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Poem by Henry Austin Dobson A Familiar Epistle DEAR COSMOPOLITAN,—I know I should address you a Rondeau, Or else announce what I ’ve to say At least en Ballade fratriseé But No: for once I leave Gymnasticks, And take to simple Hudibrasticks, Why should I choose another Way, When this was good enough for GAY? You love, my FRIEND, with me I think, That Age of Lustre and of Link; Of Chelsea China and long “s”es, Of Bag-wigs and of flowered Dresses; That Age of Folly and of Cards, Of Hackney Chairs and Hackney Bards; —No H-LTS, no K-G-N P-LS were then Dispensing Competence to Men; The gentle Trade was left to Churls, Your frowsy TONSONS and your CURLLS; Mere Wolves in Ambush to attack The AUTHOR in a Sheep-skin Back; Then SAVAGE and his Brother-Sinners In Porridge Island div’d for Dinners; Or doz’d on Covent Garden Bulks, And liken’d Letters to the Hulks;— You know that by-gone Time, I say, That aimless easy-moral’d Day, When rosy Morn found MADAM still Wrangling at Ombre or Quadrille, When good SIR JOHN reel’d Home to Bed, From Pontack’s or the Shakespeare's’s Head; When TRIP convey’d his Master’s Cloaths, And took his Titles and his Oaths; While BETTY, in a cast Brocade, Ogled MY LORD at Masquerade; When GARRICK play’d the guilty Richard, Or mouth’d Macbeth with Mrs. PRITCHARD; When FOOTE grimaced his snarling Wit; When CHURCHILL bullied in the Pit; When the CUZZONI sang— But there! The further Catalogue I spare, Having no Purpose to eclipse That tedious Tale of HOMER’S Ships;— This is the MAN that drew it all From Pannier Alley to the Mall, Then turn’d and drew it once again From Bird-Cage-Walk to Lewknor’s Lane;— Its Rakes and Fools, its Rogues and Sots; Its brawling Quacks, its starveling Scots; Its Ups and Downs, its Rags and Garters, Its HENLEYS, LOVATS, MALCOLMS, CHARTRES, Its Splendor, Squalor, Shame, Disease; Its quicquid agunt Homines;— Nor yet omitted to pourtray Furens quid possit Foemina;— In short, held up to ev’ry Class NATURE’S unflatt’ring looking-Glass; And, from his Canvas, spoke to All The Message of a JUVENAL. Take Him. His Merits most aver: His weak Point is—his Chronicler! Henry Austin Dobson Henry Austin Dobson's other poems: 1311 Views |
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