 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
THE PARADE.
Let those attend who seek the choice
Here, independent, we rejoice;
We look, we like, we meet, we part,
As instinct prompts the feeling heart:
While many groups miscall'd the great,
Surrounded by insipid state,
The health of Peace abuse.
In Party's tumult, Pomp's fatigue,
Place, Popularity's intrigue,
Life's social scenes they lose.
Here, independent, we rejoice;
We look, we like, we meet, we part,
As instinct prompts the feeling heart:
148
Surrounded by insipid state,
The health of Peace abuse.
In Party's tumult, Pomp's fatigue,
Place, Popularity's intrigue,
Life's social scenes they lose.
The danglers at a birth-night's glare,
As toy-shop figures, fin'ry wear,
Like winnow'd chaff shift to and fro',
In all the fuss and farce of shew:
As flies to sunshine spread their wings,
So up and down these idle things
In courtly sun-beams play.
The Nobles smile to see the train,
Which, with a blush, they must maintain,
To garnish Grandeur's day.
As toy-shop figures, fin'ry wear,
Like winnow'd chaff shift to and fro',
In all the fuss and farce of shew:
As flies to sunshine spread their wings,
So up and down these idle things
In courtly sun-beams play.
The Nobles smile to see the train,
Which, with a blush, they must maintain,
To garnish Grandeur's day.
Daughters of dignity and grace,
Ye high-bred dames of haughty race,
What think you, 'midst our di'mond blaze,
Your crouded routs, and Gala days?
Tho' sordid Flatt'ry's servile grin
Extols your forms, is all within
Fit for Contentment's doom?
Sisters of Fashion laugh and love,
Tho' round you all the Graces move,
Yet how are things at home?
Ye high-bred dames of haughty race,
What think you, 'midst our di'mond blaze,
Your crouded routs, and Gala days?
Tho' sordid Flatt'ry's servile grin
Extols your forms, is all within
Fit for Contentment's doom?
Sisters of Fashion laugh and love,
Tho' round you all the Graces move,
Yet how are things at home?
Your stucco'd cielings, emboss'd plate,
Your carpets, robes, and beds of state,
Where gold and silver cupids wove,
Exhibit artificial love.—
Can down, or fring'd embroidery's art,
Affection win or warm the heart,
Or strengthen vigour's stores?
Perhaps, 'midst all the waste of pride,
The Fribble yawns at Beauty's side,
Or sottish husband snores.
Your carpets, robes, and beds of state,
Where gold and silver cupids wove,
Exhibit artificial love.—
Can down, or fring'd embroidery's art,
Affection win or warm the heart,
Or strengthen vigour's stores?
Perhaps, 'midst all the waste of pride,
The Fribble yawns at Beauty's side,
Or sottish husband snores.
While we, as marry'd folks shou'd do,
On neat unvarnish'd Love fall to;
Satiety ne'er bids us roam,
We find Fruition's feast at home;
Beyond all mercenary charms,
Pure Inclination ope's her arms.
Give Cæsar Cæsar's due.
May Friendship fill the manly breast,
And Gratitude be Beauty's guest,
And each to teach be true.
On neat unvarnish'd Love fall to;
149
We find Fruition's feast at home;
Beyond all mercenary charms,
Pure Inclination ope's her arms.
Give Cæsar Cæsar's due.
May Friendship fill the manly breast,
And Gratitude be Beauty's guest,
And each to teach be true.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |