The oriental rambler, or, The papers of Polyphilus

Where rapid fortunes have been lost and gained;
Where war has raged and soon may rage again,
Where genius oft has fallen, 'mong the slain
Where scandal sits arrayed in noble state
Hostile to reputation and the great,

Where nature asks no grand mechanics art

To till the ground, to cheer the poor man's heart,
No waters kiss at her supreme command,

The earth which yields from her all bounteous hand,
This little book I publish for this clime

In parts 'tis beautiful, but not sublime,
In parts nonsensical, yet wise enough,

Somewhere what vacant minds would name as stuff.

Often historical, unmixed with lies,

Which scanned, says Bacon, makes the scholar, wise; Sometimes poetical, but prosy matter,

Pedantic often to prolong the chatter

Throughout instructive in the first degree

No thoughts curtailed, the author's "Fancy free."
At home should ranting, raving coxcombs rage
To act Dick Swivellers, on life's brilliant stage
Let them commence and study all quotations
Prefixed to those my fugitive creations.
When the worn traveller in the Bungalow,
Curses the day for rolling on so slow,
This little book the weary time will kill,

And cause him wish the light to linger still.
When the poor Sub with duties cares opprest
Slumbering on guard beside seme old cash chest
Awakes; the RAMBLER give him he will find
Food for his nothing else, than martial mind.

Such is its power, and from my heart I tell it.
All I hope is, the Publisher will sell it,—

"Blame where you must, be candid where you can And be each critic, a good natured man."

POLYPHILUS..