That's enough--away, away--
Had I leisure, I could say
How the _oldest rose_ that grows
Must be pluckt to deck Old Rose--
How the Doctor's[3] brow should smile
Crowned with wreaths of camomile.
But time presses--to thy taste
I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste!
[1] The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or
Household Gods.
[2] Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock which are
distributed by the Servants of Carleton House every Patrick's Day.
[3] The _sobriquet_ given to Lord Sidmouth.
EPIGRAM.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF LORD YARMOUTH'S
FETE.
"I want the Court Guide," said my lady, "to look
"If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30. or 20."--
"We've lost the _Court Guide_, Ma'am, but here's _the Red Book_.
"Where you'll find, I dare say, Seymour _Places_ in plenty!"
HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. II.
FREELY TRANSLATED BY THE PRINCE REGENT.[1]
Come, Yarmouth, my boy, never trouble your brains,
About what your old crony,
The Emperor Boney,
Is doing or brewing on Muscovy's plains;
Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries:
Should there come famine,
Still plenty to cram in
You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stannaries.
Brisk let us revel, while revel we may;
For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away,
And then people get fat,
And infirm, and--all that,
And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits,
That it frightens the little Loves out of their wits;
Thy whiskers, too, Yarmouth!--alas, even they,
Tho' so rosy they burn,
Too quickly must turn
(What a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers!) to Grey.
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