 | May Fair |  |
3
DEDICATION. TO LORD H---LL---D.
My Lord, whom all that know you know
The best good-natured man below;
With all of Fox's better part,
The vigorous head, the generous heart;
Who touch the point so hard to hit
'Twixt sportive sense and venom'd wit;
How often, in your evening chair,
I've seen your honest bosom bare;
When, circled by the chosen set,
Forgetting man was made to fret;
Glad as a schoolboy from his task,
You toss'd aside the day's dull mask;
Cared not a doit for all the din
Of Whig and Tory, out or in;
But as the glass its circuit ran,
Forgot the Statesman in the man:
The best good-natured man below;
With all of Fox's better part,
The vigorous head, the generous heart;
Who touch the point so hard to hit
'Twixt sportive sense and venom'd wit;
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I've seen your honest bosom bare;
When, circled by the chosen set,
Forgetting man was made to fret;
Glad as a schoolboy from his task,
You toss'd aside the day's dull mask;
Cared not a doit for all the din
Of Whig and Tory, out or in;
But as the glass its circuit ran,
Forgot the Statesman in the man:
Then, as the unsought memories rose,
Discuss'd the mighty in repose,
Or touch'd in smiles the stuff that passes
For wisdom in our world of asses;
Gave in your own unrivall'd way
The fierce formality of G***;
Old Gr---nv---lle's triple-sentenced talk,
Like skim-milk thicken'd up with chalk.
(Alike his Lordship's talk and tail
Descended to the nearest male.)
The nonsense Lord George gets by rote,
Fit preface to his annual vote.
Old Bags's glance of fear and wonder,
When out bursts L*******'s tide of blunder;
The conflict of the parts of speech,
When D****** rises—“to impeach:”
That emblem of a worn-out rattle,
That stirs but never shares the battle.
The true prize-oxen speech and look,
That shows us to the life—the Duke;
Or, giving all thy frolic swing,
Revived Joe Miller in Joe K***.
The sap-dried brain put out to nurse,
The pun for better or for worse;
The floundering tale, the desperate joke,
The economic plan of smoke,
Discuss'd the mighty in repose,
Or touch'd in smiles the stuff that passes
For wisdom in our world of asses;
Gave in your own unrivall'd way
The fierce formality of G***;
5
Like skim-milk thicken'd up with chalk.
(Alike his Lordship's talk and tail
Descended to the nearest male.)
The nonsense Lord George gets by rote,
Fit preface to his annual vote.
Old Bags's glance of fear and wonder,
When out bursts L*******'s tide of blunder;
The conflict of the parts of speech,
When D****** rises—“to impeach:”
That emblem of a worn-out rattle,
That stirs but never shares the battle.
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That shows us to the life—the Duke;
Or, giving all thy frolic swing,
Revived Joe Miller in Joe K***.
The sap-dried brain put out to nurse,
The pun for better or for worse;
The floundering tale, the desperate joke,
The economic plan of smoke,
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Till laughter half-convulsed the ring,
And, all but conscience, there sat K***.
And, all but conscience, there sat K***.
Thus, admitted of thy crew,
Have I sat till midnight flew;
Those delights while thou canst give,
With thee, H*****d, will I live.
And with me among thy peers,
May'st thou live those thousand years!
Have I sat till midnight flew;
Those delights while thou canst give,
With thee, H*****d, will I live.
And with me among thy peers,
May'st thou live those thousand years!
Now, thou fattest, best of men,
Smile upon thy Poet's pen.
Smile upon thy Poet's pen.
| May Fair | |