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Thus Flattery whispered round; And straight the humorous fancy grew, That lyres are sweet when hearts are true; And all who feel a lover's flame Must rhyme to-night on Chloe's name; And he's unworthy of the Dame,
Who silent here is found.
Or pointed repartee;
Chorus, and Catch, and Glee.
Then Vapid rose—no Stentor this,
And his no Homer's layMeek victim of antithesis,
He sighed and died away:-
And anguish on me lies;
Or live while Vapid dies !
And Hope this promise gives ;
Nor die while Chloe lives !”
Next Snaffle, foe to tears and sadness,
Drew fire from Chloe's eyes; And, warm with drunkenness and madness,
He started for the prize.
Full bumpers let's be quaffing!
And so they fell a-laughing.
“Gods!” cried a Minister of State,
And thus the jest went circling round,
And ladies smiled and sneered, As smooth Fourteen, and weak Fonrscore, Professed they ne'er had rhymed before, And Drunkards blushed, and Doctors swore,
And Soldiers owned they feared : Unwonted Muses were invoked
By Pugilists and Whips ;
And many a Belle looked half-provoked,
And Dandies bit their lips.
At last an old Ecclesiastic, Who looked half kind, and half sarcastic, And seemed, in every transient look, At once to flatter and rebuke, Cut off the sport with “Psha! enough ;" And then took breath, and then-took snuff; “Chloe,” he said, “ you're like the moon! You shine as bright, you change as soon ! Your wit is like the moon's fair beam,
In borrowed light 'tis o’er us thrown; Yet, like the moon’s, that sparkling stream
To careless eyes appears your own;
And then (to close the simile,
As half in anger, half in glee,)-
“Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress !
And there was mounting in hot haste.”
Fair laughs the morn, and out they come At the solemn beat of the rolling drum,
Appareld for the march;
In vanity and starch.
The charger's mane is flowing:
Of envious Boor, and wondering Grace, And Echo shouts through all the place,
“The Soldiers be a-going.” Beauty and Bills are buzzing now
In many a martial ear,
And Woman's anxious tear.
Close clinging to his side:
To-day had been his bride-
In beautiful alarm;
Still hanging to his arm ;
Most eloquently tells
Or hanging—somewhere else.
Poor Captain Mill! what sounds of foar Break sudden on his startled ear;