« PreviousContinue »
FRANCIS JEFFREY, ESQUIRE,
&c., &c., &c.,
I. Your days, Mr Jeffrey, how gaily they sped, When the Prosers were with you, whatever you said, Taunting Burke with your eloquence, Swift with your jest, While the chorus was Constable's chink in your chest ! But opinions stride on, while things linger behind
against THE OLD FORTRESS you opend your trenches,
III. You all seem'd so giddy, so gamesome, so gay, Paine and Hell shouted“ Go it, we're sure of the day.”— Such a confident crowing contemptuous air, Fill'd the hearts of a thousand good fools with despair ; While there wanted not some of our old pluckless tories, Who like spoonies would fawn and talk big of your glories, Calling you a great Man as could possibly be ;-Lacking heart even to hope for a hero like me.
IV. How the fine yellow's dimm'd in its delicate hue ! What a stain has been stamp'd on the beautiful blue ! How each frolicsome face that enliven’d Craig-Crook Has been changed for a down-looking, dumpish, sour look! O the heart that of old could like quick-silver bound, How it sinks ! I am sure it weighs more than a pound ! O the biggest small Man that could possibly be, How he casts up his whites when he thinks upon me!