Explore "Verses from Shakespeare" by Thomas Gray on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To Mrs. Anne, Regular Servant to the Rev. Mr. Precentor of York / A moment's patience, gentle Mistress Anne; / (But stint your clack for sweet St. Charitie)
'Tis Willy begs, once a right proper man, / Though now a book, and interleaved you see.
Much have I borne from cankered critic's spite, / From fumbling baronets and poets small, / Pert barristers, and parsons nothing bright, / But what awaits me now is worst of all.
'Tis true, our master's temper natural / Was fashioned fair in meek and dove-like guise; / But may not honey's self be turned to gall / By residence, by marriage, and sore eyes?
If then he wreak on me his wicked will; / Steal to his closet at the hour of prayer; / And (when thou hear'st the organ piping shrill)
Grease his best pen, and all he scribbles, tear.
Better to bottom tarts and cheesecakes nice, / Better the roast meat from the fire to save, / Better be twisted into caps for spice, / Than thus be patched and cobbled in one's grave.
So York shall taste what Clouet never knew, / So from our works sublimer fumes shall rise; / While Nancy earns the praise to Shakespeare due, / For glorious puddings and immortal pies.