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Poem by John Gay


To My Chair


Thou faithful vassal to my wayward will. 
Thou patient midwife to my labouring skill! 
My pen and inks choice cell! my papers pillow! 
Thou steady friend, een were thy master mellow! 
My seat!  I visit not the proud St. Stephen; 
St. Stephen knows not me  so we are even. 
A seat, obtained not by a threat or bribe; 
But free, uninfluenced by an influenced tribe: 
Thourt my inheritance  I boast no other; 
My throne, unique! for thou hast not a brother.

Surrounded by my friends, secure from foes, 
By thee upheld, I calmly seek repose. 
Soothed by thy comfort, my ideas spread  
Aerial forms assemble round my head! 
Titles and honours court me  in the air! 
A proof that Ive been building castles there!

Days, months, and years Ive musing sat in thee, 
And when grown pettish, thou neer answeredst me; 
A quality this is, so rarely seen, 
Twould be a jewel might adorn a queen.

My study thou!  my favorite resting place! 
My tabernacle where I pray for grace! 
My spouse! for in thy arms I oft recline, 
And hope, tho pleased with progeny of thine, 
That no base offspring ever may be mine!



John Gay


John Gay's other poems:
  1. Prediction
  2. Revenge: or Fartherly Kindness
  3. Fable
  4. To a Lady on Her Passion for Old China
  5. An Epistle to Her Grace, Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough


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