Works

The following comical Verses shall go by next Post to Susan & Sophy Thrale—The Serious ones to their elder sister.

She who thro Dirt and Wet can wade
    Without or Clog or Patten,
May share the Fate of many a Maid
    That lives at poor Prestatyn.

But one who wants a Goose to roast
    Or famous Hog to fatten;
Will find none such on any Coast
    As that of old Prestatyn.

There—shall you see no Bond Street Beaux,
    Nor Belles in Silk and Sattin;
But you may save your own best Clothes
    By living at Prestatyn,

No Conversation with Wise Men
    Expert in Greek in Latin;
But you may use a Book or Pen
    At pityful Prestatyn.

If then you languish with Ennui,
    And Hope begins to flatten;
Come, bathe in our bold Irish Sea
    That roars around Prestatyn.

There—cloudless Suns both set and rise
    At Vespers and at Matin;
And those who've learn’d such Sights to prize
    Will value poor Prestatyn.

For **me**; tho’ there’s nor Breadth nor Length,
    Nor Room to swing a Cat in;
When I’m distrest for Health & Strength
    Pray send me to Prestatyn.

To rude Prestatyn’s Sea-beat Shore
    And salutary Gale,
The Muse—if Health her Powrs restore
    Or Gratitude prevail:

Should lend at least one artless Rhyme
    To celebrate the Place
Where savage Nature's wild Sublime
    Presents an awful Face.

Where Rocks in dreary Grandeur rise
    Whose hanging Summits throw
A Mass of Shadow from the Skies
    Upon the Main below.

Where—scarce discern’d the distant Mast
    High bounds above the Waves;
And shrieking to each hollow Blast
    Gray Sea Gulls quit their Caves.

But Spirits here—untaught & slow
    Lye torpid in their Clay,
Nor Sights sublime nor Sounds of Woe;
    Awake the heav’nly Ray. it.

By Squallid Poverty deprest
    Alike both old & young,
Cling to their Miserable Nest
    That Earth from whence they sprung

For such the Moral sense we find
    Nor more the Progress made;
Where Want with Ignorance combin’d
    The human Race degrade.

Yet when Society again
    With fascinating Smiles
Shall twist me in her sev’n-fold Chain
    Till weary of her Wiles;

When Relaxation’s loosening hand
    Shall menace every Limb;
And Apprehension ready stand
    To realize each Whim:

Then hither let me haste once more
    If Gratitude prevail;
To wild Prestatyn’s Sea-beat Shore
    And salutary Gale.—

Lady de Blaquiere was so fond of these Verses—She would have a Copy; & beg’d me to send her one with my Empty Basket this Morn^g—Oct^r 6: 1804 to fill with her Ladyship’s particularly beautiful Yellow Apples of which no Garden in this Country exhibits the like: I dispatched my Messenger early with these Lines

To liberal Denbigh speeds my thriving Suit,
Which barters Empty Rhymes for solid Fruit;
From Paris’ hands not ev’n the Queen of Wit
Could of his famous Apple gain one Bit
But Eleanora knows ’twere vain to roam
In quest of Beauty which She finds at home:
’Tis therefore ’gainst his Judgment thou declarest
Who kept his Golden Apples for the fairest.