What youth of the Household will cool our Noyau
In that streamlet delicious,
That down midst the dishes,
All full of gold fishes,
Romantic doth flow?—
Or who will repair
Unto Manchester Square,
And see if the gentle Marchesa be there?
Go—bid her haste hither,
And let her bring with her
The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going—
Oh! let her come, with her dark tresses flowing,
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay,
In the manner of—Ackerman's Dresses for May!
[1] This and the following are extracted from a Work, which may, some time or other, meet the eye of the Public—entitled "Odes of Horace, done into English by several Persons of Fashion."
[2] Charles Fox.
HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I.
FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELDON.
The man who keeps a conscience pure,
(If not his own, at least his Prince's,)
Thro' toil and danger walks secure,
Looks big and black and never winces.
No want has he of sword or dagger,
Cockt hat or ringlets of Geramb;
Tho' Peers may laugh and Papists swagger,
He doesnt care one single damn.
Whether midst Irish chairmen going.
Or thro' St. Giles's alleys dim,
Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing,
No matter, 'tis all one to him.
For instance, I, one evening late,
Upon a gay vacation sally,
Singing the praise of Church and State,
Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne Alley.