“While sleepy chaperons would sit and yawn.
“There, where the Palace fronts St. James’s Street,
“And rears its old fantastic tow’rs so high,
“The rattling carriages he loved to meet,
“And gossip with the folk that babbled by.
“From rout to rout, now laughing at the tricks
“Of wayward jilts and dandies he would rove:
“Now deeply wrapt in chit chat politics,
“Or slyly jesting on some corner-love.
“One morn I miss’d him in th’ accustom’d walks