Soliloquy, on an empty Purse. Mary Jones 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. T115196 Jones, Mary, d. 1778. Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. By Mary Jones. Oxford Printed; and delivered by Mr. Dodsley in Pall-Mall, Mr. Clements in Oxford, and Mr. Frederick in Bath, MDCCL. 1750 pp. 100-103. vi,[1],xlv,[1],405p.

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Soliloquy , on an empty Purse . Alas ! my Purse ! how lean and low ! My silken Purse ! what art thou now ! Once I beheld — but stocks will fall — When both thy Ends had wherewithal . When I within thy slender fence My fortune plac'd , and confidence ; A Poet's fortune ! — not immense : Yet , mixt with keys , and coins among , Chinkt to the melody of song . Canst thou forget when , high in air , I saw thee flutt'ring at a fair ? And took thee , destin'd to be sold , My lawful Purse , to have and hold ? Yet us'd so oft to disembogue , No prudence could thy fate prorogue . Like wax thy silver melted down , Touch but the brass , and lo ! 'twas gone : And gold would never with thee stay , For gold had wings , and flew away . Alas , my Purse ! yet still be proud , For see the Virtues round thee croud ! See , in the room of paltry wealth , Clam Temp'rance rise , the nurse of Health ; And Self-denial , slim and spare , And Fortitude , with look severe ; And Abstinence , to leanness prone , And Patience worn to skin and bone : Prudence , and Foresight on thee wait , And Poverty lies here in state ! Hopeless her spirits to recruit , For ev'ry virtue is a mute . Well then , my Purse , thy sabbaths keep ; Now Thou art empty , I shall sleep . No silver sounds shall thee molest , Nor golden dreams disturb my breast . Safe shall I walk the streets along , Amidst temptations thick and strong ; Catch'd by the eye , no more shall stop At Wildey's toys , or Pinchbeck's shop ; Nor , cheap'ning Payne's ungodly books , Be drawn aside by pastry cooks : But fearless now we both may go Where Ludgate's Mercers bow so low ; Beholding all with equal eye , Nor mov'd at — " Madam , what d'ye buy ? " Away , far hence each worldly care ! Nor dun , nor pick-purse shalt Thou fear , Nor flatt'rer base annoy My ear . Snug shalt thou travel thro' the mob , For who a Poet's purse will rob ? And softly sweet , in garret high , Will I thy virtues magnify ; Out-soaring flatt'rers stinking breath , And gently rhyming rats to death .