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The voice that was best when it faltered,
Is fuller and firmer in tone :
Dear Clarence ;—it is not your own;
Your coat don't become you at all; And why is your hair so neglected ?
You must have it curled for our Ball.
I've often been out upon Haldon
To look for a covey with Pup; I've often been over to Shaldon,
To see how your boat is laid up.
I've ridden the filly you broke;
In the shade of your favorite oak:
I sat in your love of a shawl; And I'll wear what you brought me from Florence,
Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball.
You'll find us all changed since you vanished;
We've set up a National School; And waltzing is utterly banished;
And Ellen has married a fool;
Miss Hyacinth threatens a rout;
Papa is laid up with the gout:
And Jane has gone on with her easels,
And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul; And Fanny is sick with the measles —
And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball.
You'll meet all your beauties ;-the Lily,
And the Fairy of Willowbrook Farm, And Lucy, who made me so silly
At Dawlish, by taking your arm; Miss Manners, who always abused you,
For talking so much about Hock; And her sister, who often amused you
By raving of rebels and Rock ; And something which surely would answer,
An heiress quite fresh from Bengal ; So, though you were seldom a dancer,
You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball.
But out on the world !—from the flowers
It shuts out the sunshine of truth: It blights the green leaves in the bowers,
It makes an old age of our youth : And the flow of our feeling, once in it,
Like a streamlet beginning to freeze, Though it cannot turn ice in a minute,
Grows harder by sudden degrees. Time treads o’er the graves of affection ;
Sweet honey is turned into gall; Perhaps you have no recollection
That ever you danced at our Ball.
You once could be pleased with our ballads
To-day you have critical ears;
Alas! you've been dining with Peers;
You've forgotten the when and the how;
Perhaps you've forgotten her now.
Of those who delight or enthral,
As some you will find at our Ball.
They tell me you've many who flatter,
Because of your wit and your song; They tell me (and what does it matter ?)
You like to be praised by the throng: They tell me you're shadowed with laurel,
They tell me you're loved by a Blue; They tell me you’re sadly immoral
Dear Clarence, that cannot be true! But to me you are still what I found you
Before you grew clever and tall; And you'll think of the spell that once bound you :
And you'll come, won’r you come ? to our Ball's
LETTERS FROM TEIGNMOUTH.
-Sweet, when Actors first appear,
Your labors, my talented brother,
Are happily over at last;
The bill is rejected,-or passed :
As fast as your posters can crawl,
As usual, at Fustian Hall.
Arrangements are nearly completed;
But still we've a lover or two, Whom Lady Albina entreated,
We'd keep at all hazards for you: Sir Arthur makes horrible faces,
Lord John is a trifle too tall, — And yours are the safest embraces
To faint in, at Fustian Hall.
Come, Clarence ;-it's really enchanting
To listen and look at the rout: We're all of us puffing, and panting,
And raving, and running about; Here Kitty and Adelaide bustle ;
There Andrew and Anthony bawl; Flutes murmur, chains rattle, robes rustic,
In chorus, at Fustian Hall.
By the bye, there are two or three matters,
We want you to bring us from town; The Inca's white plumes from the hatter's,
A nose and a hump for the Clown : We want a few harps for our banquet,
We want a few masks for our ball: And steal from your wise friend Bosanquet
His white wig, for Fustian Hall.
Hunca Munca must have a huge sabre,
Friar Tuck has forgotten his cowl; And we're quite at a stand-still with Weber,
For want of a lizard and owl:
Pray get us a love of a pall;
On feelings, at Fustian Hall ?
And, Clarence, you'll really delight us,
If you'll do your endeavor to bring From the Club a young person to write is
Our prologue, and that sort of thing;