Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems by the late Thomas Haynes Bayly; Edited by his Widow. With A Memoir of the Author. In Two Volumes |
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ADIEU, MY MOUSTACHIOS! |
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 | Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems |  |
IV. ADIEU, MY MOUSTACHIOS!
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
Lost, lost is the pride of my chin and my lip!
His Majesty wills it, like Samson I'm cropt,
And the killing career of Adonis is stopt!
The razors are ruthless, my honours they nip!
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
Lost, lost is the pride of my chin and my lip!
His Majesty wills it, like Samson I'm cropt,
And the killing career of Adonis is stopt!
The razors are ruthless, my honours they nip!
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
Alas! what avails the loud clank of my spurs,
What signify tassels, and feathers, and furs!
The padding above, that the waist may look slim;
The trowsers compress'd to exhibit the limb!
My form I no longer exulting equip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
What signify tassels, and feathers, and furs!
29
The trowsers compress'd to exhibit the limb!
My form I no longer exulting equip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
I know they deride a Commander who stoops
To cull foreign fashions to deck British troops;
But surely the biggest look rather more big
In moustachios and tip—like a judge in his wig!
I know I look small with my sword on my hip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
To cull foreign fashions to deck British troops;
But surely the biggest look rather more big
In moustachios and tip—like a judge in his wig!
I know I look small with my sword on my hip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
When Laura last saw me, she own'd that the world
Contain'd no moustachios so charmingly curl'd;
She thought my head foreign, and unlike the skull
Of the money-bag mercantile fellow, John Bull.
But now she will call me “contemptible rip!”
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
Contain'd no moustachios so charmingly curl'd;
She thought my head foreign, and unlike the skull
Of the money-bag mercantile fellow, John Bull.
But now she will call me “contemptible rip!”
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
I went to the levee both pensive and pale—
I felt like a puppy-dog robb'd of his tail!
The Duke eyed me coldly, when notice I craved.
Ah! would he had seen me before I was shaved!
And as I kiss'd hands, I'm afraid I let slip,
“Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!”
I felt like a puppy-dog robb'd of his tail!
The Duke eyed me coldly, when notice I craved.
Ah! would he had seen me before I was shaved!
And as I kiss'd hands, I'm afraid I let slip,
“Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!”
Ah! at a mess dinner, how graceful to dip
My napkin, and wipe off the mess from my lip!
The hair that grew on it was steep'd in each dish,
And nourished by gravy—soup—sauces of fish.
They are gone—and my claret I pensively sip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
My napkin, and wipe off the mess from my lip!
The hair that grew on it was steep'd in each dish,
And nourished by gravy—soup—sauces of fish.
They are gone—and my claret I pensively sip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
They were red—and I died them—and now at the stain
Which remains on the skin I scrub daily—in vain;
The hair is shaved off, but a something is seen
Which I fear may be thought to look rather unclean,
I hope it don't look like a chimney-sweep's lip—
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
Which remains on the skin I scrub daily—in vain;
The hair is shaved off, but a something is seen
Which I fear may be thought to look rather unclean,
I hope it don't look like a chimney-sweep's lip—
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
My principal reason, I frankly confess,
For being a soldier at all—was the dress.
The line on my lip, and the dot on my chin,
Became me. The change is a horrid take in;
I might just as well now have gone on board ship.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
For being a soldier at all—was the dress.
30
Became me. The change is a horrid take in;
I might just as well now have gone on board ship.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
I know that they deem it unmanly to weep,
So into half-pay I'll despondingly creep!
The star of my beauty is lost in eclipse,
I'll sit in reclusion and sigh for hair-lips!
The tears down my nose now incessantly drip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
So into half-pay I'll despondingly creep!
The star of my beauty is lost in eclipse,
I'll sit in reclusion and sigh for hair-lips!
The tears down my nose now incessantly drip.
Adieu, my moustachios! farewell to my tip!
| Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems | |