Works

By A Gentleman Of The Temple.


While cynic CHARLES still trimm'd the vane
'Twixt Querouaille and Castlemaine,
In days that shocked JOHN EVELYN,
My First Possessor fixed me in....

(We lay our story in the East.
Because 'tis Eastern? Not the least.
We place it there because we fear
To bring its parable too near,
And seem to touch with impious hand
Our dear, confiding native land.)...

Too oft we hide our Frailties' Blame
Beneath some simple-sounding Name!
So Folks, who in gilt Coaches ride,
Will call Display but Proper Pride;
So Spendthrifts, who their Acres lose,...

When do the reasoning Powers decline?
The Ancients said at Forty-Nine.
At Forty-Nine behoves it then
To quit the Inkhorn and the Pen,
Since ARISTOTLE so decreed.
Premising thus, we now proceed.
...

Monsieur the Cur' down the street
Comes with his kind old face,--
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,
And his green umbrella-case.

You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place,"...

The most oppressive Form of Cant
Is that of your Art-Dilettant:--
Or rather "was." The Race, I own,
To-day is, happily, unknown.

A Painter, now by Fame forgot,
Had painted--'tis no matter what;...

A Suggestion From Hogarth.


One knows the scene so well,--a touch,
A word, brings back again
That room, not garnished overmuch,
In gusty Drury Lane;
...

"Emam tua carmina sanus?"--MARTIAL.

F. OF H. I want a verse. It gives you little pains;--
You just sit down, and draw upon your brains.

Come, now, be amiable.

R. To hear you talk,...

"Hoc est vivere."--MARTIAL.


The Printer's is a happy lot:
Alone of all professions,
No fateful smudges ever blot
His earliest "impressions."

The outgrowth of his youthful ken...

A Proper New Ballad Of The Country And The Town.

"Phyllida amo ante alias."
Virg.


The ladies of St. James's
Go swinging to the play;
Their footmen run before them,...

Hurrah! the Season's past at last;
At length we've "done" our pleasure.
Dear "Pater," if you only knew
How much I've longed for home and you,--
Our own green lawn and leisure!
...

AN EPILOGUE TO ANY BOOK

"Hic Finis chartaeque viaeque."

"FINIS at last--the end, the End, the END!
No more of paragraphs to prune or mend;
No more blue pencil, with its ruthless line,...

"One drop of ruddy human blood puts more life into the veins of a poem than all the delusive 'aurum potabile' that can be distilled out of the choicest library."--Lowell.


Ah, yes, that "drop of human blood!"--...

I drink of the Ale of Southwark, I drink of the Ale of Chepe;
At noon I dream on the settle; at night I cannot sleep;
For my love, my love it groweth; I waste me all the day;...

(For A Fresco.)


Firstly thou, churl son of Janus,
Rough for cold, in drugget clad,
Com'st with rack and rheum to pain us;--
Firstly thou, churl son of Janus.
Caverned now is old Sylvanus;...

Across the grass I see her pass;
She comes with tripping pace,--
A maid I know,--and March winds blow
Her hair across her face;--
With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!
Dolly shall be mine,...

(Expanded from an Epigram of Piron.)


Stella, 'tis not your dainty head,
Your artless look, I own;
'Tis not your dear coquettish tread,
Or this, or that, alone;
...

"Ce sont les amours
Qui font les beaux jours."


What is a Patron? JOHNSON knew,
And well that lifelike portrait drew.
He is a Patron who looks down
With careless eye on men who drown;...

"What's not destroyed by Time's devouring Hand?
Where's Troy, and where's the May-Pole in the Strand?"
Bramston's "Art of Politicks."


It stands in the stable-yard, under the eaves,...

(Whose name is Amanda.)

With Apologies to the Shade of Christopher Marlowe.


Come live with me and be my Dear;
And till that happy bond shall lapse,
I'll set your Poutings in Brevier,[l]...