His hall so old was hung around With pikes and guns and bows, And swords, and good old bucklers, That had stood some tough old blows; 'T was there "his worship" held his state In doublet and trunk hose, And quaffed his cup of good old sack, To warm his good old nose, Like a fine, etc.
When winter's cold brought frost and snow, He opened house to all; And though threescore and ten his years, He featly led the ball; Nor was the houseless wanderer E'er driven from his hall; For while he feasted all the great, He ne'er forgot the small; Like a fine, etc.
But time, though old, is strong in flight, And years rolled swiftly by; And Autumn's falling leaves proclaimed This good old man must die! He laid him down right tranquilly, Gave up life's latest sigh; And mournful stillness reigned around, And tears bedewed each eye, For this good, etc.
Now surely this is better far Than all the new parade Of theatres and fancy balls, "At home" and masquerade: And much more economical, For all his bills were paid. Then leave your new vagaries quite, And take up the old trade Of a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time.
ANONYMOUS.
Alas! what pity 't is that regularity, Like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity! But there are swilling wights in London town, Termed jolly dogs, choice spirits, alias swine, Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.
These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on, Dozing with headaches till the afternoon, Lose half men's regular estate of sun, By borrowing too largely of the moon.
One of this kidney—Toby Tosspot hight— Was coming from the Bedford late at night; And being Bacchi plenus, full of wine, Although he had a tolerable notion Of aiming at progressive motion, 'T wasn't direct,—'t was serpentine. He worked with sinuosities, along, Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong,—a fork.
At length, with near four bottles in his pate, He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate, When reading, "Please to ring the bell," And being civil beyond measure,