Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the
world in awe,
Were despised, and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie,
spite of law.
In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's
edge was rusted,
And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much dis-
gusted!
Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a
curse,
Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the
worse.
Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another
jorum;
They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear
before 'em.
Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least as go
arrayed.
In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.
I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields
Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spital-
fields.
Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self
aside,
I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval
pride;
Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,
Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden
fruit.
Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple
main
Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accents of
Cockaigne.
There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious
rule prevents;
Sink the steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, O rot the
Three per Cents!
There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space
to breathe, my cousin!
I will wed some savage woman—nay, I'll wed at least a
dozen.
There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street
brats are reared:
They shall dive for alligators, catch the mid goats by the
beard—
Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced
baboon,
Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the
Moon.
I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily
quaff,
Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.
Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen
stream he crosses,
Startling from their noonday slumbers iron-bound rhino-
ceroses.
Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words
are mad,
For I hold the grey barbarian lower than the Christian
cad.
I the swell—the city dandy! I to seek such horrid
places,—
I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey-
faces!
I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed—very
near—
To secure theheart and fortune of the widow Shilli-
beer!
Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance
away;
Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another
maiden may.
'Morning post' ('The Times' won't trust me)
help me, as I know you can;
I will pen an advertisement,—that's a never-
failing plan.