Short Poems

I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

Iil ej for rask med en tjenstfærdig Haand
At drage Sløret fra din Broders Øje, -
Uvidenhed er tidt det skjulte Baand,
Der ene binder ham til Livets Møje.

Hvor vrangt og efter eget blinde Tykke
Uddeler Skjebnen Guld og Hæderssmykke!
Der er nu N! hvad har han gjort?
Og dog han lever glimrende og stort: -
„Ih nu, for Pokker! Manden har gjort — Lykke"!

If breath were made for every man to buy,
The poor man could not live, rich would not die.

Yes, every poet is a fool;
By demonstration, Ned can show it:
Happy could Ned's inverted rule
Prove every fool to be a poet.

To John I owed great obligation,
But John unhappily thought fit
To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John and I are more than quit.

Thy nags, the leanest things alive,
So very hard thou lovest to drive,
I heard thy anxious coachman say
It costs thee more in whips than hay.

They're like the Priest and Clerk at Belial's altar;
One makes the Sermon; t'other tunes the Psalter.

Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats;
He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats.
Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes,
And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes:
Yet sighing, he says we must certainly break,
And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak,
For of late I invite him - but four times a week.

If illness' end be health regained then I
Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I die.