I hear, in varied cadence still, The frequent hiss, the whistle shrill, I see the spouting Pedant stand Unmov'd, his Prologue in his hand, Hail, Busby, hail! eccentric Wight! When boldly thou withstood'st the brunt, Lucretius calls thee from the shades, How durst thou murder my sublime, "Think'st thou my philosophic Muse, To teach the lessons of the stews Was e'er design'd by fate, To charm the ears of modern jilts, N 66 By nature form'd for low debate, To rhyme, to fiddle, and to prate,. Impertinence thy crest; O surely thou wert born to shine Apollo's scorn and jest. "Since 'twas ordain'd by angry fate That, Dunce! thou should'st my works translate, (With common sense at strife :) What now remains to blast my fame, "If thou would'st wound me deeper still, ODE XIV. BOOK III. ON THE RETURN OF THE PRINCE REGENT TO BRIGHTON. "Herculis ritu modo dictus, ô plebs." HARK! the merry bugles sound Beat the drums, His Highness comes, Now for Fêtes and Routs a score, Crowds of gazers walk the Steyne, Doctor T-* a motion makes Let ev'ry beau and belle come, *.Dr. Tierney. And join his pranks, a vote of thanks To bid His Highness welcome! Pierce a cask of gen'rous wine, Bacchus gay shall rule the day, Call Fitzherbert, ancient fair! Bid the Sybil bind her hair, Jersey to the feast invite, For such a painted beldam At fifty-six, on this side Styx, We surely see but seldom. Margate, boast thy lofty pier, And many a Bond-Street rover ! Brighton, highly-favour'd spot! Arthur, valor's fav'rite son, Bold, intrepid, brave, he Cudgels Frenchmen till they run, And makes them cry" peccavi!" Col'nel Bloomfield, stout and tall, May old age, a tyrant fell! That fills the bones with dryness, Vanquish'd by some magic spell, Politely pass your Highness. Long may Britain own your sway ; Shall wish our Prince as Horace gay, And, like his strains, immortal. |