Dandy broke out in doggerel rhyme,
And thus proclaimed his distress:
"The Saint's return, my mistress dear,
Which brings to lovers' hearts good cheer,
Yet makes them older by a year ;
'Tis with a touch of sorrow,
Although good breeding keeps me gay,
I feel the force of what they say,
That every dog must have his day,
And every dog its morrow.
"Ah! what a season was my youth!
How brisk my tail! how sharp my tooth!
How clear my bark, which now, forsooth!
Too often turns to snarling!
Then I was valued, as you know,
A thousand pounds at every show,
The cynosure of Rotten Row,
The boudoir's petted darling.
"Now Age is on me like a blight;
Harsh coughs convulse my sides at night;
A hazy film o'erspreads my sight;
'Tis strange how dull my nose is;
My every tooth is almost gone;
I can but trifle with a bone;
Of all my pleasures barely one
Is left me but my dozes.
"The time, too, 's out of joint like me;
Breeding is gone, and pedigree;
And through the whole dog world I see
The free replace the feudal! ·
King Charles must be content to live
Shorn of his old prerogative,
And Blenheim's noble lineage give
Room to the shop-born poodle.
"Lowe has repealed the dog-tax; Peace Allows the mongrel to increase;
In spite of muzzles and police
The world each day grows cur-rier;
A gin-bred dwarf usurps the rug;
Belinda pets a spurious pug;
And Mabel stoops to kiss and hug
A bandy-legged bull terrier.
"With public pique, with private pains,
With age and winter in my veins,
What joy for Dandy's soul remains?
Ah! you, whom dogs entitle
The best of mistresses and friends,
Your favour makes me all amends;
In pleasing you ill-humour ends,
And service finds requital.
"You love me! and content with that
The obsolete aristocrat
Sleeps unrepining on his mat;
So gladly, though I task it,
To your old pensioner's decay,
Your charity its alms shall pay,
Fine mincemeat and fresh milk by day,
By night a cushioned basket.
"These while I live will seem enough;
But when my mortal life-this stuff
That dreams are made of-death shall snuff,
Bury me like a grandee;
With good dog-Latin epitaph,
Half humorous, pathetic half,
That they who read may weep and laugh, say, 'Alas! poor Dandy!'"
O! where the gaily vestur'd throng,
Fair learning's train, are seen,
Wedg'd in close ranks, her wall along,
And up her benches green.
Unfolded to their mental eye
Thy awful form, Sublimity!
The moral teacher shows-
Sublimity of Silence born,
And Solitude 'mid caves forlorn,
And dimly vision'd woes;
Or Stedfast Worth, that inly great
Mocks the malignity of fate.
While whisper'd pleasure's dulcet sound
Murmurs the crowded room around,
And Wisdom, borne on Fashion's pinions,
Exulting hails her new dominions.
Oh! both on me your influence shed,
Dwell in my heart and deck my head!
Where'er a broader, browner shade,
The shaggy beaver throws,
And with the ample feather's aid
O'ercanopies the nose;
Where'er with smooth and silken pile,
Ling'ring in solemn pause awhile,
The crimson velvet glows;
From some high bench's giddy brink,
Clinton with me begins to think
(As bolt upright we sit)
That dress, like dogs, should have its day,
That beavers are too hot for May,
And velvets quite unfit.
Then taste, in maxims sweet, I draw
From her unerring lip ;
How light, how simple are the straw,
How delicate the chip!
Hush'd is the speaker's powerful voice,
The audience melt away,
I fly to fix my final choice
And bless th' instructive day.
The milliner officious pours
Of hats and caps her ready stores,
The unbought elegance of spring;
Some wide, disclose the full round face,
Some shadowy, lend a modest grace
And stretch their sheltering wing.
Here clustering grapes appear to shed
Their luscious juices on the head,
And cheat the longing eye;
So round the Phrygian monarch hung
Fair fruits, that from his parched tongue
For ever seem'd to fly.
Here early blooms the summer rose ;
Here ribbons wreathe fantastic bows;
Here plays gay plumage of a thousand dyes-
Visions of beauty, spare my aching eyes!
Ye cumbrous fashions, crowd not on my head!
Mine be the chip of purest white,
Swan-like, and as her feathers light
When on the still wave spread;
And let it wear the graceful dress
Of unadorned simpleness.
Ah! frugal wish; ah! pleasing thought;
Ah! hope indulged in vain ;
Of modest fancy cheaply bought,
A stranger yet to Payne.
With undissembled grief I tell,—
For sorrow never comes too late,—
The simplest bonnet in Pall Mall
Is sold for £1 8s.
To Calculation's sober view,
That searches ev'ry plan,
Who keep the old, or buy the new,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the shabby and the gay
Must meet the sun's meridian ray ;
The air, the dust, the damp.
This, shall the sudden shower despoil;
That, slow decay by gradual soil;
Those, envious boxes cramp.
Who will, their squander'd gold may pay ;
Who will, our taste deride;
We'll scorn the fashion of the day
With philosophic pride.
Methinks me thus, in accents low,
Might Sydney Smith address,
"Poor moralist! and what art thou,
Who never spoke of dress!"
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