Since the supreme battle
One has grown thin, the other stout;
The coat once made to fit them
Is either too loose or too tight.
Don't laugh, comrade;
But rather bow low
To these Achilles of an Iliad
That Homer would not have invented.
Their faces with the swarthy skin
Speak of Egypt with the burning sun,
And the snows of Russia
Still powder their white hair.
If their joints are stiff, it is because on the battle-field
Flags were their only blankets:
And if their sleeves don't fit,
It is because a cannon-ball took off their arm.
JOHN GAY
(1685-1732)
n the great society of the wits," said Thackeray, "John Gay deserves to be a favorite, and to have a good place." The wits loved him. Prior was his faithful ally; Pope wrote him frequent letters of affectionate good advice; Swift grew genial in his merry company; and when the jester lapsed into gloom, as jesters will, all his friends hurried to coddle and comfort him. His verse is not of the first order, but the list of "English classics" contains far poorer; it is entertaining enough to be a pleasure even to bright children of this generation, and each succeeding one reads it with an inherited fondness not by any means without help from its own merits. And the man who invented comic opera, one of the most enduring molds in which English humor has been cast, deserves the credit of all important literary pioneers.