Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view An exact and natural representation (Like Siburn's Model of Waterloo[1]) Of the Lords and Commons of this here nation.
With all humility we beg To inform the public, that Tom Tegg-- Known for his spunky speculations In buying up dead reputations, And by a mode of galvanizing Which, all must own, is quite surprising,...
Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper, But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends As you chance to pick up from political friends-...
Nights of music, nights of loving, Lost too soon, remembered long. When we went by moonlight roving, Hearts all love and lips all song. When this faithful lute recorded All my spirit felt to thee;...
No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, When youth, and love, and hope, have past away. Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead,...
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, When half-awaking from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full choir of heaven is near,-- Than came that voice, when, all forsaken....
Good reader! if you e'er have seen, When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids, with their tresses green, Dancing upon the western billow: If you have seen, at twilight dim,...
Not from thee the wound should come, No, not from thee. Care not what or whence my doom, So not from thee! Cold triumph! first to make This heart thy own; And then the mirror break...
Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pass By this comet-like Bill, with its long tail of speeches, The saddest and worst is the schism which, alas! It has caused between Wetherel's waistcoat and breeches....
I saw the smiling bard of pleasure, The minstrel of the Teian measure; 'Twas in a vision of the night, He beamed upon my wondering sight. I heard his voice, and warmly prest...
Give me the harp of epic song, Which Homer's finger thrilled along; But tear away the sanguine string, For war is not the theme I sing. Proclaim the laws of festal right,[1]...
Listen to the Muse's lyre, Master of the pencil's fire! Sketched in painting's bold display, Many a city first portray; Many a city, revelling free, Full of loose festivity....
Vulcan! hear your glorious task; I did not from your labors ask In gorgeous panoply to shine, For war was ne'er a sport of mine. No--let me have a silver bowl,...
I pray thee, by the gods above, Give me the mighty bowl I love, And let me sing, in wild delight, "I will--I will be mad to-night!" Alcmaeon once, as legends tell, Was frenzied by the fiends of hell;...
When wine I quaff, before my eyes Dreams of poetic glory rise;[2] And freshened by the goblet's dews, My soul invokes the heavenly Muse, When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er;...
Fly not thus my brow of snow, Lovely wanton! fly not so. Though the wane of age is mine, Though youth's brilliant flush be thine, Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee, Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!...
Away, away, ye men of rules, What have I do with schools? They'd make me learn, they'd make me think, But would they make me love and drink? Teach me this, and let me swim...