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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

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


Right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were attackers,
Whatever their cause, that they didn't find backers;
While any slight care for Humanity's woes
May be soothed by that "_Art Diplomatique_," which shows
How to come in the most approved method to blows.
This is all for to-day--whether Mars is much vext
At his friend Thiers's exit, we'll know by our next.



THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE.

Our earth, as it rolls thro' the regions of space,
Wears always two faces, the dark and the sunny;
And poor human life runs the same sort of race,
Being sad on one side--on the other side, funny.
Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket hie,
To weep o'er the woes of Macready;--but scarce
Hath the tear-drop of Tragedy past from the eye,
When lo! we're all laughing in fits at the Farce.
And still let us laugh--preach the world as it may--
Where the cream of the joke is, the swarm will soon follow;
Heroics are very grand things in their way,
But the laugh at the long run will carry it hollow.
For instance, what sermon on human affairs
Could equal the scene that took place t'other day
'Twixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on the stairs--
The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting half-way!
Yes, Jocus! gay god, whom the Gentiles supplied,
And whose worship not even among Christians declines,
In our senate thou'st languisht since Sheridan died,
But Sydney still keeps thee alive in our shrines.


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