To have and hold and use as his; I now present C——­s P——­y S——­r,[70] To keep with his poetic lumber, To scrape his quid, and make a split, To point his pen for sharpening wit; And order that he ne’er abuse Said Ugly Knife, in dirtier use, And let said CHARLES, that best of writers, In prose satiric skilled to bite us, And equally in verse delight us, Take special care to keep it clean From unpoetic hands,—­I ween.  And when those walls, the Muses’ seat, Said S——­r is obliged to quit, Let some one of APOLLO’S firing, To such heroic joys aspiring, Who long has borne a poet’s name, With said knife cut his way to fame.

 “I give to those that fish for parts,
  Long sleepless nights, and aching hearts,
  A little soul, a fawning spirit,
  With half a grain of plodding merit,
  Which is, as Heaven I hope will say,
  Giving what’s not my own away.

 “Those oven baked or goose egg folded,
  Who, though so often I have told it,
  With all my documents to show it,
  Will scarce believe that I’m a poet,
  I give of criticism the lens
  With half an ounce of common sense.

“And ’t would a breach be of humanity, Not to bequeath D—–­n[71] my vanity; For ’tis a rule direct from Heaven, To him that hath, more shall be given.

“Item.  Tom M——­n,[72] COLLEGE LION, Who’d ne’er spend cash enough to buy one, The BOANERGES of a pun, A man of science and of fun, That quite uncommon witty elf, Who darts his bolts and shoots himself, Who oft hath bled beneath my jokes, I give my old tobacco-box.

 “My Centinels[73] for some years past,
  So neatly bound with thread and paste,
  Exposing Jacobinic tricks,
  I give my chum for politics.

 “My neckcloth, dirty, old, yet strong,
  That round my neck has lasted long,
  I give BIG BOY, for deed of pith,
  Namely, to hang himself therewith.

 “To those who’ve parts at exhibition
  Obtained by long, unwearied fishing,
  I say, to such unlucky wretches,
  I give, for wear, a brace of breeches;
  Then used; as they’re but little tore,
  I hope they’ll show their tails no more.

 “And ere it quite has gone to rot,
  I, B——­ give my blue great-coat,
  With all its rags, and dirt, and tallow,
  Because he’s such a dirty fellow.

 “Now for my books; first, Bunyan’s Pilgrim,
  (As he with thankful pleasure will grin,)
  Though dog-leaved, torn, in bad type set in,
  ’T will do quite well for classmate B——­,
  And thus, with complaisance to treat her,
  ’T will answer for another Detur.