 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
SONG THE LAST;
Or, EPILOGUE.
The Wits were wont, in ancient times,
To estimate their age by rhimes,
A ballad was their schooling;
We moderns may, perhaps, be wrong,
If not likewise, also a Song
May fit us for our Foolling.
To estimate their age by rhimes,
A ballad was their schooling;
We moderns may, perhaps, be wrong,
If not likewise, also a Song
May fit us for our Foolling.
Imprimis, there's the Men of State,
But, hold! I'll let alone the Great,
Lest I shou'd gain a schooling,
For Greatness was not form'd for sport,
Tho' some folks greatly make their court,
By greatly, greatly Fooling.
But, hold! I'll let alone the Great,
Lest I shou'd gain a schooling,
For Greatness was not form'd for sport,
Tho' some folks greatly make their court,
By greatly, greatly Fooling.
We play the Fool, we act the Wise,
We bare-fac'd walk, or wear disguise,
As hopes and fears are ruling;
And yet, with all our deep-laid wiles,
From John o' Nokes to Tom o' Stiles,
What is it all but Fooling?
We bare-fac'd walk, or wear disguise,
As hopes and fears are ruling;
And yet, with all our deep-laid wiles,
From John o' Nokes to Tom o' Stiles,
What is it all but Fooling?
172
If men will think, if men will see,
That all this To,—or not to be,
Is as we're hot, or cooling
To-day on Expectation's wing,
To-morrow off, 'tis not the thing,
What is the thing?—why Fooling.
That all this To,—or not to be,
Is as we're hot, or cooling
To-day on Expectation's wing,
To-morrow off, 'tis not the thing,
What is the thing?—why Fooling.
Fool on, fool on, for life at best,
Is but half-bred, 'twixt cry and jest,
As Chance, not Reason's ruling;
To Chance we owe our rights and wrongs,
To Chance I dedicate these Songs,
A Ballad-maker's Fooling.
Is but half-bred, 'twixt cry and jest,
As Chance, not Reason's ruling;
To Chance we owe our rights and wrongs,
To Chance I dedicate these Songs,
A Ballad-maker's Fooling.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |