The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed ::

The world pursues the very track
Which it pursued at its creation;
And mortals shrink in horror back
From any hint of innovation;
From year to year the children do
Exactly what their sires have done;
Time is—Time was—there's nothing new—
There's nothing new beneath the sun!

Still lovers hope to be believed,
Still clients hope to win their causes;
Still plays and farces are received
With most encouraging applauses;

Still dancers have fantastic toes,
Still dandies shudder at a dun;
Still diners have their fricandeaus—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.

Still cooks torment the hapless eels,
Still boys torment the dumb cockchafers;
Lord Eldon still adores the seals,
Lord Clifford still adores the wafers;
Still asses have enormous ears,
Still gambling bets are lost and won;
Still opera dancers marry peers—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.

Still women are absurdly weak,
Still infants dote upon a rattle;
Still Mr. Martin cannot speak
Of anything but beaten cattle;
Still brokers swear the shares will rise,
Still Cockneys boast of Manton's gun;
Still listeners swallow monstrous lies—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.

Still genius is a jest to Earls,
Still honesty is down to zero;
Still heroines have spontaneous curls,
Still novels have a handsome hero;

Still Madame Vestris plays a man,
Still fools adore her—I for one;
Still youths write sonnets to a fan—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.

Still people make a plaguy fuss
About all things that don't concern them,
As if it matters aught to us
What happens to our grandsons, burn them!
Still life is nothing to the dead;
Still Folly's toil is Wisdom's fun;
And still, except the Brazen Head,
There's nothing new beneath the sun.

University of Virginia Library

XVIII. THE CHAUNTS OF THE BRAZEN HEAD. III.