In which the circles make a pother
Cutting and slashing one another,
Bid the straight lines a journeying go.
C. A. C. B. those lines will show.
To the points, which by A. B. are reckon’d, 25
And postulate the second
For Authority ye know.
A. B. C.
Triumphant shall be
An Equilateral Triangle, 30
Not Peter Pindar carp, nor Zoilus can wrangle.
III
Because the point A. is the centre
Of the circular B. C. D.
And because the point B. is the centre
Of the circular A. C. E. 35
A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A.
Harmoniously equal for ever must stay;
Then C. A. and B. C.
Both extend the kind hand
To the basis, A. B. 40
Unambitiously join’d in Equality’s Band.
But to the same powers, when two powers are equal,
My mind forbodes the sequel;
My mind does some celestial impulse teach,
And equalises each to each. 45
Thus C. A. with B. C. strikes the same sure alliance,
That C. A. and B. C. had with A. B. before;
And in mutual affiance
None attempting to soar
Above another, 50
The unanimous three
C. A. and B. C. and A. B.
All are equal, each to his brother,
Preserving the balance of power so true:
Ah! the like would the proud Autocratrix do! 55
At taxes impending not Britain would tremble,
Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble;
Nor the Mah’met-sprung Wight
The great Mussulman
Would stain his Divan 60
With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.
IV
But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine!
Should Empires bloat the scientific line?
Or with dishevell’d hair all madly do ye run
For transport that your task is done? 65
For done it is — the cause is tried!
And Proposition, gentle Maid,
Who soothly ask’d stern Demonstration’s aid,
Has proved her right, and A. B. C.
Of Angles three 70
Is shown to be of equal side;
And now our weary steed to rest in fine,
‘Tis rais’d upon A. B. the straight, the given line.
HONOUR
O, curas hominum! O, quantum est in rebus inane!
The fervid Sun had more than halv’d the day,
When gloomy on his couch Philedon lay;
His feeble frame consumptive as his purse,
His aching head did wine and women curse;
His fortune ruin’d and his wealth decay’d, 5
Clamorous his duns, his gaming debts unpaid,
The youth indignant seiz’d his tailor’s bill,
And on its back thus wrote with moral quill:
‘Various as colours in the rainbow shown,
Or similar in emptiness alone, 10
How false, how vain are Man’s pursuits below!
Wealth, Honour, Pleasure — what can ye bestow?
Yet see, how high and low, and young and old
Pursue the all-delusive power of Gold.
Fond man! should all Peru thy empire own, 15
For thee tho’ all Golconda’s jewels shone,
What greater bliss could all this wealth supply?
What, but to eat and drink and sleep and die?
Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning soil —
Go, waste the night in thought, the day in toil, 20
Dark frowns the rock, and fierce the tempests rave —
Thy ingots go the unconscious deep to pave!
Or thunder at thy door the midnight train,
Or Death shall knock that never knocks in vain.
Next Honour’s sons come bustling on amain; 25
I laugh with pity at the idle train.
Infirm of soul! who think’st to lift thy name
Upon the waxen wings of human fame, —
Who for a sound, articulated breath —
Gazest undaunted in the face of death! 30
What art thou but a Meteor’s glaring light —
Blazing a moment and then sunk in night?
Caprice which rais’d thee high shall hurl thee low,
Or Envy blast the laurels on thy brow.
To such poor joys could ancient Honour lead 35
When empty fame was toiling Merit’s meed;
To Modern Honour
