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Horace in London

Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith]
Smith, Horace (1779-1849)

collapse sectionI. 
BOOK I.
 I. 
ODE I. To John Bull, Esq.
 II. 
ODE II. HURLY BURLY!
 III. 
ODE III. THE BARONET'S YACHT.
 IV. 
ODE IV. BRIGHTON.
 V. 
ODE V. THE JILT.
 VI. 
ODE VI. WALTER SCOTT.
 VII. 
ODE VII. THE OUSTED TREASURER.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. To HUNTINGDON, the Preacher.
 IX. 
ODE IX. WINTER.
 X. 
ODE X. TRIBUTARY STANZAS to GRIMALDI THE CLOWN.
 XI. 
ODE XI. FORTUNE TELLING.
 XII. 
ODE XII. To Emanuel Swedenborg.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. THE JEALOUS LOVER.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV. To Mr. KEMBLE,
 XV. 
ODE XV. THE PARTHENON.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI. The EDINBURGH REVIEWERS.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII. THE WELCH COTTAGE.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII. MERRY AND WISE.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX. PLEASING PETULANCE.
 XX. 
ODE XX. THE BARD'S BANQUET.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. THE BAILIFF.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII. CUPID'S INVITATION.
 XXIV. 
ODE XXIV. HORNE TOOKE's EPITAPH.
 XXV. 
ODE XXV. MY GODWIN!
 XXVI. 
ODE XXVI. THE STRAW BONNET.
 XXVII. 
ODE XXVII. THE BUMPER TOAST.
 XXVIII. 
ODE XXVIII. LUCRETIUS AND DR. BUSBY.
 XXIX. 
ODE XXIX. The TERMAGANT.
 XXX. 
ODE XXX. PRIVATE BOXES.
 XXXI. 
ODE XXXI. TO APOLLO.
 XXXII. 
ODE XXXII. To the COMIC MUSE.
 XXXIII. 
ODE XXXIII. CROSS PURPOSES.
 XXXIV. 
ODE XXXIV. CŒLEBS IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
 XXXV. 
ODE XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
ODE XXXVI. THE GAOL DELIVERY.
 XXXVII. 
ODE XXXVII. LOB'S POUND.
 XXXVIII. 
ODE XXXVIII. THE BILL OF FARE.
expand sectionII. 
BOOK II.

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80

ODE XXV. MY GODWIN!

Parcius junctas quatiunt fenestras.

Our Temple youth, a lawless train,
Blockading Johnson's window pane,
No longer land thy solemn strain,
My Godwin!
Chaucer's a mighty tedious elf,
Fleetwood lives only for himself,
And Caleb Williams loves the shelf,
My Godwin!
No longer cry the sprites unblest,
“Awake! arise! stand forth confess'd!”
For fallen, fallen is thy crest,
My Godwin!
81

Thy muse for meretricious feats,
Does quarto penance now in sheets,
Or cloathing parcels roams the streets,
My Godwin!
Thy flame at Luna's lamp thou light'st,
Blank is the verse that thou indit'st,
Thy play is damn'd, yet still thou writ'st,
My Godwin!
And still to wield the grey goose quill,
When Phœbus sinks, to feel no chill,
“With me is to be lovely still,”
My Godwin!
Thy winged steed (a bit of blood)
Bore thee, like Trunnion, through the flood,
To leave thee sprawling in the mud,
My Godwin!
But carries now, with martial trot,
In glittering armour, Walter Scott,
A poet he—which thou art not,
My Godwin!
82

Nay, nay, forbear these jealous wails,
Tho' he's upborne on fashion's gales,
Thy heavy bark attendant sails,
My Godwin!
Fate each by different streams conveys
His skiff in Aganippe plays,
And thine in Lethe's whirlpool strays,
My Godwin!
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