MISCELLANEOUS. 71 



A Cicero without an ear, 



A neck, on which by logic good 



I know for sure a head once stood ; 



But Avho it was the able master 



Had moulded in the mimic plaster, 



Whether 'twas Pope, or Coke, or Burn, 



I never yet could justly learn : 



But knowing Avell, that any head 



Is made to answ^er for the dead, 



(And sculptors first their faces frame, 



And after pitch upi-n a name. 



Nor think it aught of a misnomer 



To christen Chaucer's busto, Homer, 



Because they both have beards, w hich, you know, 



Will mark them well from Joan and Juno), 



For some great man, I could not tell 



But Neck might answer just as well, 



So perched it up, all in a row 



With Chatham and with Cicero. 



Then all around, in just degree, 

 A range of portraits you ma}' see, 

 Of mighty men, and eke of women 

 Who are no whit inferior to men. 



With these fair dames, and heroes round, 



I call my garret classic ground. 



For though confined, 'twill well contain 



The ideal flights of Madam Brain. 



No dungeon's walls, no cell confined 



Can cramp the energies of mind ! 



Thus, though my heart may seem so small, 



I've friends, and 'twill contain them all ; 



And should it e'er become so cold 



That these it will no longer hold, 



No more may Heaven her blessings give, 



I shall not then be fit to live. 



