Poems by the late Hon. William R. Spencer A New Edition with Corrections and Additions; To Which is Prefixed A Biographical Memoir by the Editor |
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| OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE
TO
LE TEXIER'S PROVERBS. |
 | Poems by the late Hon. William R. Spencer |  |
200
OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE TO LE TEXIER'S PROVERBS.
(Behind the Scenes.)What, all the places full? pshaw! nonsense, stuff— (Enters.)
I'll look myself—there's room, and room enough—
I'm sure, by all here present 'tis allow'd,
Nothing in London takes—without a crowd.—
On all our schemes 'twould be an endless slur
If any of our guests could breathe or stir.
Those two old-fashion'd comforts, ease and space,
Would now quite ruin any public place,—
To feast, to mask, assembly, or review,
Where our fore-fathers, and fore-mothers too,
Went, poor dull souls! to please, and to be pleas'd,
We more enlightened go, to squeeze, and to be squeez'd!
“Were you at Lady Whirligig's last night?”
“Yes,” says Miss Flirt, “'twas flat, 'twas empty quite.
Poor creature, how she fretted; 'twas a shame,
Two thousand cards—twelve hundred only came!
No gown was spoilt, not e'en a feather dirtied—
I thought myself at church, 'twas so deserted!
You had no loss—but I made up for all
By stealing off to Mrs. Worry's ball.
There, every room was elegantly cramm'd:
Crush'd in the passage, in the door-way jamm'd,
How we did elbow, struggle, push, and press!
She understands the thing we must confess.
And—what with envy made her rivals split—
Ten faintings, five hysterics—and a fit!”
I'm sure, by all here present 'tis allow'd,
Nothing in London takes—without a crowd.—
On all our schemes 'twould be an endless slur
If any of our guests could breathe or stir.
Those two old-fashion'd comforts, ease and space,
Would now quite ruin any public place,—
To feast, to mask, assembly, or review,
Where our fore-fathers, and fore-mothers too,
201
We more enlightened go, to squeeze, and to be squeez'd!
“Were you at Lady Whirligig's last night?”
“Yes,” says Miss Flirt, “'twas flat, 'twas empty quite.
Poor creature, how she fretted; 'twas a shame,
Two thousand cards—twelve hundred only came!
No gown was spoilt, not e'en a feather dirtied—
I thought myself at church, 'twas so deserted!
You had no loss—but I made up for all
By stealing off to Mrs. Worry's ball.
There, every room was elegantly cramm'd:
Crush'd in the passage, in the door-way jamm'd,
How we did elbow, struggle, push, and press!
She understands the thing we must confess.
And—what with envy made her rivals split—
Ten faintings, five hysterics—and a fit!”
Here all is crowd—but England owns, 'tis true,
A crowd of follies, and of virtues too:
If crowds of helpless poor in famine grieve,
What crowds of gen'rous souls their wants relieve!
If crowds of foes attack our state, our laws,
What crowds of heroes fight in England's cause!
E'en in the drama, crowds are still the rage;
The poet's only aim's to fill the stage:
What crowds of characters are huddled there,
What crowds of spirits rise—from God knows where!
Where are your crowds, your spirits? says some scoffer:
We have no crowds, no spirits here to offer;
This smiling crowd our aim to please ensures,
We wish to raise no spirits here—but yours!
A crowd of follies, and of virtues too:
If crowds of helpless poor in famine grieve,
What crowds of gen'rous souls their wants relieve!
If crowds of foes attack our state, our laws,
What crowds of heroes fight in England's cause!
E'en in the drama, crowds are still the rage;
The poet's only aim's to fill the stage:
202
What crowds of spirits rise—from God knows where!
Where are your crowds, your spirits? says some scoffer:
We have no crowds, no spirits here to offer;
This smiling crowd our aim to please ensures,
We wish to raise no spirits here—but yours!
| Poems by the late Hon. William R. Spencer | |