ODE ON CLAPHAM ACADEMY. Thy taws are brave-thy tops are rare!— Our tops are spun with coils of care, Our dumps are no delight! The Elgin marbles are but tame, And 'tis at best a sorry game To fly the Muse's kite! Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, Our topmost joys fall dull and dead Like balls with no rebound! And often with a faded eye We look behind, and send a sigh Towards that merry ground! Then be contented. Thou hast got The most of heaven in thy young lot; There's sky-blue in thy cup! Thou'lt find thy Manhood all too fast Soon come, soon gone! and Age at last A sorry breaking-up! I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. A PRETTY task, Miss S-, to ask A Benedictine pen, That cannot quite at freedom write Like those of other men. No lover's plaint my Muse must paint, To fill this page's span, But be correct and recollect I'm not a single man. Pray only think for pen and ink How hard to get along, That may not turn on words that burn Or Love, the life of song! Nine Muses, if I chooses, I May woo all in a clan, But one Miss S- I daren't address I'm not a single man. I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. Scribblers unwed, with little head, May eke it out with heart, And in their lays it often plays A rare first-fiddle part. They make a kiss to rhyme with bliss, But if I so began, I have my fears about my ears I'm not a single man. Upon your cheek I may not speak, Nor on your lip be warm, I must be wise about your eyes, Of all that sort of thing, in short, 1 must not twine a single line I'm not a single man. A watchman's part compels my heart To keep you off its beat, I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. And I might dare as soon to swear At you as at your feet. I can't expire in passion's fire As other poets can My life (she's by) won't let me die I'm not a single man. Shut out from love, denied a dove, Forbidden bow and dart, Without a groan to call my own, With neither hand nor heart, To Hymen vow'd, and not allow'd To flirt e'en with your fan, Here end, as just a friend, I must I'm not a single man. 64 I "PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE.” 'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore: Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door : So he call'd upon Lucy-'twas just ten o'clockLike a spruce single man, with a smart double knock. Now a hand-maid, whatever her fingers be at, Will run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat : So Lucy ran up-and in two seconds more Had question'd the stranger and answer'd the door. The meeting was bliss; but the parting was woe; For the moment will come when such comers must go. So she kiss'd him, and whisper'd-poor innocent thing "The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring." |