Ungrateful Party !—in declining age To hiss a hoary vet'ran off the stage. Ami. Mourn not, my Friend, thy public life is o'er, There's nothing left behind thee to deplore; For what is pow'r, but trouble, care, and pain? O! fly from court, to nature's rural scenes, Geo. What fancied scenes of happiness you trace, Strange comfort for a statesman out of place! Who, by no oaths political confin'd, Dare, (mirabile dictu !) speak his mind. Are hills, and dales, and valleys, half so gay As bright St. James's on a Levee day? What fierce extatic transports fill my soul, To hear the drivers swear, the coaches roll; The courtiers compliment, the ladies clack, The satins rustle, and the whalebones crack! What! shall a fallen Minister regale On slices of brown bread, and homebrew'd ale ?— Lay his opinion open to rebuke, And please a Boor-when he might charm a Duke? And, O! the greatest nuisance in the land, Let me the words of blust'ring Fuller quote, Of my old worthy friend, Sir Vicary Gibbs! Ami. Since you're resolv'd, I have no more to say, But banish care and sorrow for a day; Some disappointment* cross'd the Regent's mind, The Queen look'd grave, or Hertford prov'd unkind; But let the worst arrive; now, pray consider, You can but truckle to the highest bidder. * This conjecture is reasonable: it is not uncommon to see "Cœlestibus iræ,"-Anger in heavenly minds. ECLOGUE IV. CRAMBO. 'Twas in that glorious season of the year, When leaves are green, and op'ning buds appear, When tuneful songsters ply the feather'd wing, And Nature welcomes the return of Spring; 'Twas in that month, when urchins, loos'd from school, Make (fond of mischief,) many an April Fool, And to some crabbed dame, demurely cry"Your stocking's down, your cap is pinn'd awry!" 'Twas in that season, when the God of Day Once more resumes his renovating sway, When soft the rivers glide, the zephyrs blow, And farmers see their future harvests grow. *Two prowling Bailiffs, hunting after prey, Chromis et Mnasilus in antro Silenum pueri somno vidère jacentum, &c. &c. That Crambo, whom, with wondrous toil and pain, Now, with a piece of cord, both long and hard, With duplicates of sundry things in pawn ; Letters to friends complaining of distress, L *"Loose me," he cry'd, "'twas dangerous to bind A sleeping Bard; as you shall quickly find; When my Lord Ellenb'rough once knows the mat ter, he Declares you guilty of assault and battery. But if you let me go, (rejoin'd the wit,) And if you'll grant your company so long, 'Agreed," the Bailiffs cry'd, "no more our slave; Come, tune your pipes, and let us have the stave." +He rais'd his voice; and soon, a motley throng Of gaping hearers crowded to the song. Not more applause, when puppets dance on wire, Or some arch Merry-Andrew swallows fire; Not more applause, when Kemble, full of death, Stalks forth with bloody daggers in Macbeth; Not more applause, when Catalani's throat Pours forth a soft, mellifluous, pleasing note, Which seems to us the music of the spheres; * Solvite me, pueri: satis est potuisse videri. Carmina, quæ vultis, cognoscite: carmina vobis: &c. + Tum verò in numerum Faunósque ferásque videres Ludere, tum rigidas motare cacumina quercus. Nec tantùm Phobo gaudet Parnassia rupes, Nec tantùm Rhodope mirantur et Ismarus Orphea. |