The Clown's Reply

John Trott was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?
'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.'

Oliver Goldsmith

Oliver Goldsmith was an Irish novelist, playwright, and poet, best known for his novel 'The Vicar of Wakefield' (1766), his pastoral poem 'The Deserted Village' (1770), and his play 'She Stoops to Conquer' (1773). He was a versatile writer with works ranging from prose to poetry to drama and was a central figure in the literary circle known as the 'Club' alongside Samuel Johnson and Edmund Burke. His writing often depicted rural life and he became an important part of 18th-century English literature.

Oliver Goldsmith

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog

Oliver Goldsmith, Simple Poetry

Song Intended To Have Been Sung In 'She Stoops To Conquer'

Oliver Goldsmith, Simple Poetry

Epitaph On Thomas Parnell

Oliver Goldsmith, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Clown's Courtship, The

Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me;
I prithee now, wilt? and I'll marry thee,
My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
And all my lands and tenements:
        Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
        I cannot come every day to woo.

I've corn and hay in the barn hardby,
And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,
I have a mare and she is coal black,
I ride on her tail to save my back.
                        Then say, etc.

I have a cheese upon the shelf,
And I cannot eat it all myself;
I've three good marks that lie in a rag,
In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.
                        Then say, etc.

To marry I would have thy consent,
But faith I never could compliment;
I can say nought but "Hoy, gee ho!"
Words that belong t...

Unknown

The Folly Of Brown By A General Agent

I knew a boor a clownish card,
(His only friends were pigs and cows and
The poultry of a small farmyard)
Who came into two hundred thousand.

Good fortune worked no change in Brown,
Though she's a mighty social chymist:
He was a clown and by a clown
I do not mean a pantomimist.

It left him quiet, calm, and cool,
Though hardly knowing what a crown was
You can't imagine what a fool
Poor rich, uneducated Brown was!

He scouted all who wished to come
And give him monetary schooling;
And I propose to give you some
Idea of his insensate fooling.

I formed a company or two
(Of course I don't know what the rest meant,
I formed them solely with a view
To help him to a sound investment).

Their objects were their only...

William Schwenck Gilbert

Epilogue For Mr. Lee Lewes

Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a piebald vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.
('Takes off his mask.')
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How has thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door Demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities;
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?<...

Oliver Goldsmith

An Epistle To Robert Lloyd, Esq.

Tis not that I design to rob
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat Priors easy jingle;
Not that I mean, while thus I knit
My threadbare sentiments together,
To show my genius or my wit,
When God and you know I have neither;
Or such as might be better shown
By letting poetry alone.
Tis not with either of these views
That I presumed to address the muse:
But to divert a fierce banditti
(Sworn foes to every thing thats witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense;
The fierce banditti which I mean
Are gloomy thoughts led on by spleen.
Then theres another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly...

William Cowper

Verses In Reply To An Invitation To Dinner At Dr. Baker's.

'This 'is' a poem! This 'is' a copy of verses!'

Your mandate I got,
You may all go to pot;
Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night;
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved;
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,
Or to put on my duds;
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffmann beside,
And the Jessamy Bride,
With the rest of the crew,
The Reynoldses two,
Little Comedy's face,
And the Captain in lace,
(By-the-bye you may tell him,
I have something to sell him;
Of use I insist,
When he comes to enlist.
Your worships must know
That a few days ago,
An order went out,
For the foot guards so stout
To wear tails in high taste,

Oliver Goldsmith

Walking To The Mail

    John.        Im glad I walkd.        How fresh the meadows look
Above the river, and, but a month ago,
The whole hill-side was redder than a fox.
Is yon plantation where this byway joins
The turnpike?
    James.    Yes.
    John.        And when does this come by?
    James.    The mail? At one oclock.
    John.        What is it now?
    James.    A quarter to.
    John.        Whose house is that I see?
No, not the County Members with the vane:
Up higher with the yew-tree by it, and half
A score of gables.
    James.    That?        Sir Edward Heads:
But hes abroad: the place is to be sold.
    John.        Oh, his. He was not broken.
    James.    No, sir, he,
Vexd with a morbid devil in his blood
That veild the world with jaundic...

Alfred Lord Tennyson