I hate thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady hates delf;
To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps and thy hisses,
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself,
And, like Godwin, write books for young masters and misses.
Oh! it is not high rank that can make the heart merry,
Even monarchs themselves are not free from mishap:
Tho' the Lords of Westphalia must quake before Jerry,
Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap.
HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB. I.
A FRAGMENT.
persico odi, puer, adparatus;
displicent nexae philyra coronae;
mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum
sera moretur.
TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE ROBE.
Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nicknackeries.
Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and gim-crackeries—
Six by the Horse-Guards!—old Georgy is late—
But come—lay the table-cloth—zounds! do not wait,
Nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying,
At which of his places Old Rose is delaying!
* * * * *
IMPROMPTU.
UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY, FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS FOR DINNER IN.
1810.