Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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A SERIOUS FAREWELL TO A YEAR OF TROUBLES. |
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A SERIOUS FAREWELL TO A YEAR OF TROUBLES.
As Friends to those who quit this Scene,
The Death-Song sing around their Bier,
No Sport with Grief, to sing, I ween,
A Requiem to th' expiring Year.
The Death-Song sing around their Bier,
No Sport with Grief, to sing, I ween,
A Requiem to th' expiring Year.
And, hark! His Exit to proclaim,
Ten Thousand Trumpets sound from far!
While, Phœnix-like, he sinks in Flame,
And dies amid the Blaze of War!
Ten Thousand Trumpets sound from far!
While, Phœnix-like, he sinks in Flame,
And dies amid the Blaze of War!
Round the wide Zodiac has he rang'd,
Revolving hail'd each rising Sun,
Wing'd on, while thirteen Moons have chang'd,
But now, alas, his Race is run.
Revolving hail'd each rising Sun,
Wing'd on, while thirteen Moons have chang'd,
But now, alas, his Race is run.
Time, Ruthless Despot! seals his Doom,
Coursing down Seasons, Dates, and Tides,
Meridian Glare, and Midnight Gloom,
Still witnessing his tow'ring Strides.
Coursing down Seasons, Dates, and Tides,
Meridian Glare, and Midnight Gloom,
Still witnessing his tow'ring Strides.
His grizzly Forelock none will dare
To seize, while Headlong on his Way;
Though nought can blunt his Scythe to spare
A Year, a Month, a Week, or Day.
To seize, while Headlong on his Way;
Though nought can blunt his Scythe to spare
A Year, a Month, a Week, or Day.
But heedless of th' involving Whirl,
Whose Vortex whelms us all aground;
Down Dissipation's Stream we hurl,
Nor dread the approaching vast Profound!
Whose Vortex whelms us all aground;
Down Dissipation's Stream we hurl,
Nor dread the approaching vast Profound!
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The giddy Sport of Passion's Gust,
Presumptuous, impotent, and blind,
Our Bark to Winds and Waves we trust,
Nor watch before, nor look behind!
Presumptuous, impotent, and blind,
Our Bark to Winds and Waves we trust,
Nor watch before, nor look behind!
“Come what, come may,” still plunging on,
Hemm'd round with Breakers, Shoals, and Shelves!
Compass and Chart we scorn to con,
Our Danger know, or know—Ourselves!
Hemm'd round with Breakers, Shoals, and Shelves!
Compass and Chart we scorn to con,
Our Danger know, or know—Ourselves!
Yet One true Speculum I weet,
Life's Course reflects from first to last;
Conscience, with ev'ry View replete,
Of long neglected Reckonings past.
Life's Course reflects from first to last;
Conscience, with ev'ry View replete,
Of long neglected Reckonings past.
Then, Reader, though the Glass should burn,
Through Reason's Lens trace all within;
And e'er its true Reflex thou spurn,
Or venture on, to lose, or win;
Through Reason's Lens trace all within;
And e'er its true Reflex thou spurn,
Or venture on, to lose, or win;
The Hazard and the Chance compare,
'Twixt Rule and Random here below;
And let not Self-Deception dare
To cog the Die which all must throw!
'Twixt Rule and Random here below;
And let not Self-Deception dare
To cog the Die which all must throw!
Stretch the Mind's Eye, and then behold,
Though circling Rounds thy Steps may tread;
Not Pomp, nor Pow'r, nor Piles of Gold,
Can bar thy mingling with the Dead.
Though circling Rounds thy Steps may tread;
Not Pomp, nor Pow'r, nor Piles of Gold,
Can bar thy mingling with the Dead.
Some few revolving Suns when set,
But prove that Life's one lengthen'd Day;
And like a Garment on the Fret,
Its Cobweb Texture chafes away!
But prove that Life's one lengthen'd Day;
And like a Garment on the Fret,
Its Cobweb Texture chafes away!
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Seize then the Moment, e'er it flies,
For most momentous is the NOW,
The Remnant left, with Wisdom prize,
Nor question WHEN, but ponder HOW.
For most momentous is the NOW,
The Remnant left, with Wisdom prize,
Nor question WHEN, but ponder HOW.
Fate hangs upon a single Thread,
Which One rude Shock may rend in Twain;
And if the Line through Ages led,
To boast that long-spun Line 'twere vain!
Which One rude Shock may rend in Twain;
And if the Line through Ages led,
To boast that long-spun Line 'twere vain!
The dwindling Distaff swells the Reel,
The Stock in Hand shrinks every Round;
Nor aught can check the coiling Wheel,
Till up the flimsy Film is wound.
The Stock in Hand shrinks every Round;
Nor aught can check the coiling Wheel,
Till up the flimsy Film is wound.
The Clew to poize, if weight or light,
Strict Justice then the Beam will rear;
And Death to deathless Day or Night,
Will Millions bring in one more Year.
Strict Justice then the Beam will rear;
And Death to deathless Day or Night,
Will Millions bring in one more Year.
| Scripscrapologia | |