And, were you not so good a writer,
I should present you with a mitre.
Write worse, then, if you can — be wise —
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy nest:
Ah! never lay thy head to rest!
That head so well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains,
You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your dean'ry new repair,
And build a castle in the air.
I'm sure a man of your fine sense
Can do it with a small expense.
There your dear spouse and you together
May breathe your bellies full of ether.
When lady Luna is your neighbour,
She'll help your wife when she's in labour;
Well skill'd in midwife artifices,
For she herself oft falls in pieces.
There you shall see a rareeshow
Will make you scorn this world below,
When you behold the milky way,
As white as snow, as bright as day;
The glittering constellations roll
About the grinding arctic pole;
The lovely tinghng in your ears,
Wrought by the musick of the spheres —
Your spouse shall then no longer hector,
You need not fear a curtain-lecture;
Nor shall she think that she is undone
For quitting her beloved London.
When she's exalted in the skies,
She'll never think of mutton pies;
