse star,

Forsook the labours of a servile state,

Stemmed the rude storm, and triumphed over Fate:

Then why no more? if Phœbus smiled on you,

! why not on brother Nathan too?

Him too the Mania, not the Muse, has seized;

Not inspiration, but a mind diseased:

And now no Boor can seek his last abode,

No common be inclosed without an ode.

Oh! since increased refinement deigns to smile

On Britain's sons, and bless our genial Isle,

Let Poesy go forth, pervade the whole,

Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul!

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,

Compose at once a slipper and a song;

So shall the fair your handywork peruse,

Your sonnets sure shall please—perhaps your shoes.