ENCOMIUM MORIÆ, OR THE PRAISE OF FOLLY.
If from our purse all coin we spurn
But gold, we may from mart return.
Nor purchase what we’re seeking;
And if in parties we must talk
Nothing but sterling wit, we balk
All interchange of speaking.
Small talk is like small change; it flows
A thousand different ways, and throws
Thoughts into circulation,
Of trivial value each, but which
Combin’d, make social converse rich
In cheerful animation.
As bows unbent recruit their force.
Our minds by frivolous discourse
We strengthen and embellish,
“Let us be wise,” said Plato once,
When talking nonsense—“yonder dunce
For folly has no relish.”
The solemn bore, who holds that speech
Was given us to prose and preach,
And not for lighter usance,
Straight should be sent to Coventry;
Or omnium concensu, be
Indicted as a nuisance.
Though dull the joke, ‘tis wise to laugh,
Parch’d be the tongue that cannot quaff
Save from a golden chalice;
Let jesters seek no other plea,
Than that their merriment be free
From bitterness and malice.
Silence at once the ribald clown.
And check with an indignant frown
The scurrilous backbiter;
But speed good-humour as it runs,
Be even tolerant of puns,
And every mirth-exciter.
The wag who even fails may claim
Indulgence for his cheerful aim;
We should applaud, not hiss him;
This is a pardon which we grant,
(The Latin gives the rhime I want,)
“Et petimus vicissim.”
Ibid.
Your love is like the gnats, John,
That hum at close of day:
That sting, and leave a scar behind,
Then sing and fly away.
Weekly Review.