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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"


This festive Fete, in fact, will be
The former Fete's _facsimile_;[6]
The same long Masquerade of Rooms,
All trickt up in such odd costumes,
(These, Porter,[7] are thy glorious works!)
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors and Turks,
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice,
Had clubbed to raise a Pic-Nic Palace;
And each to make the olio pleasant
Had sent a State-Room as a present.
The same _fauteuils_ and girondoles--
The same gold Asses,[8]pretty souls!
That in this rich and classic dome
Appear so perfectly at home.
The same bright river 'mong the dishes,
But _not_--ah! not the same dear fishes--
Late hours and claret killed the old ones--
So 'stead of silver and of gold ones,
(It being rather hard to raise
Fish of that _specie_ now-a-days)
Some sprats have been by Yarmouth's wish,
Promoted into _Silver_ Fish,
And Gudgeons (so Vansittart told
The Regent) are as good as _Gold_!
So, prithee, come--our Fete will be
But half a Fete if wanting thee.

[1] An amateur actor of much risible renown.
[2] The crest of Mr. Coates, the very amusing amateur tragedian here
alluded to, was a cock; and most profusely were his liveries, harness,
etc. covered wit this ornament.
[3] To those who neither go to balls nor read _The Morning Post_, it may
be necessary to mention, that the floors of Ballrooms, in general, are
chalked for safety and for ornament with various fanciful devices.


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