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. To-Day, Dearest! Is Ours
2. Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 60
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 24
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 63

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