Poem by Charles Hanbury Williams

The Old General

       The gen’ral! one of those brave old commanders, 
Who serv’d through all the glorious wars in Flanders; 
Frank and good natur’d, of an honest heart, 
Loving to act the steady friendly part: 
None led through youth a gayer life than he, 
Chearful in converse, smart in repartee. 
Sweet was his night, and joyful was his day, 
He din’d with Walpole, and with Oldfield lay; 
But with old age its vices came along, 
And in narration he’s extremely long; 
Exact in circumstance, and nice in dates, 
He each minute particular relates. 
If you name one of Malbro’s ten campaigns, 
He tells you its whole history for your pains: 
And Blenheim’s field becomes by his reciting, 
As long in telling as it was in fighting: 
His old desire to please is still express’d; 
His hat’s well cock’d, his perriwig’s well dress’d: 
He rolls his stockings still, white gloves he wears, 
And in the boxes with the beaux appears: 
His eyes through wrinkled corners cast their rays; 
Still he looks chearful, still soft things he says: 
And still rememb’ring that he once was young, 
He strains his crippled knees, and struts along.

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