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179
ODE XIV. BOOK III.
ON THE RETURN OF THE PRINCE REGENT TO BRIGHTON.
“Herculis ritu modo dictus, ô plebs.”
Hark! the merry bugles sound
Ev'ry heart to lighten;
Beat the drums, His Highness comes,
The Prince returns to Brighton!
Ev'ry heart to lighten;
Beat the drums, His Highness comes,
The Prince returns to Brighton!
Now for Fêtes and Routs a score,
Prom'nades, Balls, Outridings;
Bloomfield in a chaise and four,
Proclaims the joyful tidings.
Prom'nades, Balls, Outridings;
Bloomfield in a chaise and four,
Proclaims the joyful tidings.
Crowds of gazers walk the Steyne,
Prim Mammas and Misses;
Such were seen, when Greece again
Beheld her lost Ulysses:
Prim Mammas and Misses;
Such were seen, when Greece again
Beheld her lost Ulysses:
Doctor T--- a motion makes—
Let ev'ry beau and belle come,
And join his pranks, a vote of thanks
To bid His Highness welcome!
Let ev'ry beau and belle come,
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To bid His Highness welcome!
Pierce a cask of gen'rous wine,
Claret, Port, or Sherry;
Drink his health in bumpers nine,
'Fore George, we will be merry!
Claret, Port, or Sherry;
Drink his health in bumpers nine,
'Fore George, we will be merry!
Bacchus gay shall rule the day,
Unless our rev'rend Vicar,
A rosy Put, has pierc'd the butt,
And drank up all the liquor.
Unless our rev'rend Vicar,
A rosy Put, has pierc'd the butt,
And drank up all the liquor.
Call Fitzherbert, ancient fair!
From her Cytherean border,
Bid the Sybil bind her hair,
And put her charms in order:
From her Cytherean border,
Bid the Sybil bind her hair,
And put her charms in order:
Jersey to the feast invite,
For such a painted beldam
At fifty-six, on this side Styx,
We surely see but seldom.
For such a painted beldam
At fifty-six, on this side Styx,
We surely see but seldom.
Margate, boast thy lofty pier,
Thy cliff, and castle, Dover;
Bath, thy fashionable cheer,
And many a Bond-Street rover!
Thy cliff, and castle, Dover;
Bath, thy fashionable cheer,
And many a Bond-Street rover!
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Brighton, highly-favour'd spot!
Shall still outshine the million;
Happy since she boasts a Prince,
To grace her long pavilion.
Shall still outshine the million;
Happy since she boasts a Prince,
To grace her long pavilion.
Arthur, valor's fav'rite son,
Bold, intrepid, brave, he
Cudgels Frenchmen till they run,
And makes them cry “peccavi!”
Bold, intrepid, brave, he
Cudgels Frenchmen till they run,
And makes them cry “peccavi!”
Col'nel Bloomfield, stout and tall,
(Was e'er a hero prouder?)
Though his head escape the ball,
It does not miss the powder.
(Was e'er a hero prouder?)
Though his head escape the ball,
It does not miss the powder.
May old age, a tyrant fell!
That fills the bones with dryness,
Vanquish'd by some magic spell,
Politely pass your Highness.
That fills the bones with dryness,
Vanquish'd by some magic spell,
Politely pass your Highness.
Long may Britain own your sway;
While we, of merry sort all,
Shall wish our Prince as Horace gay,
And, like his strains, immortal.
While we, of merry sort all,
Shall wish our Prince as Horace gay,
And, like his strains, immortal.
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