The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard With a Memoir by Blanchard Jerrold |
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NEW YEAR'S ODE.
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 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
343
NEW YEAR'S ODE.
TO THE WINNER OF THE ST. NISBETT—SEASON 1844.
‘Trumpet tongued against
The deep damnation of her taking—off.’
—Macbeth.
The deep damnation of her taking—off.’
—Macbeth.
‘Robbing the stage was, in those days, a practice common enough.’Roderick Random.
Give back—‘give us back the wild freshness of morning,’
Ere light orange-blossoms weighed widowhood down!
And pause, oh, Sir William, ere one house adorning,
You cast in deep shadow our houses in town.
Why veil from the public its gayest of brides?
The miser alone buries gold in a box;
What artist, triumphant, his masterpiece hides?
We leave to the stage its duennas and locks.
Ere light orange-blossoms weighed widowhood down!
And pause, oh, Sir William, ere one house adorning,
You cast in deep shadow our houses in town.
Why veil from the public its gayest of brides?
The miser alone buries gold in a box;
What artist, triumphant, his masterpiece hides?
We leave to the stage its duennas and locks.
Bound fast, yet again let the Favourite run!
Both thine and our own!—a petition not visible;
For though it is true man and wife are but one,
She, single or wedded, is two, and divisible.
While owning thee winner, the town has its rights;
The ‘wife’ is all thine—'tis the ‘madcap’ we ask!
Hold captive the Woman, most conqu'ring of Knights,
But give back the Spirit with Comedy's mask.
Both thine and our own!—a petition not visible;
For though it is true man and wife are but one,
She, single or wedded, is two, and divisible.
344
The ‘wife’ is all thine—'tis the ‘madcap’ we ask!
Hold captive the Woman, most conqu'ring of Knights,
But give back the Spirit with Comedy's mask.
For brave Widow Nisbett no more may we burn;
As blithe Widow Nisbett she flies from the scene;
But let, Sir, —oh, let Widow Cheerly return,
And her who contrasted with ripe Widow Green!
Enclose not the orchard while gathering its fruits;
The garden's your own, Sir, yet spare us some flowers.
Let marriage ne'er pluck up wild mirth by the roots:
The widow is thine—but the actress is ours.
As blithe Widow Nisbett she flies from the scene;
But let, Sir, —oh, let Widow Cheerly return,
And her who contrasted with ripe Widow Green!
Enclose not the orchard while gathering its fruits;
The garden's your own, Sir, yet spare us some flowers.
Let marriage ne'er pluck up wild mirth by the roots:
The widow is thine—but the actress is ours.
Giving up to dull parties (though Wedlock's the teacher)
What's meant for mankind, causes patience to reel:
And why should a Boothby thus follow a Becher!
The other Sir William, who snapped up O'Neill!
In favour of privacy, prejudice ran:
It carried off Kembles, the Stephens, the Tree;
'Twas doubtful if safe from some desperate man,
Was quiet Miss Tidswell, or old Mrs. D.
What's meant for mankind, causes patience to reel:
And why should a Boothby thus follow a Becher!
The other Sir William, who snapped up O'Neill!
In favour of privacy, prejudice ran:
It carried off Kembles, the Stephens, the Tree;
'Twas doubtful if safe from some desperate man,
Was quiet Miss Tidswell, or old Mrs. D.
But deeper the sorrow that Nisbett has cost;
More stern thy resentment, susceptible town;
She wedded, returned;—weds again, and we're lost;
From Scylla escaped, in Charybdis we drown!
Blest winner, but cruel! most cruel to Art!
Yet more to Young London who stood by her throne;
Who now shall report how she toppeth her part?—
Who rush for a seat?—she resides at her own!
More stern thy resentment, susceptible town;
She wedded, returned;—weds again, and we're lost;
From Scylla escaped, in Charybdis we drown!
Blest winner, but cruel! most cruel to Art!
Yet more to Young London who stood by her throne;
Who now shall report how she toppeth her part?—
Who rush for a seat?—she resides at her own!
345
Who weds a mere beauty, dooms dozens to grieve;
Who marries an heiress, leaves hundreds undone;
Who bears off an actress (she never took leave),
Deprives a whole city of rational fun.
But farewell the glances and nods of St. Nisbett;
We list for her short ringing laughter in vain,
And yet—bereaved London!—what think you of this bet? —
‘A hundred to one we shall see her again!’
Who marries an heiress, leaves hundreds undone;
Who bears off an actress (she never took leave),
Deprives a whole city of rational fun.
But farewell the glances and nods of St. Nisbett;
We list for her short ringing laughter in vain,
And yet—bereaved London!—what think you of this bet? —
‘A hundred to one we shall see her again!’
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |