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I would not, for the world, cast anchor
In such a horrid dangerous port; Such dust and rubbish, lath and plaster,
(Contractors play the meanest tricks)The roof's as crazy as its master,
And he was born in fifty-six ;
The colonnade is sure to fall;
Unless we make great haste to call.
“ Who was that sweetest of sweet creatures
Last Sunday in the Rector's seat ?
I never saw such tiny feet !
Poor Arthur,—'twas a sad affair ;
mother Agreed it would not do at all; And so, I'm
And so my
“And there's an author, full of knowledge;
And there's a captain on half-pay; And there's a baronet from college,
Who keeps a boy and rides a bay; And sweet Sir Marcus from the Shannon,
Fine specimen of brogue and bone ; And Doctor Calipee, the canon,
Who weighs, I fancy, twenty stone :
The faded front of Lily Hall :-
We'll make a round, my dear, and call.”
Alas! disturb not, maid and matron,
humble thatch ; Your son may find a better patron,
Your niece may meet a richer match: I can't afford to give a dinner,
I never was on Almack's list; And, since I seldom rise a winner,
I never like to play at whist:
Unwatched by me the glass may fall;
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
lins whiten, The dry machines revisit Ocean’s bed,
And Horace quits awhile the town for Brighton.
The cit foregoes his box at Turnham Green,
To pick up health and shells with Amphitrite, Pleasure's frail daughters trip along the Steyne,
Led by the dame the Greeks call Aphrodite.
Phæbus, the tanner, plies his fiery trade,
The graceful nymphs ascend Judea's ponies, Scale the west cliff, or visit the parade, While
poor papa in town a patient drone is. Loose trousers snatch the wreath from pantaloons ;
Nankeen of late were worn the sultry weather in; But now, (so will the Prince's light dragoons,) White jean have triumph'd o'er their Indian
Here with choice food earth smiles and ocean
yawns, İntent alike to please the London glutton ; This, for our breakfast proffers shrimps and
prawns, That, for our dinner, Southdown lamb and
Yet here, as elsewhere, death impartial reigns,
Visits alike the cot and the Pavilion, And for a bribe with equal scorn disdains
My half-a-crown, and Baring's half-a-million.
Alas ! how short the span of human pride !
Waits to take back the unwilling bard to London.
Ye circulating novelists, adieu!
black portmanteau tighten; Billiards begone! avaunt, illegal loo!
Farewell old Ocean's bauble, glittering Brighton.
Long shalt thou laugh thine enemies to scorn,
Proud as Phænicia, queen of watering-places ! Boys yet unbreech'd, and virgins yet unborn, On thy bleak downs shall tan their blooming faces.
WINTER IN BRIGHTON.
ŽILL there be snowfall on lofty Soracte,
Thinks 'twill be horrid. But there are zephyrs more mild by the ocean,
Every keen touch of the snowdrifts to lighten: If to be cosy and snug you've a notion
Winter in Brighton!
Politics nobody cares about. Spurn a
Topic whereby all our happiness suffers. Dolts in the back streets of Brighton return a
Couple of duffers. Fawcett and White in the Westminster Hades
Strive the reporters' misfortunes to heighten. What does it matter ? Delicious young ladies
Winter in Brighton!
Good is the turtle for luncheon at Mutton's,
Yearning awakens : Buckstone comes hither, delighting the million,
'Mong the theatrical minnows a Triton; Dickens and Lemon pervade the Pavilion ;
Winter in Brighton! If you've a thousand a year, or a minute
If you're a D'Orsay, whom every one followsIf you've a head (it don't matter what's in it)
Fair as Apollo's
If you approve of firtations, good dinners,
sinnersWinter in Brighton !
BRIGHTON in November
Is what one should remember, When from town so dull and foggy,
we all of us would fee; Where air is pure and bracing, The breezes we are facing,
Away the blues there chasingAt our London-by-the-Sea.
The morning's plunge at Brill's there,
It scares away all ills there,
Away dull care you're dashing-
You're sure to find collected
On pier a crowd protected
’Neath crystal screen's flirtation,
You'll find with consternation-