An Address to his Elbow-chair, new cloath'd. William Somervile 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. T131163 K104099.004 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. IV. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 293-295. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
An Address to his Elbow-chair , new cloath'd . By the late WM. SOMERVILE , Esq ; Author of the Chace . Written towards the close of Mr. Somervile's life . MY dear companion , and my faithful friend ! If Orpheus taught the listening oaks to bend ; If stones and rubbish , at Amphion's call , Danc'd into form , and built the Theban wall ; Why should'st not thou attend my humble lays , And hear my grateful harp resound thy praise ? True , thou art spruce and fine , a very beau ; But what are trappings , and external show ? To real worth alone I make my court ; Knaves are my scorn , and coxcombs are my sport . Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay ; Ragged , disjointed , and to worms a prey ; The safe retreat of every lurking mouse ; Derided , shun'd ; the lumber of my house ! Thy robe , how chang'd from what it was before ! Thy velvet robe , which pleas'd my sires of yore ! Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round ; Aloft we mount — then tumble to the ground . Yet grateful then , my constancy I prov'd ; I knew thy worth ; my friend in rags I lov'd ! I lov'd thee , more ; nor like a courtier , spurn'd My benefactor , when the tide was turn'd . With conscious shame , yet frankly , I confess , That in my youthful days — I lov'd thee less . Where vanity , where pleasure call'd , I stray'd ; And every wayward appetite obey'd . But sage experience taught me how to prize Myself ; and how , this world : she bade me rise To nobler flights , regardless of a race Of factious emmets ; pointed where to place My bliss , and lodg'd me in thy soft embrace . Here on thy yielding down I sit secure ; And , patiently , what heav'n has sent , endure ; From all the futile cares of business free ; Not fond of life , but yet content to be : Here mark the fleeting hours ; regret the past ; And seriously prepare , to meet the last . So safe on shore the pension'd sailor lies ; And all the malice of the storm defies : With ease of body blest , and peace of mind , Pities the restless crew he left behind ; Whilst , in his cell , he meditates alone On his great voyage , to the world unknown .