Captain T — of BATTEREAU'S Regiment in the Isle of SKIE to Captain P— at Fort AUGUSTUS . Capt. T[homas]: "This military author was once student of Christ Church, Oxford, and a divine. He was mortally wounded and taken prisoner at the first attack on Bellisle, April 8, 1761, being then quartermaster-general, and lieutenant-colonel of Whitmore's regiment of foot." (1782) The addressee of the poem is Capt. P[rice]. — COME , Thomas , give us t'other sonnet — Dear captain , pray reflect upon it . Was ever so absurd a thing ? What , at the pole to bid me sing ! Alas ! search all the mountains round , There's no Thalia to be found ; And Fancy , child of southern skies , Averse the sullen region flies . I scribble verses ! why you know I left the Muses long ago , Deserted all the tuneful band To right the files , and study Bland . Indeed in youth's fantastic prime Misled I wander'd into rhime , And various sonnets penn'd in plenty On ev'ry nymph from twelve to twenty ; Compar'd to roses , pinks and lillies , The cheeks of Chloe and of Phillis ; With all the cant you find in many A stillborn modern miscellany . My lines — how proud was I to see 'em Steal into Dodsley's new Musaeum , Or in a letter fair and clean Committed to the Magazine . Our follies change — that whim is o'er — The bagatelles amuse no more . Know by these presents , that in fine I quit all commerce with the Nine . Love strains , and all poetic matters , Lampoons , epistles , odes , and satires , These toys and trifles I discard , And leave the bays to poet Ward . Know , now to politics consign'd I give up all the busy mind ; Curious each pamphlet I peruse , And sip my coffee o'er the news . But a propos — for last Courant , Pray thank the lady governante . From Aix — pho ! what is't — la Chapelle , Of treaties now the gazettes tell ; A peace unites the jarring powers , And ev'ry trade will thrive , but our's . Farewel , as wrong'd Othello said , The plumed troops , and neighing steed ! The troops ! alas ! more havock there A peace will make , than all the war . What crowds of heroes in a day Reduc'd to starve on half their pay ! From Lowendhal 'twou'd pity meet , And Saxe himself might weep to see't . Already Fancy's active pow'r Foreruns the near approaching hour , Methinks , curs'd chance ! the fatal stroke I feel , and seem already broke . The park I saunter up and down , Or sit upon a bench alone Pensive and sad — le juste portrait D'un pauvre capitaine reforme . My wig , which shun'd each ruder wind , Toupee'd before , and bag'd behind , Which John was us'd with nicest art To comb , and teach the curls to part , Lost the belle air and jaunty pride , Nor lank depends on either side : My hat grown white and rusted o'er Once bien trousse with galon d'or ; My coat distain'd with dust and rain , And all my figure quite campaign . Tavern and coffee-house unwilling To give me credit for a shilling : Forbid by ev'ry scornful belle The precincts of the gay ruelle . My vows tho' breath'd in ev'ry ear , Not e'en a chambermaid will hear : No silver in my purse to pay For opera-tickets , or the play : No message sent to bid me come A fortnight after to a drum : No visits or receiv'd or pay'd , No ball , ridotto , masquerade : All pensive , heartless , and chagrine I sit , devoted prey to spleen ; Shabbily fine with tarnish'd lace , And hunger pittur'd in my face . To you , dear P— , indulgent heav'n A gentler , happier lot has giv'n ; To you has dealt with bounteous hands Palladian seats , and fruitful lands : Then in my sorrows have the grace To take some pity on my case ; And as you know the times are hard , Send a spruce valet with a card — Your compliments , and beg I'd dine , And taste your mutton and your wine ; You'll find most punctual and observant , Your most obliged humble servant , C. T.