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 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
So here I am, within these storied stones,
To choose a place for my illustrious bones
To rest, among the dead who had their fling,
And lived and cheated subject fools and king,
(As is my lot), and having had their day
And done their best (or worst) then passed away
Devoutly, or with the convenient aid
Of other adverbs, when the debt was paid.
And I am quite as good as any here.
Though my leaf may be getting somewhat sere
And sickly. Never mind! The yellow tones
Will not appear in the distinguished stones
Wherein I still can lie, as I have all
These fifty years, while I kept the great ball
Going. My features have the classic turn,
And will look glorious o'er a funeral urn
Of marble.
To choose a place for my illustrious bones
To rest, among the dead who had their fling,
And lived and cheated subject fools and king,
(As is my lot), and having had their day
And done their best (or worst) then passed away
Devoutly, or with the convenient aid
Of other adverbs, when the debt was paid.
And I am quite as good as any here.
Though my leaf may be getting somewhat sere
And sickly. Never mind! The yellow tones
Will not appear in the distinguished stones
Wherein I still can lie, as I have all
These fifty years, while I kept the great ball
Going. My features have the classic turn,
And will look glorious o'er a funeral urn
Of marble.
Hang those precious busts!
One lifts a foot, and one a finger thrusts
Indignant at me; just because they failed
To ruin England, and I have prevailed,
I have succeeded. How they seem to frown,
As if I came to cut the nonsense down
Of their untrue memorials! I could find
A joy in trimming them more to my mind,
And mending histories that my patience tax,
If I had only brought my trusty axe.
Confound that ugly knave, that Chatham there,
Whose angry ghost must meet me everywhere,
And haunts like conscience that I cannot kill—
So you are there, and you accuse me still!
I hate you, I defy you: out with fear,
While I have got the purblind people's ear,
And keep it! I shall fill a larger space
In public memory, than your threatening face.
One lifts a foot, and one a finger thrusts
Indignant at me; just because they failed
To ruin England, and I have prevailed,
I have succeeded. How they seem to frown,
As if I came to cut the nonsense down
Of their untrue memorials! I could find
A joy in trimming them more to my mind,
And mending histories that my patience tax,
If I had only brought my trusty axe.
Confound that ugly knave, that Chatham there,
Whose angry ghost must meet me everywhere,
And haunts like conscience that I cannot kill—
So you are there, and you accuse me still!
I hate you, I defy you: out with fear,
While I have got the purblind people's ear,
And keep it! I shall fill a larger space
In public memory, than your threatening face.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |