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William Cowper - Verses Written At Bath, On Finding The Heel Of A ShoeWilliam Cowper - Verses Written At Bath, On Finding The Heel Of A Shoe
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Fortune! I thank thee: gentle goddess! thanks! Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny She would have thank’d thee rather hadst thou cast A treasure in her way; for neither meed Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes, And bowel-racking pains of emptiness, Nor noontide feast, nor evening’s cool repast, Hopes she from this—presumptuous, though, perhaps, The cobbler, leather-carving artist! might. Nathless she thanks thee and accepts thy boon, Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock, Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found, Spurn’d the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah! Why not on me that favour (worthier sure!) Conferr’dst thou, goddess! Thou art blind thou say’st: Enough!—thy blindness shall excuse the deed. Nor does my muse no benefit exhale From this thy scant indulgence!—even here Hints worthy sage philosophy are found; Illustrious hints, to moralize my song! This ponderous heel of perforated hide Compact, with pegs indented, many a row, Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks) The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown Upbore: on this, supported oft, he stretch’d, With uncouth strides, along the furrow’d glebe, Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time (What will not cruel time?) on a wry step Sever’d the strict cohesion; when, alas! He, who could erst, with even, equal pace, Pursue his destined way with symmetry, And some proportion form’d, now on one side Curtail’d and maim’d, the sport of vagrant boys, Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop! With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on. Thus fares it oft with other than the feet Of humble villager—the statesman thus, Up the steep road where proud ambition leads, Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul, While policy prevails, and friends prove true; But, that support soon failing, by him left On whom he most depended, basely left, Betray’d, deserted; from his airy height Headlong he falls; and through the rest of life Drags the dull load of disappointment on.
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