When landlady, with burly mien, Gold grow'th not in heaven: Yet, by the laws, we'll lug thee in For reck'ning even. Well, blessings on thy shade so laurel'd! And when renown'd good beer was barrel'd No thanks to those who long'd to pelt or Send thee to solitude for shelter, To grief and moping, Her dim lyre (cause enough to melt her) In darkness groping. Yes: all must grant thee too a smack • Bright money. Alluding to a well-known story of Shuter, the actor. Genius and warmth are gone apack To land unknown; They'll never come, I fear me, back, To make us groan. The merry catch shall greet thy sprite : And sprinkle strong dews: The hop shall on thy tomb rise light, Nor yield us wrong juice. Tobacco tubes, like trumps inverted, With od'rous aid: Then, mon, be not this once faint-hearted; Thy fortune's made. At judgment-day, when strong-lung'd cherub Wouns! what a sight, to see thy knee rub 'Gainst the saints and martyrs ? D'ye now remember, youth, the time Thou staid'st all night out. While Mumpus* rang'd from clime to clime, Raising a right rout? Peace to thy manes, lad of wax! Free from all venomous attacks, Thou liest in harbour snug: what lacks Thy heart on high? Would that thy friends here could go snacks,, AN ODE TO MYSELF. THRICE hail, thou prince of jovial fellows, Whose little span Is spent 'twixt poetry and alehouse, 'Twixt quill and cann! One of his associates at John Baynham's. Reckless howe'er the world may fadge, Now courting Susan, Kate, or Madge, Or black-ey'd Molly; For living in one sullen lodge Is downright folly. hy classics sleeping on the shelf, Thou'rt muse and patron to thyself: Aye* frolic when profuse of pelf; Grim as the gallows When dunn'd by that obstreperous elf, False-scoring Alice. Long may'st thou punch ambrosial swill, By temperate bards recorded still In tasteless rhime; For noble punch shall sweetly fill The thought sublime. Ever. So Milton: And hear the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing. By many wrong'd, gay bloom of song, Virtue and truth; Though Pleasure led thy step along, And trapp'd thy youth. With Baynham, social spring * of wit, And whether haply thou shalt sit With clown or peer, Never shall lingering honour quit Thy heart sincere. So Falstaff: "I am not only witty myself, but the cause of wit in others. |