I grieve to see you waste your Time,
And turn your Thoughts so much to Rhyme,
Be wise–your useless Views resign,
And fly the fair, delusive Nine.
I know, they try their wonted Art,
To win your easy, youthful Heart;
They talk of an immortal Name,
And promise you the Realms of Fame:
A mighty Empire, Con. ’tis true,
But wondrous small the Revenue!
They’ll tell you too, to gain their Ends,
That Verse will raise you pow’rful Friends.
Believe me, Youth, this is not true:
The Great think ev’ry Thing their Due.
(Mary Barber)
More Poetry from Mary Barber:
Mary Barber Poems based on Topics: Friendship, Fairness, Art, Youth, Fame, Time, Name, Belief & Faith, Immortality- To Mrs. Ward. By The Same. (Mary Barber Poems)
- To A Lady Who Commanded Me To Send Her An Account In Verse (Mary Barber Poems)
- To Alexander Pope, Esq. (Mary Barber Poems)
- The Prodigy. (Mary Barber Poems)
- Written For My Son, And Spoken By Him, At A public Examination For Victors. (Mary Barber Poems)
- To Mrs. Strangeways Horner, With A Letter From My Son; (Mary Barber Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Time Poems, Youth Poems, Fairness Poems, Friendship Poems, Name Poems, Art Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Fame Poems, Immortality PoemsBased on Keywords: revenue