Which bears a season'd brain about
Unsubject to confusion,early
Tho' soak'd and saturate, but and out,
Thro' every convolution.

For I am of a numerous house,
With many kinsmen gay,

Where long and largely we carouse
As who shall say me nay:
Each month, a birth-day coming on,
We drink defying trouble,

Or sometimes two would meet in one,
And then we drank it double;

Whether the vintage, yet unkept,
Had relish fiery-new,

Or elbow-deep in sawdust, slept,
As old as Waterloo ;

Or stow'd (when classic Canning died)
In musty bins and chambers,
Had cast upon its crusty side

The gloom of ten Decembers.

The Muse, the jolly Muse, it is!
She answer'd to my call,

She changes with that mood or this,
Is all-in-all to all:

She lit the spark within my throat,
To make my blood run quicker,
Used all her fiery will, and smote
Her life into the liquor.

And hence this halo lives about

The waiter's hands, that reach T

To each his perfect pint of stout, debbw mil

His proper chop to each.

He looks not like the common breed
That with the napkin dally;

I think he came like Ganymede,
From some delightful valley.

The Cock was of a larger egg od vas
Than modern poultry drop, .
Stept forward on a firmer leg,
And cramm'd a plumper crop;
Upon an ampler dunghill trod,
Crow'd lustier late and early,
Sipt wine from silver, praising God,
And raked in golden barley.

A private life was all his joy,
Till in ас court he saw
something-pottle-bodied boy
That knuckled at the taw:

A

He stoop'd and clutch'd him, fair and good,
Flew over roof and casement:
His brothers of the weather stood
Stock-still for sheer amazement.

But he, by farmstead, thorpe and spire,
And follow'd with acclaims,

A sign to many a staring shire
Came crowing over Thames.
Right down by smoky Paul's they bore,
With motion less or greater;awilio Ja&
One fix'd for ever at the door,hmmm to Vi
And one became head-waiter.com ho A

Will Water proof's Lyrical Monologue

But whither would my fancy gold dose oT
How out of place she makes qorq eiff
The violet of a legend blowing aloof sH
Among the chops and steaks!

taf
'Tis but a steward of the can,so ed daids I
One shade more plump than common ;
As just and mere a serving-man

As any born of woman.o sw do00 sdT on tobom and I I ranged too high what draws me down Into the the common day?

mud bat
Is it the weight of that half-crown,
Which I shall have to pay? or
For, something duller than at first, it
aiw sqi2
Nor wholly comfortable, oder baA
beden
I sit, my empty glass reversed,

And thrumming on the table:
table purving A

Half-fearful that, with self at strife,

T

ban b'goods sH

I take myself to task-102 Å
Lest of the fulness of my lifebound
T leave an
empty flask
For I had hope, by something rare
To prove myself a poet :
But, while I plan and plan, my hair 1

Is gray

before I know it.

bestemt vd on jud So fares it since the years began, bak Till they be gather'd upon or tighe A The truth, that flies the flowing can,

Will haunt the vacant cup: awob tági And others' follies teach us not, diW Nor much their wisdom teaches; an And most, of sterling worth, is what A Our own experience preaches.

Ah, let the rusty theme alone !-Desk{
We know not what we know.w ol
But for my pleasant hour, 'tis

and let it go.

gone;

'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt Away from my embraces,

And fall'n into the dusty crypt

Of darken'd forms and faces. Dod

Go, therefore, thou! thy betters went {[
Long since, and came no more;
With peals of genial clamour sent
From many a tavern-door,

With twisted quirks and happy hits,

From misty men of letters;

The tavern-hours of mighty wits—
Thine elders and thy betters.

10

Hours, when the Poet's words and looks
Had yet their native glow!!

Nor yet the fear of little books.

Had made him, talk for show;

But, all his vast heart sherris-warm'
He flash'd his random speeches,
Ere days, that deal in ana, swarm'd
His literary leeches.

So mix for ever with the past,

Like all good things on earth!

'd,

For should I prize thee, couldst thou last,
At half thy real worth?

I hold it good, good things should pass :
With time I will not quarrek:aut
It is but yonder empty glass modo
That makes me maudlin-moral.

wt most esds He Had

ET

Head-waiter of the chop-house here,
To which I most resort,

I too must part I hold thee deard I
For this good pint of port.

For this, thou shalt from all things suck
Marrow of mirth and laughter;
And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck
Shall fling her old shoe after.

But thou wilt never move from hence,
The sphere thy fate allots:
Thy latter days increased with pence
Go down among the pots:

Thou battenest by the greasy
y gleam by
In haunts of hungry sinners, mon
Old boxes, larded with the steam
Of thirty thousand dinners.

We fret.

we fume, would shift our skins, Would quarrel with our lot; Thy care is, under polish'd tins, bl

To serve the hot-and-hot;

To come and go, and come again,
Returning like the pewit,

And watch'd by silent gentlemen,EL
That trifle with the cruet.

deng ob diw 1979 tot zim of
Live long, ere from thy topmost head
The thick-set hazel dies; I blode 1074
Long, ere the hateful crow shall tread

The corners of thine eyes og ji blod I
Live long, nor feel in head or chest
Our changeful equinoxes,

Till mellow Death, like some late guest,
Shall call thee from the boxes.