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Fled some few years, old Time may try

Again to wake my rhyme, when I,

Obeying the vagary,

May thus subscribe the muse's frisk:

“My pensive public-yours ! -A BRISK



[Written (invitâ Minerva) at the instigation of J. H.]

Thou greybeard gay! whose muse-(perchance

In second childhood's ignorance)

Inspired “An Old Man's Pæan,"

Hear how a brother senior sings

Sexagenarian sufferings,

In 'strains antipodean!

Young, I could take a morning's sport;

Play matches in the Tennis Court,

So strong was I and plastic ;

Dine out, and yet with spirit light
And body unfatigued, at night

Could sport the toe fantastic.

Behold me now!—my limbs are stiff:

An open door, an east-wind's whiff,

Brings sharp rheumatic touches;

A chamber-horse my only nag,

I mope at home, or slowly drag

My gouty feet on crutches.

Once I devour'd whatever came,

And never knew, except by name,

The heartburn, bile, dyspepsy:

Now I must fast-eat what I hate,

Or all my ailments aggravate,

From ache to epilepsy.

How starving Tantalus of old

Was punish'd by the Gods, is told

In many a classic stanza;

And all must recollect the wand

That whisk'd the viands from the hand

Of hungry Sancho Panza :

Their fate without their fault is mine.

Champagne and claret, drinks divine

As nectar or ambrosia,

I may not quaff, but—(horrid bore!)

My sherry from a cruet pour

And think of past symposia.

At home my wife will supervise

Each meal I take. I wish her eyes

Were sometimes touch'd with blindness !

But no—they move not from my plate:

God bless her! how I love, yet hate

Her ever watchful kindness.

“My dear! you know you 're bilious--pray

Avoid the turtle soup to-day,

And do not touch the salmon;

Just take a chicken wing, or leg,

But no rich sauce--and let me beg

You will not taste the gammon."

Shell-fish--of yore my favourite food,

Are now my bane; yet crabs eschew'd,

Might make an angel crabbed

No wonder if I quit the treat

Of dainties that I may not eat,

Half starving and half rabid.

Debarr’d by fond affection's care

From all my palate yearns to share,

A kindness still more cruel

Gives me carte blanche in all I loathe

Bread-puddings, sago, mutton-broth,

Rice-milk, and water-gruel!

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