The INSPIR'D QUILL. Occasion'd by a Present of CROW-PENS. Mary Leapor Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 111-118. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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The INSPIR'D QUILL . Occasion'd by a Present of CROW-PENS . TO you , Dear Madam , I complain , Where Wretches never sigh in vain ; But always find , if not Relief , At least Compassion for their Grief . But I shou'd make my Woes appear , Before I claim a gentle Tear ; My Tale is something odd , 'tis true ; Yet sure 'twill Credit find with you . The sage Pythagoras , you know , Asserted many Years ago , That when or Man or Woman dies , The Soul to some new Mansion flies ? If so , Belinda , now so fair May range the Woods a sullen Bear : Likewise the courtly Bellamour , The Lady's Darling to be sure : Tho' he in sparkling Laces glow , The Pattern of a perfect Beau ; When he puts off the human Shape , May strut a Monkey or an Ape . For me who now to you indite , Whose Talent chiefly is to write ; What Form it was , I do not know , I wore two thousand Years ago : The Being that I first remember , Was on a Morning of December ; But not December last ( I ween ) No — many Years have past between ; I found myself a wealthy Squire , And seated by a Parlour-Fire , A fine Estate of mellow Ground , In Cash full Thirty thousand Pound , Two hundred Oxen in a Stall , And ten lean Servants at my Call , An ancient House well built but low , Behind of Oaks an ample Row , A Court before — without much State , And three Gaunt Mastiffs at the Gate ; All these had I — a happy Knave As you may think — but with your Leave A wretched Usurer was I , With hagard Jaws and eager Eye , That starv'd amidst unwieldy Store , And lost my Life in search of more , This Pluto saw , and bid me go Into the Carcase of a Beau , To taste of Pleasure and of Pains , With slender Purse and shallow Brains , My Wig behind was smartly ty'd , My silver Box with Snuff supply'd : On Books I seldom lov'd to pore , But sung and danc'd , and aptly swore ; Where-e'er I came the Ladies smil'd ; This call'd me Pug — and t'other Child : To please and to address the Fair , Was all my Business and my Care ; But now my Gold began to fly , And sure Destruction hover'd nigh : At last to Limbo was I led , From whence the struggling Spirit fled . Almeria's Lap-dog next I grew , And wore a Coat of glossy Hue , Caress'd and courted ev'ry Day , At Ev'ning by her Side I lay : Her Smiles were always bent on me ( The happiest Days that e'er I see ) But , Oh , as by a River-side , I walk'd along with short-liv'd Pride , A cruel Foot-boy threw me in , And laugh'd as tho' it was no Sin . Once more to gain a human Face , I step'd into a Lawyer's Case : This Station pleas'd me wond'rous well , And in a trice I learn'd to spell , Cou'd read old Coke with prying Eyes , Explain , distinguish , and advise , Talk Latin to a good degree ; As Admittendo Custode , Eject , Extendi : and my Fee : 'Tis true I scorn'd to rob or kill , But not to cheat or forge a Will : In Jointures I cou'd split a Hair , And make it turn against the Heir : I spar'd no Widow for her Tears , No Orphan for his tender Years : My Maxim was — ' Get Money , Man , Get Money , where and how you can : Thus through the Stage of Life I run , ( For , Ah ! my Race was quickly done ) And still preserv'd my Ears and Nose , In spite of venial Sins like those . My next Disguise too well you know , Degraded to a simple Crow ; Both Cold and Hunger doom'd to bear , And hover in the limpid Air , Till on a day a spiteful Hind , With dreadful Arms and bloody Mind , Vow'd quick Destruction to my Head : And in a Moment shot me dead : Then set my ghastly Corse on high To fright my Fellows from his Rye . I now grew out of Pluto's Favour , Who grumbl'd at my late Behaviour ; And vow'd ( when thus his Sentence ran ) I shou'd no more appear as Man ; But that he wou'd confine me still Within the compass of a Quill . My Fate is hard , as you may guess , Yet I cou'd bear it ne'er-the-less , Wou'd you or Fortune be so kind To comfort an afflicted Mind , And take me from the hated Cell , Where Yesterday you bid me dwell : For Oh , I guess — nay more I know it , That my new Mistress is a Poet ; Then how shall I who still inherit , A Tincture of the Lawyer's Spirit ; How shall I bear from time to time To scrawl unprofitable Rhyme ? To live for Years and ne'er behold The Presence of enchanting Gold , Yet scribble on — Besides , alack , I fear she'll quickly break my Back . Then since my Pedigree you know : ( Dear Madam , ) Ah some Pity show , And recommend me to a Place ; For sure there's Mercy in your Face , To some Attorney let me go , For there my Talents suit ( you know ) Heroicks I shall write but ill ; But I'm a Doctor at a Bill , At Flights of Fancy very dull ; But I can form Receipts at full . The Favour that I ask of you , ( Have pity when the Wretched sue ) Is your good Word or what is better , A Recommandatory Letter ? And if I'm happy in your Grace , I think I need not doubt a Place .