WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE,
IN 1748.
FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle Goddess, thanks!
Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny
She would have thank'd thee rather, hadst thou cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes
And bowel-raking pains of emptiness,
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast,
Hopes she from this, presumptuous-though perhaps
The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might.
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,
Vain-glorious fool, unknowing what he found,
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah!
Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure,)
Conferr'dst thou, Goddess? Thou art blind, thou say'st:
Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence ;-even here,
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found,
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song.
This ponderous Heel of perforated hide