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;




ROBERT



VERSES,

SERIOUS AND COMIC.



LONDON:

PRINTED BY' JAMES MOYES,
Castle Street, Leicester Square.



SUBSCRIBERS' CO PI'.



VERSES,

SERIOUS AND COMIC,



H. H. KNAPP.



" Unconsidered trifles
Merry and tragical, tedious and brief." SHAKSPEARB.



LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.

1835.



LOAN STACK



ADVERTISEMENT.



MANY of the following verses have already appeared,
some under the signature of H. MEL MOTH, when the
Author was an under-graduate of Cambridge, and others
in various periodical publications. They are now for the
first time collected, together with some of a more recent

date.

R. C.



900



CONTENTS.



PAGE

TO * * * * 1

TO AN INFANT ON THE DAY OF ITS BIRTH 3

THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE 5

THE LADY TO HER PHYSALOPHAG1ST 7

SERENADE 10

TO A LADY BORN ON THE SAME DAY IN THE SAME YEAR

WITH THE AUTHOR . 12

SONG 14

16

FAREWELL OF MARY STUART TO FRANCE 18

LAURA 21

FRIENDSHIP 22

TO THE REDBREAST 23

TO THE NIGHTINGALES 24

MY LAST WISH 27

TWADDLE 28

SONG 30

ODE S2

ANACREONTIC 36

CAUTION 38

T0 * * * * 40

FROM LAURA IN LONDON TO JANE IN THE COUNTRY .... 41

TQ * * * ON ufc:u BEDDING DAY 4?



Vlll CONTENTS.

PAGE

SONG 49

SONG 51

THE BROKEN HEART 53

STANZAS, WRITTEN AT CONWAY 1805 55

THE EXILE'S COMPLAINT 1805 59

TO MEMORY 63

TO MY ARM CHAIR 1806 , 68

TO * * * 71

MONSIEUR DE TROP 73

THE LOCK OF RAVEN HAIR 76

T0 * * * * LAMENTING THAT SHE WAS GROWING OLD 93

CHRYSOSTOM TO MARCELLA 95

AMBROSIO TO MARCELLA ...*'. 100

SULTAN ACHMET 105

EXPECTATION 107

'EAEOT2 BftMOS 109

TO * * * * 109

SONG 113

THE BELLE OF THE BALL * 117

HERO AND LEANDER , 1 22

A MODERATE WISH 132

THE RESTORATION OF THE MONKS TO LA GRANDE

CHARTREUSE 1816 .. . 135



TEMPORA SUBSECIVA;

VERSES SERIOUS AND COMIC.



TO



Me quoque donari jam rude tempus erat. OVID.

WHY bid me strike the lyre again,
And court the minstrel's tuneful art ?

Has poesy a charm for pain,
A balsam for the aching heart ?

Believe not that to soothe her woes
The bird of eve enchants the grove ;

Oh, no ! from joy her descant flows,
When Nature wakes to life and love.



POEMS.

Tis true that Ovid's harp could sound

In exile by a stormy sea ;
But Hope diffused her smiles around

Those smiles that cannot beam for me.

In vain the bard essays to sing

'Mid torturing thoughts and gloomy fears,
No strength has Fancy's drooping wing

Whose plumage is bedewed with tears.



POEMS.



TO



AN INFANT ON THE DAY OF ITS BIRTH.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

Innocuae parcant ventus et unda rati. OVID.

REJOICE, my friends ! with songs of glee
We trust this little bark to sea ;
While fated to return no more
It gaily quits the smiling shore,
Be ours the grateful task to guide
Its course o'er life's uncertain tide.
Rejoice, my friends no presage dark
Attends thy way, beloved bark.

Already fortune breathes a gale
Which gently lifts the flagging sail ;
Already Hope displays afar
In heaven her bright protecting star :



POEMS.

Away, ill-omened birds, away !
The Loves around this vessel play ;
Rejoice, my friends no presage dark
Attends thy way, beloved bark.

Yes, fluttering gaily round the mast,
The Loves avert each ruder blast ;
While, lest wild waves the bark overwhelm,
Friendship presiding guides the helm,
The Pleasures flowery gifts dispense
Cropt by the hand of Innocence.
Then sing, my friends no presage dark
Attends thy way, beloved bark.

But who, with harsh and rugged brow,
To greet the vessel hastens now ?
'Tis stern Adversity, whose frown
Can call the brooding tempest down ;
But 'mid the deepening gloom of night
Bids Virtue's beams shine doubly bright.
Then sing, my friends no presage dark
Attends thy way, beloved bark.



POEMS.



THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND ABOUT TO LEAVE HIS
COUNTRY.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

BIRDS, by nature taught to fly
Dreary winter's weeping sky,
Now to realms of brighter day
Bear their songs and loves away ;
But no charm shall long detain

From our coast their constant wing,
We shall hear their notes again

Heralding the birth of spring.

More than they must we lament
This their annual banishment :
Lowly cot and palace gay
Echoed to their jocund lay.



POEMS.

Though some sunny vale beneath
They their lays for others sing,

They shall come when Zephyr's breath
Whispering wakes the bashful spring.

Birds from cold who never flee
May their lot with envy see ;
For already winter shrouds
Heaven in dark and gloomy clouds.
Happy from his dreary reign.

Who can haste with agile wing ;
Exiles though they cross the main,

They'll return with opening spring.

They will not our pain forget,
Who their blithesome songs regret ;
But reseek one favoured spot,
Sheltering oak, or rustic cot.
Where yon hills of verdure swell

Joyous notes again shall ring,
Through each thicket, brake, and dell,

Heralding the birth of spring.



POEMS.



THE LADY TO HER PHYSALOPHAGIST.



Imperavi egomet mihi
Omnia assentari. TERENTIUS.



WHOM shall the muse essay to sing 1
Whose praises wake the slumbering string ?
Thine humble, acquiescent thing,

My Toady !

Who, when I sigh, breathes forth a groan ?

Who listens to my voice alone,

Nor dares surmise her soul's her own ?

My Toady.

Who, when the cards run cross at loo,
By sad experience learns to rue
My loss of cash and temper, too ?

My Toady.



POEMS.

Who, when as tete-a-tete we dine,
I claret drink, or hock divine,
Sips her one glass of raisin wine ?

My Toady.

Who, while I taste each dainty dish,
Seasoned to meet a gourmand's wish,
Eats legs of fowls and tails of fish ?

My Toady.

Who, when I doze, my elbow jogs ?
Who feeds my bullfinch, combs my dogs,
And carries, when I walk, my clogs?

My Toady.

Who, while obtrusive wrinkles say
My charms are sinking in decay,
Vows " I grow younger every day?"

My Toady.

Who, when my cheeks new tints assume,

Adopted in my dressing-room,

Cries, " exercise gives such a bloom?"

My Toady.



POEMS.

Who, when to music I'm inclined,

And sing, " Sweet Home/' or " Love is blind/'

Cries, " Pasta! Sontag ! both combined?"

My Toady.

Who, when to raise a smile I try
By some trite story, dull and dry,
Laughs till her cracking laces fly ?

My Toady.

Who, when my life's gay scene is o'er,

Thinks she'll inherit all my store,

And cringe, and fawn, and sneak no more?

My Toady.

Who'll find by will bequeathed her then

A vinaigrette, a silver pen,

A muff, a shawl, and three pounds ten ?

My Toady.



10 POEMS.



SERENADE.

In vias
Sub cantu querulae despice tibise. HORACE.

THE zephyr, soft as infant's sigh,
Breathes o'er the dimpled lake ;

The moon is in the heavens high,
My blue-eyed maid, awake.

All, all is hushed within thy bow'r,
Sleep seals thy mother's eyes,

Love claims his own ambrosial hour,
My Mary, sweet, arise.

No owlet screams, forboding death,
No ban-dogs bay the moon ;

No witches haunt the blasted heath,
At night's unhallowed noon.



POEMS. 11

Here every ruder sound is mute,
Here flowers breathe odours sweet,

And blooms such turf as well might suit
Titania's fairy feet.

Safe as beneath a brother's care,

To me this hour resign ;
111 press thy hand, but never dare

To touch thy lip with mine.

Then, Mary, come, while yet the lark

Sleeps in the tangled brake ;
While glimmers yet the glow-worm's spark,

My blue-eyed maid, awake.



12 POEMS.



TO A LADY

BORN ON THE SAME DAY IN THE SAME YEAR WITH
THE AUTHOR.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

Utrumque nostrum incredibili modo
Consentit astrura. HORACE.

WHY, since it pleased the Fates to blend
Our vital thread, beloved friend,

In life's first smiling hour,
Has Age, whose chilling frost I feel
O'er my reluctant bosom steal,

From thee witheld his power ?

'Tis long since he began to plough
With furrows deep my care-worn brow,



POEMS. 13

And scatter hated snows ;
But thine is still the vernal bloom,
The tresses dark as raven's plume,

The cheek that shames the rose.

The Sisters sure with partial hand

Each flowery Spring, each Summer bland,

Bestowed, dear friend, on thee ;
While Autumn, crowned with foliage sere,
And Winter, tyrant of the year,

Their wrath reserved for me.



14 POEMS.



SONG.

THREE Loves who had left the Idalian court,

O'er heath and o'er meadow flew ;
They chased each other in frolic sport,

And bunches of roses threw :
But tired with their play, they sought the retreat

Of a stern and a crabbed sage ;
Ah ! little they thought, as they knocked at his gate,

T'was the dwelling of surly Age.

The first was a proud and impetuous boy,

You might guess by his eye of fire
That sparkled and flashed with the beam of joy

That his father was young Desire.
He could not e'en bear as a transient guest

With so gloomy a host to stay ;
So chilled by whose looks was his burning breast,

That he shivered and fled away.



POEMS. 15

The second was Fancy's wayward child,

Who fluttered on restless wing,
O'er garden trim, and o'er desert wild,

Companion of Youth and Spring :
" Preserve me," he cried, " from that angry eye,

From the frowns on that brow that lour,"
And, wafted away on a lover's sigh,

He fled to his mother's bow'r.

The third was a boy in whose modest mien

Shone Nature's artless grace ;
Round his lip of rose played a smile serene,

As he gazed on the sage's face ;
Who fondled the child as he clung to his knee,

Exclaiming, in gentlest mood,
" Here rest, for Age has no terrors for thee,

Thou offspring of Gratitude."



16 POEMS.



Quis raea digne deflere potest

Mala ? quse lachrymis nostris questus

Reddet Aedon? SENECA Octavia.



WHEN through the aspen's trembling shade
The silver moon her pale beam throws,

When sleeps the breeze, as if afraid
To chase the solemn sad repose ;

'Tis sweet around her tomb to hang,
Or fondly clasp the hallowed ground ;

To waken Memory's dormant pang,
And ope Affliction's closing wound.

Hence ! silken Pleasure's giddy throng
Hence ! hearts enwrapt in Stoic gloom ;

Far other scenes to you belong,
Profane not Mary's humble tomb.



POEMS. 17

But them, whom tender thoughts incline

To pensive Sorrow's soft control,
Who oft at Pity's tear-dewed shrine

Hast offered all thy melting soul,

Where Mary sleeps, thy steps arrest,
What time the tints of evening fade

Tis thine to feel the sadd'ning breast,
With them assume a deeper shade.

A charm for thee shall Fancy's power,
Unknown to ruder breasts, supply ;

Create a gem in every flow'r,
In every passing breeze, a sigh.



18 POEMS.



FAREWELL
OF MARY STUART TO FRANCE.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

Forte mihi posthac non adeunda vale MARY STUART.

ADIEU, loved France, to Mary's heart
Endeared by every tender tie ;

Land of the brave, with thee to part,
Nurse of my childhood, is to die.

Receive, dear France, this last farewell,

Which scarce my faltering tongue can give,
And locked in Memory's inmost cell,

Still let the thought of Mary live.
The zephyrs breathe, we quit the shore,

While Heaven, regardless of my pain,
Bids not the boiling billows roar,

And bear me to thy coast again.



POEMS. 19

Adieu, loved France, to Mary's heart

Endeared by every tender tie ;
Land of the brave, with thee to part,

Nurse of my childhood, is to die.

While as some brilliant star I blazed,

'Mid crowds who thronged my state to grace,
Not on my jewelled brow they gazed,

But youth's fresh roses in my face.
'Mid Scotland's gloom, supreme command

Awaits my sceptered hand in vain ;
Unless o'er thee, dear gallant land,

Thy Mary has no wish to reign.

Adieu, loved France, to Mary's heart

Endeared by every tender tie ;
Land of the brave, with thee to part,

Nurse of my childhood, is to die.

Love, Glory, Genius, round me shed

Their gifts, alas ! for ever lost ;
Those flowers which decked my youthful head,

Bloom not in Scotland's realms of frost.



20 POEMS.

What fearful visions blast my sight,
In Horror's grisly form arrayed !

See ! on yon sable scaffold's height

The headsman bares the glittering blade.

Adieu, loved France, to Mary's heart
Endeared by every tender tie ;

Land of the brave, with thee to part,
Nurse of my childhood, is to die.

'Mid Faction's rage, from coward fears

Still shall the Stuart's child be free ;
And, as in this dark hour of tears,

Each tender thought shall turn to thee.
But, ah ! I feel the freshening gale

The bounding bark more swiftly bear,
Night's deepening shades the ocean veil,

Each well-known object melts in air.

Adieu, loved France, to Mary's heart
Endeared by every tender tie ;

Land of the brave, with thee to part,
Nurse of my childhood, is to die.



POEMS. 21



Thus am I doubly armed. CATO.

ON Laura's cheek two dimples play,
While Cupids flutter round them ;

Nor can admiring lovers say,

Which has most power to wound them.

Fond youths, to gaze who rashly dare,

No hope of safety cherish ;
For should Charybdis chance to spare,

By Scylla still you perish.



22 POEMS.

FRIENDSHIP.

THE star which beams at opening day
In summer's gladsome hours,

When Flora joins her Zephyr's play,
And wakes her world of flowers ;

When sullen winter's gloom appears,
When Nature's beauties fade,

Still faithful sheds its light, and cheers
Dull Evening's dreary shade.

Like this fair star is Friendship's light,
Which pours its steady ray,

As brightly clear in Age's night
As youth's ambrosial day.

Yes ! to the good, the radiant beam
Can cheer the death-bed gloom,

Can gild with one last trembling gleam
The pathway to the tomb.



POEMS. 23



TO THE RED BREAST.

SWEET are thy notes when, waked by Zephyrs glad,
Spring bursts to life, enshrined in opening flow'rs ;

But sweeter far, when all around is sad,
Save thee, sole minstrel of the wintry hours.

Then on some mossy ^ase, or leafless stem,

Well-pleased, sweet bird, I hear thee warbling
near,

As lone you sit, 'mid many a frozen gem,
And chant a requiem to the closing year.

Teach me thy patience ; ceasing to repine,
Teach me to bear the storms of fate like thee;

To sing, as erst when fortune's smiles were mine,
And cheer the gloom of dark adversity.



24 POEMS.

TO THE NIGHTINGALES.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

Doux rossignols, chantez pour moi, &c. BERANGER.

ALL is hushed in repose, not a voice

Presumes the deep silence to break ;
That echo again may rejoice,

Awake, gentle songsters, awake.
I have sighed for your melody long,

Then haste to my favourite tree,
/, too, am a nursling of song,

Sweet nightingales, warble for me.

Oh, never to Phryne resort,

The coquette artificial and vain,
Who trifles with hearts for her sport,

And laughs when her victims complain.
From lover to lover she'll roam,

O'er roses as wanders the bee :
My bosom is constancy's home ;

Sweet nightingales, warble for me.



POEMS. 25

Waste not on the miser your strains,

But haste from his roof to depart ;
Where gold as a deity reigns,

No melody softens the heart.
Tis enough for the sordid recluse

The wealth he has hoarded to see :
Here poverty dwells with the muse ;

Sweet nightingales, warble for me.

Ye sport in the breeze uncontrouled,

Ye wing to new regions your way,
Ye are liberty's children, withhold

From slavery's patrons your lay :
Let them seek popularity's shrine,

Or bend to a tyrant the knee :
Contentment and freedom are thine ;

Sweet nightingales, warble for me.

Though bright are the blushes of morn,
And brighter the splendour of noon,

Sing not for the churlish, who scorn
The silvery beams of the moon :



26 POEMS.

How tender, how soft is her light,

When the world from all tumult is free :

I love the calm stillness of night ;
Sweet nightingales, warble for me.



POEMS. 27



MY LAST WISH.

Debita sparges lachryma favillam

amici. HORACE.

WHEN mute the tongue which breathes the strain,
When life's vain dream hath past away,

With gleams of joy and clouds of pain,
Chequered as April's fitful day.

Prepare for me a lowly bed,

Far from the stranger's curious eye ;

Where youth's gay spring in gladness fled,
There let my mouldering relics lie.

Lay me beneath that sheltering yew,

Which blooms, to fond remembrance clear ;

And be the spot but known to few,
The few I loved and cherished here.

Saint Hill, 1828.



28 POEMS.

TWADDLE.

Quantum est in rebus inane! PERSIUS.

WHAT is the patriot's speech of flame,
Who vows his country's foes to tame,
And barter life for deathless fame ?

Tis Twaddle.

What is the commentator's lore,
Who loves o'er musty books to pore,

And A erase, and B restore ?

Tis Twaddle.

What, Laura, is thy vestal plan,

Say all, do all thy lover can,

To shun the odious monster, man ?

Tis Twaddle.

And what is Strephon's fervent vow,
Who swears to love thee more than now,
When time hath ploughed thy marble brow ?

Tis Twaddle.



POEMS. 29

When some fair nymph is pressed to sing,
Or touch her harp's enchanting string,
Whence does each coy refusal spring?

From Twaddle.

When some gaunt spinster, blest by fate,
Finds glad success each rubber wait,
What is her wish for luck less great ?

Tis Twaddle-
When round some whimsied patient stand
Physicians grave with fee-fed hand,
The words which flow in accents bland

Are Twaddle.

What are the sonnets, trim and new,
Which in the Album page we view,
Of stripling bards, or ladies blue ?

They're Twaddle.

From monarchs to their meanest page,
From whiskered fop to buzzwigg'd sage,
What rules this intellectual age ?

Why, Twaddle.



30 POEMS.



SONG.

THE storm was loud, the rain fell fast,

Her babe was sweetly sleeping.
Poor Mary shuddered at the blast,

And wore the night in weeping.
As lightnings fired the troubled air,

And hope began to fail her,
She cried, Great power of Mercy! spare,

Oh spare ! my absent sailor.

Sweet babe, for thee, my only joy,

I'll strive my griefs to smother ;
For, ah ! perhaps, ill-fated boy,

Thou only hast a mother.
No tear-drop dims thine azure eye,

No raging storm thou fearest,
The wind but sings thy lullaby,

That wrecks thy father, dearest.



POEMS. 211

Poor wretch ! of all her soul held dear

One fatal night bereft her ;
No groan she uttered, shed no tear,

But sense for ever left her.
And still, when warring winds arise,

Her fading cheek grows paler !
She lifts her hands to Heaven and cries,

" Protect my absent sailor."



32 POEMS.



ODE.



Ire per altum

Magna mente volunt, Phryxi promittitur absens
Vellus, et auratis Argo reditura corymbis. VAL. FLAC.



,v$g&>v ff<roXo$- APOLLONIUS.

THE winds were hushed, the murmuring tide
Scarce kissed the towering Argo's side,
Which in her ample bosom bore

The gallant band of warriors bold,
Eager to bear from Colchis* shore,

The meed of toil, the fleece of gold.
High upon the gilded prow
Sat the bard with laurelled brow,

The Muse's favourite son ;
He sang of daring feats of arms,
Of all that warlike bosoms warms,

Of battles bravely won :
Then as a wild prophetic fire

Was kindled in his blazing eye,
With bolder hand he bade the lyre

Unfold the page of destiny.



POEMS. 33

As stole the mystic strains the deep along,
Entranced, the heroes drank the flowing stream of

song.

Flower of Greece, undaunted crew,
Fearless still your course pursue ;
Chiefs to deeds of noble daring

Nursed within your fathers' halls,
Go, where wreaths of conquest bearing,

Glory on her children calls.
Danger's giant form in vain
Threatens in the angry main.
Ere, beneath the azure deep,
Thrice Hyperion sinks to sleep ;
Ere yon crescent beaming bright
Thrice adorns the brow of night,
To rocks exposed, and warring winds no more,
Shall Argo proudly press the Colchian's dreary shore

Hark ! the love-sick virgin sighs
Thee alone her thoughts behold,
Chieftain of the locks of gold ;
Pale on her restless couch she lies.
D



34 POEMS.

Softly soothe the mourning maid,

In thy smile Medea lives ;
Take, oh, take the proffered aid,

Which to Valour Beauty gives.
Though the bulls breathe noxious flame,

They the galling yoke shall know ;
Thou their stubborn necks shalt tame,

Thou the serpent's teeth shalt sow.
By the Phasis' icy water,

Though the mailed brothers rise,
Mangled soon in mutual slaughter,

See, the earth-born phalanx dies.
Danger in vain with clouds obscures the day,
Love with uplifted torch illumes the warrior's way.

See, the tear of anguish flows,

Echo groans of deep despair,
Where the shouts of triumph rose,

Where the paeans rent the air.
Vengeance forbids the mother's breast to feel,
Wild phrenzy prompts the deed she bares the
impious steel.



POEMS. 35

Ghastly visions, hence depart !

Scenes of brighter hue I see,
Scenes that joy the minstrel's heart,

Opening in futurity.
Where yon western waves are glowing,

Glory summons heroes bold,
Prizes richer far bestowing

Than the vaunted fleece of gold.

With swelling sails new Argos plough their way,
And worlds yet wrapt in night the daring course repay



36 POEMS.



ANACREONTIC.

JOVE heard anxious mortals sigh,

Saw the peevish race repine,
And to bid dull sorrow fly,

Gave the richly clustering vine ;
Soon the grape's delicious tears

Sparkled in the mantling bowl,
Hushed their sorrows, calmed their fears,

And to rapture raised the soul.

Soon the genial power was o'er,

Nor the sting of care beguiled,
Angry Jove would grant no more,

But auspicious Venus smiled ;
Surest antidote of woes,

She bestowed a brighter bliss,
Dipt in nectar's juice a rose,

Forming thus the balmy kiss.



POEMS. 37

Mortals could no more repine,

Sighs of discontent were o'er ;
Blest with kisses, blest with wine,

Could they ask the gods for more ?
Man, no longer sorrow's slave,

Draughts of love and wine could sip ;
Each by turns their nectar gave

Rosy grape, and ruby lip.



38 POEMS.



CAUTION.

FROM THE FRENCH OF DOETE DE TROIES, A POETESS OF THE
THIRTEENTH CENTURY.

&V%.U,fffflO (471 fft CTAaVJJff'TJ' MOSCHUS.

YE maidens fair, with eager haste

Who spring's glad call obey,
And fly with joyous step to taste

The sweets of early May ;

Though Nature with her liveliest green
Bedecks yon woodland glade,

And blue-eyed violets lurk unseen
Beneath the hawthorn's shade^

Seek not that spot at evening's hour,
Or when grey morning peeps,

For there, beneath the tempting flower,
A wily serpent sleeps.



POEMS. 39

To tread the dangerous path forbear,

Or dread the fatal smart ;
For though he chance the heel to spare.

The traitor wounds the heart.



40 POEMS.



TO



I JEST as if my thoughts were gay,
A respite but from sorrow stealing ;

Though fancy sport in frolic play,
Think not my bosom void of feeling.

Where all are glad, I'm joyous seen,
As if no shafts of care could wound me,

My fondest wish has ever been

To win a smile from those around me.

In Etna's womb fierce lavas glow,

Though day-beams on her crest are breaking :
So gleams of joy the features shew,

Although the heart beneath is aching.



POEMS. 41



FROM LAURA IN LONDON TO JANE IN
THE COUNTRY.

Verbosa et grandis epistola. JUVENAL.

I PROMISED, dear Jane, when I bade you adieu,

To write an account of my London debut,

So I take up my pen ('tis a sad old beginning),

To tell you what triumphs your friend has been

winning.

The journey was tedious we're certain to go,
When papa pays the post-boys, most shockingly slow.
But, oh, how delightful at last was the glare
Of the gas, as it glittered in Manchester Square !
And now, my dear Jane, only think of the hurry,
The charming confusion, the flutter and flurry ;
Such a concourse of tradesmen with packages bulky,
Mamma quite enchanted, papa rather sulky ;
Mr. Tightfit from Bond Street with exquisite shoes,
And jewellers shewing the sweetest bijoux ;
Such feathers and flounces, caps, trimming, and frills
I'm afraid papa's face will be long as the bills ;



42 POEMS.

He already grows peevish, and frets at the names
Of those dearest of miners, Howell and James.
Well, all things were ready, all bought that could lend
Attraction, and splendour, and grace to your friend ;
When mamma sadly damped every feeling of pleasure
By giving advice without method or measure :
" Rememher (she cries) to forget half the faces
You've curtsied and bowed to at Doncaster races ;
To smile upon commoners, Laura, forbear,
Unless they've by chance twenty thousand a-year.
If the heiress of Grimblethorpe shews proper pride,
She shortly shall shine as a nobleman's bride :
Your soul let the thoughts of a coronet fill,
Which, though worn by a wig-block, 's a coronet still.


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