 | Poems |  |
STROPHE.
May spinsters, impell'd by Love's flame, flock around us,
May the demons of Sympathy never confound us;
May we live all our lives,
With profusion of treasure,
And kiss misers wives,
And administer pleasure;
May this august essay be lauded by that strumpet
Prodigious Fame, till she has burst her trumpet.
Let our resplendent Chieftain speak his will,
His faithful George shall combat Good or Ill;
And, mounting thro' the regions of the air,
Embrace old Jove's proud paralytic bride,
Or, in a fit of high-wrought fury, tear
The blue-ey'd Hebe from the thunderer's side;
May the demons of Sympathy never confound us;
May we live all our lives,
With profusion of treasure,
And kiss misers wives,
And administer pleasure;
May this august essay be lauded by that strumpet
Prodigious Fame, till she has burst her trumpet.
Let our resplendent Chieftain speak his will,
His faithful George shall combat Good or Ill;
And, mounting thro' the regions of the air,
Embrace old Jove's proud paralytic bride,
Or, in a fit of high-wrought fury, tear
The blue-ey'd Hebe from the thunderer's side;
185
What say you, lads, shall we exert our powers,
Arrest old Time, and subjugate his Hours?
Shall it be said that we despair?
Not I; nor you; nor you!
We'll seize that bold usurper, Care,
And beat him black and blue;
Let's drag the Woes of human life along,
We're bold as Humphreys, as Mendoza strong:
And, damme, I'll bet the gods,
Ten to one,
Or give them—the long odds—
The thing is done.
Arrest old Time, and subjugate his Hours?
Shall it be said that we despair?
Not I; nor you; nor you!
We'll seize that bold usurper, Care,
And beat him black and blue;
Let's drag the Woes of human life along,
We're bold as Humphreys, as Mendoza strong:
And, damme, I'll bet the gods,
Ten to one,
Or give them—the long odds—
The thing is done.
Thou roseate child of Semele,
Protect this jovial family;
What means this genial light,
Chacing the inmates of the sombrous night:
See the god descends,
Bacchus and we are friends;
By heavens! he's taking off his jacket,
I'll be his bottle-holder, while you support the racket.
Damme, Payne, the god for a hundred;
Done! Done!
Here's you're fun,
Tho' his stomach's stor'd,
And he has got his beer on board,
The boy, when groggy, never blunder'd.
Now begin the chorus,
To give him spunk to drive the dog before us!
Protect this jovial family;
What means this genial light,
Chacing the inmates of the sombrous night:
See the god descends,
Bacchus and we are friends;
By heavens! he's taking off his jacket,
I'll be his bottle-holder, while you support the racket.
Damme, Payne, the god for a hundred;
Done! Done!
Here's you're fun,
Tho' his stomach's stor'd,
And he has got his beer on board,
The boy, when groggy, never blunder'd.
186
To give him spunk to drive the dog before us!
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