 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
Epilogue, spoken by Mr Wilson, at the Theatre-royal, in the Character of an Edinburgh Buck. Written by R. Fergusson.
Ye who oft finish care in Lethe's cup,
Who love to swear, and roar, and keep it up,
List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight
Is sleep all day, and riot all the night.
Who love to swear, and roar, and keep it up,
List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight
Is sleep all day, and riot all the night.
Last night, when potent draughts of mellow wine
Did sober reason into wit refine:
When lusty Bacchus had contriv'd to drain
The sullen vapours from our shallow brain,
We sallied forth (for valour's dazzling sun
Up to his bright meridian had run);
And, like renowned Quixotte and his squire,
Spoils and adventures were our sole desire.
Did sober reason into wit refine:
When lusty Bacchus had contriv'd to drain
The sullen vapours from our shallow brain,
We sallied forth (for valour's dazzling sun
Up to his bright meridian had run);
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Spoils and adventures were our sole desire.
First we approach'd a seeming sober dame,
Preceded by a lanthorn's pallid flame,
Borne by a livery'd puppy's servile hand,
The slave obsequious of her stern command.
Curse on those cits, said I, who dare disgrace
Our streets at midnight with a sober face;
Let never tallow-chandler give them light,
To guide them thro' the dangers of the night.
The valet's cane we snatch'd, and, demme! I
Made the frail lanthorn on the pavement lie.
The guard, still watchful of the lieges harm,
With slow-pac'd motion stalk'd at the alarm.
Guard, seize the rogues—the angry madam cry'd,
And all the guard with seize ta rogue reply'd.
Preceded by a lanthorn's pallid flame,
Borne by a livery'd puppy's servile hand,
The slave obsequious of her stern command.
Curse on those cits, said I, who dare disgrace
Our streets at midnight with a sober face;
Let never tallow-chandler give them light,
To guide them thro' the dangers of the night.
The valet's cane we snatch'd, and, demme! I
Made the frail lanthorn on the pavement lie.
The guard, still watchful of the lieges harm,
With slow-pac'd motion stalk'd at the alarm.
Guard, seize the rogues—the angry madam cry'd,
And all the guard with seize ta rogue reply'd.
As in a war, there's nothing judg'd so right
As a concerted and prudential flight;
So we from guard and scandal to be freed,
Left them the field and burial of their dead.
As a concerted and prudential flight;
So we from guard and scandal to be freed,
Left them the field and burial of their dead.
Next we approach'd the bounds of George's square,
Blest place! No watch, no constables come there.
Now had they borrow'd Argus' eyes who saw us,
All was made dark and desolate as chaos;
Lamps tumbled after lamps, and lost their lustres,
Like Doomsday, when the stars shall fall in clusters.
Let fancy paint what dazzling glory grew
From crystal gems, when Phœbus came in view;
Each shatter'd orb ten thousand fragments strews,
And a new sun in ev'ry fragment shews.
Blest place! No watch, no constables come there.
Now had they borrow'd Argus' eyes who saw us,
All was made dark and desolate as chaos;
Lamps tumbled after lamps, and lost their lustres,
Like Doomsday, when the stars shall fall in clusters.
Let fancy paint what dazzling glory grew
From crystal gems, when Phœbus came in view;
Each shatter'd orb ten thousand fragments strews,
And a new sun in ev'ry fragment shews.
Hear then, my Bucks! how drunken fate decreed us
For a nocturnal visit to the Meadows,
And how we, val'rous champions, durst engage,
O deed unequall'd! both the Bridge and Cage,
The rage of perilous winters which had stood,
This 'gainst the wind, and that against the flood;
But what nor wind, nor flood, nor heav'n could bend e'er,
We tumbled down, my Bucks, and made surrender.
For a nocturnal visit to the Meadows,
And how we, val'rous champions, durst engage,
O deed unequall'd! both the Bridge and Cage,
The rage of perilous winters which had stood,
This 'gainst the wind, and that against the flood;
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We tumbled down, my Bucks, and made surrender.
What are your far fam'd warriors to us,
'Bout whom historians make such mighty fuzz:
Posterity may think it was uncommon
That Troy should be pillag'd for a woman;
But ours your ten years sieges will excel,
And justly be esteem'd the nonpareil.
Our cause is slighter than a dame's betrothing,
For all these mighty feats have sprung from nothing.
'Bout whom historians make such mighty fuzz:
Posterity may think it was uncommon
That Troy should be pillag'd for a woman;
But ours your ten years sieges will excel,
And justly be esteem'd the nonpareil.
Our cause is slighter than a dame's betrothing,
For all these mighty feats have sprung from nothing.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |