The TEN-PENNY NAIL.

'TWAS past the Date of sav'ry Noon,
 And downwards roll'd the radiant Sun,
 When all (except us rhyming Sinners)
 Had rosted, boil'd, and eat their Dinners;
 In my great Chair I sat to pout,
 And beat my weary Brains about;
 About (what did not much avail)
 Amanda's Riddle of the Nail;
 When Somnus took me by Surprise,
 And put his Finger in my Eyes:
 'Twas He, for Poets never nod
 Without the Influence of a God:
 I dream'd of what — Why, you shall hear,
 Good People all, I pray draw near,
 Methought there lay before my Eyes
 A Nail of more than common Size;
 'Twas one that nails our Garden Door,
 And oft my Petticoat has tore:
 When sudden (it is true, my Friend)
 It rear'd itself, and stood an end,
 And tho' no Mouth I cou'd descry,
 It talk'd as fast as you or I:
 And thus began — As I am told
 'You Poets seldom deal in Gold;
'That's not the Price of empty Songs,
'But to Sir Thrifty Gripe belongs;
'Bright Silver is Sir Wary's Claim,
'And Copper for the lab'ring Dame;
'If so (that each may have their due)
'We rusty Nails belong to you;
'I therefore ask as my Desert
'(I hope you bear a grateful Heart)
'You write my Life — and be it shown
'What strange Adventures I have known. 
'I must confess I was not made. 
'So early quite as Adam's Spade;
'Yet many Ages I have known,
'And double with my Labours grown:
'I occupy'd, the first of all,
'A worthy Post at Gloomy-Hall,
'Where I, with seven hundred more,
'Were hammer'd in the spacious Door:
'And there had haply stuck till now,
'Had not old Simon broke his Plough;
'Who seeing none but us at hand,
'And knowing us a trusty Band,
'Me with the Pincers sore oppress'd,
'And drew me headlong from the rest:
'My lazy Life, alas! was done,
'And now I toil'd from Sun to Sun:
'None pity me, and none relieve,
 'Till Fortune gave me a Reprieve:
'My Master broke his Plough again,
 'And I from thence was dragg'd amain. 
'To Celia's Chamber next I came,
 'And bore a Glass with curious Frame;
'To whom the lovely Nymphs repair:
 'There Delia spread her shining Hair;
'All smiling there was Claudia seen,
 'And Thalia ty'd her Ribbands green. 
'At last my Mistress drew too nigh,
 'And some ill Genius standing by,
'Drove me directly in her Eye. 
 'Then I was banish'd from her Train,
'Hurl'd on a Dunghill with Disdain. 
 'But idle long I did not lie,
'For old Sir Gripus walking by,
 'Who held it was a crying Sin,
'To trample o'er and slight a Pin. 
 'And that they well deserve a Jail,
'Who proudly scorn a rusty Nail,
 'Carry'd me home, and made secure
'With me — a stately oaken Door. 
 'Through the strong Boards he made me go,
'To keep his Daughter from a Beau;
 'But she (what is't but Love can do?)
'With Aqua-fortis eat me through:
 'A Cripple now, and useless quite,
'I'm banish'd from the chearful Light:
 'And all folk despise me that behold;
'At last I to a Smith was sold,
 'Who had Compassion on my Pain,
'And brought me to myself again. 

 'To Jeff'ry Bouze I next belong,
'Where sparkling Ale was clear and strong;
 'One Vault, more precious than the rest,
'Was stow'd with Hogsheads of the best:
 'And having lately lost the Key,
'He fast'ned up the Door with me:
 'I stood a faithful Centry there,
'To guard the choice inspiring Beer
 'From thirsty Bacchanalian Rage,
'Till his Son Guzzle was of Age:
 'At length the Youth an Entrance found,
'Tho' stoutly I maintain'd my Ground;
 'Yet all my Strength wou'd not avail,
'For how cou'd one poor single Nail
 'Maintain a dang'rous Post (you know)
'Against whole Legions of the Foe;
 'Who well consid'ring Life's a Bubble,
'And drinking is the Cure of Trouble,
 'And more — that he again could brew
'Before the Date of Twenty two;
 'While e'er that time the present Ale
'Might happen to be flat or stale;
 'He came himself with fifty more,
'And wisely drank it out before. 

 'It wou'd be tedious now to tell
'What to your humble Slave befel,
 'Amongst a rude mechanick Band,
'Till Fortune gave me to your Hand:
 'Now if a proper Post I knew,
'I'd gladly be of use to you;
 'But you resolve to hide no Pelf,
'And choose to walk abroad yourself:
 'But, Mira, these are dang'rous Times,
'I'd have you fasten up your Rhymes;
 'And 'tis the best thing you can do,
'To nail up Pens and Paper too:
 'Do this and get thee gone to spinning,
'Or wisely dearn your Father's Linen. "
This said — a Cart with rumbling Sound
 Came by, and shook the trembling Ground;
 The Vision vanish'd from her Sight,
 And Mira waken'd in a Fright.