To the Attic Society
When Misers and Mendicants mourn for the Nation,
Both Bullion and Wit want a fresh circulation;
But Phœbus from Wellesley taking a hint,
Here issues new coin from Parnassus’s Mint.
Come all who have ore for our currency fit —
The pure standard silver of Science and Wit!
No counterfeit dross or base metal we vamp,
Our coin is bright Fancy’s, and Taste gives the stamp.
Apollo grown shrewd as a grave Financier,
Sends Hebe herself to preside as Cashier:
Let Threadneedle Street British treasuries show —
A fair Spinster’s Chest is the Muses’ Depôt.
What churlish Reformers would ask to retrench
If Members like YOU fill’d the Treasury Bench?
Stern Cobbett or Brougham might the Sinecure seize
When Mirth claims the Patent and Beauty the Fees.
Then haste to our coffer, ye gay and ye fair!
Your bills on the Muses’ Exchequer prepare:
The brain’s ready coinage no critic shall clip —
We only ask loans of Wit’s Consols or Scrip.
Tho’ surly Committees all Auditors fear,
May Tellers and Auditors find Places here!
Your coinage shall aid us (tho’ Statesmen forget)
To pay to the Muses our National Debt.
Febỵ 28th 1817