« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Ours is so far-advanced an age!
We boast high art, an Albert Hall,
We have a thousand things, you see,
And yet, how strange! Our "world,” to-day, Tried in the scale, would scarce outweigh Your Roman cronies;
Walk in the Park-you'll seldom fail
To find a Sybaris on the rail
By Lydia's ponies,
Or hap on Barrus, wigged and stayed,
The great Gargilius, then, behold!
Fair Neobule too! Is not
One Hebrus here-from Aldershot?
Be wise. There old Canidia sits;
No doubt she's tearing you to bits.
And look, dyspeptic, brave, and kind,
Here's Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will;
Radiant, of course. We'll make her black,— Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back.
So with the rest. Who will may trace
Defined as clearly;
Science proceeds, and man stands still;
As yours was, Horace! You alone,
Unmatched, unmet, we have not known.
TO "LYDIA LANGUISH."
"Il me faut des émotions."
YOU ask me, Lydia, "whether I,
If you refuse my suit, shall die." (Now pray don't let this hurt you) Although the time be out of joint, I should not think a bodkin's point The sole resource of virtue; Nor shall I, though your mood endure, Attempt a final Water-cure
Except against my wishes;
For I respectfully decline
To dignify the Serpentine,
And make hors-d'œuvres for fishes;
But, if you ask me whether I
Composedly can go,
Without a look, without a sigh,
"You are assured," you sadly say (If in this most considerate way To treat my suit your will is), That I shall "quickly find as fair
Some new Neæra's tangled hair-
I cannot promise to be cold
If smiles are kind as yours of old
But, if you ask shall I prefer
To you I honour so
A somewhat visionary Her,
I answer truly-No.
You fear, you frankly add, "to find
That altering Time estranges." To this I make response that we (As physiologists agree),
Must have septennial changes; This is a thing beyond control, And it were best upon the whole
To try and find out whether We could not, by some means, arrange
This not-to-be-avoided change
So as to change together:
But, had you asked me to allow
That you could ever grow
Less amiable than you are now,-
But-to be serious-if you care
You outrage their affection ;—
Which hugest pocket-handkerchief
And when, arrived so far, you say
In tragic accents "Go,"
Then, Lydia, then . . . I still shall stay, And firmly answer No.