 | May Fair |  |
99
DEDICATION. L*RD P*T*RSH*M.
Pleasantest of pleasant men,
Tell me in what secret den
Is your dextrous soul contriving
New dexterities in driving;
What new elegance of spur,
In the world to make a stir;
What new brilliancy of whip,
Yet to give us all the slip;
What, when ask'd at eight to dine,
Keeps you back till half-past-nine?
Forty years are gone and past—
Heavens! that years should fly so fast,
Since the tufts vandyked your chin,
Since carmine tattooed your skin;
Since the nondescript cravat,
Since the exquisite of hat;
Boots that baffled Hoby's art,
Coat that fractured Brummel's heart;
Stays that B*rt*l*zzi graced,
Marked you Emperor of taste.
Tell me in what secret den
Is your dextrous soul contriving
New dexterities in driving;
What new elegance of spur,
In the world to make a stir;
100
Yet to give us all the slip;
What, when ask'd at eight to dine,
Keeps you back till half-past-nine?
101
Heavens! that years should fly so fast,
Since the tufts vandyked your chin,
Since carmine tattooed your skin;
Since the nondescript cravat,
Since the exquisite of hat;
Boots that baffled Hoby's art,
Coat that fractured Brummel's heart;
Stays that B*rt*l*zzi graced,
Marked you Emperor of taste.
Tell me, pleasant P---m,
Have you never felt a qualm,
When on entering the salon,
Caught your ear the parting tone;
Where the slow-retiring fair
Troop'd to coffee and despair.
Is it that you dread the spells,
Scatter'd by the man-trap belles?
Is it that your soul begins
To note the difference of skins?
You, whom young and old chefs-d'œuvre,
Fail'd so long to out-manœuvre.
Have you never felt a qualm,
When on entering the salon,
Caught your ear the parting tone;
Where the slow-retiring fair
Troop'd to coffee and despair.
102
Scatter'd by the man-trap belles?
Is it that your soul begins
To note the difference of skins?
You, whom young and old chefs-d'œuvre,
Fail'd so long to out-manœuvre.
Welcome P---t---m, at last,
Though the courses three be past;
Though the husk of peach and pine
Teach you what it was to dine;
Yet no soul affects surprizes—
No one at your coming rises;
Calm as if they sat at prayers,
All imbedded in their chairs:
On you not a glance is cast,
As you try to break your fast;
Every apple-rind that lingers,
Lawful capture to your fingers;
While a nut the board bestrews,
Free as air your feast to choose;
Till as closes your dessert,
The cross-fire talk assails your ear.
Though the courses three be past;
Though the husk of peach and pine
Teach you what it was to dine;
Yet no soul affects surprizes—
No one at your coming rises;
Calm as if they sat at prayers,
All imbedded in their chairs:
On you not a glance is cast,
As you try to break your fast;
103
Lawful capture to your fingers;
While a nut the board bestrews,
Free as air your feast to choose;
Till as closes your dessert,
The cross-fire talk assails your ear.
| May Fair | |