Poem by Thomas Moore

Of All the Men

Of all the men one meets about,
	There’s none like Jack – he’s everywhere: 
At church – park – auction – dinner – rout – 
	Go when  and where you will, he’s there. 

Try the West End, he’s at your back – 
	Meets you, like Eurus, in the East –  
You’re call’d upon for “How do, Jack?”
	One hundred times a day, at least. 

A friend of his one evening said,
	At home he took his pensive way, 
“Upon my soul, I fear Jack’s dead –
	I’ve seen him but three times to-day!”

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 114. I’ve a Secret to Tell Thee
5. Bright Be Thy Dreams

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