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Hours, when the Poet's words and looks
Had yet their native glow :
Had made him talk for show ;
He flash'd his random speeches;
His literary leeches;
So mix for ever with the past,
Like all good things on earth! For should I prize thee, could'st thou last,
At half thy real worth? I hold it good, good things should pass :
With time I will not quarrel: It is but yonder empty glass
That makes me maudlin-moral.
Head-waiter of the chop-house here,
To which I most resort,
For this good pint of port.
For this, thou shalt from all things suck
Marrow of mirth and laughter;
Shall fling her old shoe after.
the pots :
But thou wilt never move from hence,
The sphere thy fate allots :
In haunts of hungry sinners,
Of thirty thousand dinners.
We fret, we fume, would shift our skins,
Would quarrel with our lot;
To serve the hot-and-hot;
Returning like the pewit,
That trifle with the cruet.
194 WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE.
Live long, ere from thy topmost head
The thick-set hazel dies ;
The corners of thine eyes :
Our changeful equinoxes,
Shall call thee from the boxes.
But when he calls, and thou shalt cease
To pace the gritted floor,
Of life, shall earn no more ;
Shall show thee past to Heaven ;
A pint-pot, neatly graven.
LORD RONALD courted Lady Clare,
I trow they did not part in scorn ; Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her,
And they will wed the morrow morn.
“ He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,” said Lady Clare.
In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, “ Who was this that went from thee?” It was my cousin,” said Lady Clare, • To-morrow he weds with me.”
60 God be thank'd!” said Alice the nurse,
“ That all comes round so just and fair : Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.”
ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ?" Said Lady Clare, “ that ye speak so wild ?” 66 As God's above!” said Alice the nurse,
" I speak the truth: you are my child.
" The old Earl's daughter died at my breast:
I speak the truth, as I live by bread! I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.”
“Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,” she said, “ if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.”