The Songster's Horn-Book

GREAT A was alarm'd at B's bad behav'our,
Because he refus'd C, D, E, F, favour,
G, got a Husband, with H, I, K, and L,
M, marry'd Mary and scholars taught to spell.
A b c d e f g h i k l m, &c.

It went hard at first with N, O, P, and Q,
With R, S, T, single and also double U.
With X and Y it stuck in their gizzards,
'Till they were made friends by the Two crooked Izzards.

This A, B, C, tho' so little it is thought about,
Each Change in the World, by its power has brought about;
'Tis the ground-work of Wisdom, of Science the key, Sir,
What can a man know, who don't know A B C? Sir,

Some Fiddlers, in dress, pretend to ape their betters,
They had better mind their Horn-book and study all their letters;
Their Knowledge now no farther goes, from A B C, Sir,
To the four more letters call'd, D, E, F, and G, Sir.

As to Words 'tis not worth while to mind their precision,
If we thro' the Gamut can run a division;
The Annals of England, to our shame, will tell ye,
That Newton was nothing to fine Farinelli.

How ravishing that swell! what sweet Symphonina?
What Cantabilis? what Taste? Ah cara divina!
O chi gusto the voice of Signior Sustinuti,
Miltonic the language of Tace titti tutti.

As insects will cluster round pots full of honey,
Imported illiberals swarm for our money.
Sense is scar'd off by Sound, and Trash over Taste glories,
Only Shew 'tis succeeds now, O Tempora, O Mores!

This A B C excuse without Ceremoni,
My hoarse voice and harmony is not Unisoni.
If you censure my singing, for censure is free, Sir,
As a Songster, remember, I'm but in A B C, Sir.
A b c d e f g h i k l m, &c.